Chapter 268: The Relationship Between War and Money

The Federation’s aversion to war stemmed from the early stage of the World War, when several war documentaries were produced. Some reporters from the Federation risked their lives to reach the front lines, filming and sending back large amounts of footage.

These reporters quickly became household names across the Federation. But what neither they nor the public realized was that these realistic war records instilled fear—fear of war itself.

Due to the difficulty of recording sound on the battlefield, all the films were silent. From the first frame to the last second, not a single sound was heard.

At first, people watching these in theaters or on television laughed and looked forward to seeing the front lines. After all, the Federation hadn’t seen war in a long time—not even serious conflicts with other nations.

People had long forgotten the cruelty of war, remembering only the false romanticism. A few years before the war broke out, someone had even made an award-winning film titled Beloved Under Fire, romanticizing love and war. It gave two generations—who had never experienced war—a deeply mistaken impression.

But once the real footage began to hit home, people realized war was neither romantic nor exciting.

Invisible bullets, like the scythe of death, randomly and mercilessly took lives. On screen, soldiers would suddenly jolt backward or their heads would snap up before collapsing and twitching into death.

There was no sound of bullets, no dying screams—only silent, agonizing expressions as half-dead soldiers stared into the camera, their faces twisted in horror. Every citizen watching went from excitement to silence.

It was the same every time. The reality of war shattered every naïve illusion. There was no love, no heroism—only killers and the killed.

One after another, men died—our own, and others. One unforgettable scene showed a shell landing near a war correspondent. The camera shook and fell to the ground, then was partially obscured by a splash of dark liquid.

Someone seemed to pick up the camera, but it dropped again. Then a reporter collapsed in front of the lens, shrapnel piercing his body.

He knelt, hips raised, upper body limp on the ground. The scene was absurd, but no one laughed—because a life was ending.

Blood gushed from his mouth as if he were retching. His chest heaved, blood poured from his mouth and nose, and foam began to form. Still alive, he tried to lift himself but lacked the strength. His arms buckled beneath him again and again. His chest heaved violently, his body convulsed—and then, stillness.

Even in death, his eyes remained fixed on the lens. It was as if he had foreseen this end. What he left the Federation was not fearlessness, courage, or wisdom. He left behind only terror.

Everyone fears death. Watching a fellow countryman die so horrifically, watching the last thirty seconds of his suffering, struggle, and helplessness—anti-war sentiment exploded.

Before this, the Federation hadn’t considered isolationism. The President and Cabinet were even discussing which side to support, preparing to join the war.

But the sudden wave of anti-war sentiment gave the Conservative Party their opening. They responded to public opinion and advocated isolationism, winning full public support.

Everyone feared death—not only for themselves, but for their loved ones. No one wanted their friends or family to die like that reporter.

So when Lynch mentioned the word “war” in such a setting, the entire hall fell silent.

This aversion to war wasn’t limited to the lower classes—it spread like an infection to the middle and upper classes as well.

Of course, being anti-war didn’t mean rejecting international engagement. The two were not the same.

All eyes turned to Lynch. He appeared calm and composed, not the slightest bit intimidated by the many powerful figures staring at him.

He smiled modestly and confidently. Off to the side, Severella gazed at him, dazed. For some reason, at that moment, she saw a trace of her father in him.

She wasn’t sure if the comparison was accurate—but it was how she felt. Lynch was younger, but his aura, his composure, his confidence, and even his smile made people feel something rare.

He gave others the confidence to trust him, to feel safe, to believe he was someone they could rely on.

“Economic war?” The man who had posed the question earlier repeated, “That’s a novel and intriguing concept. Looks like we’ve found our topic for tonight. Mr. Lynch, would you care to elaborate?”

Lynch nodded again, signaling his agreement.

At the same time, he noticed a small detail—people were making way for this man, a clear sign of his importance.

“Of course, sir.”

“You can call me Truman…”

At that moment, Mr. Wadrick quietly stepped closer to Lynch and whispered, “Mr. Truman is currently the head of the Policy Office for International Affairs and Policy.”

Lynch nodded in gratitude. That was no ordinary title.

In fact, prior to the event, Lynch had caught wind of a rumor: the President was planning to create a new office within the Cabinet—the Office of International Policy Research.

This office would study international trends and draft related policies—covering not just politics but also military affairs. It might not be a flashy department, but it would be a crucial one.

Truman was to be the top official of this yet-to-be-established office, and the President’s most trusted international affairs adviser.

As for why Lynch found his voice familiar—it was because he’d seen Truman on a political talk show during the campaign to depose the old president, the so-called “Devil,” and bring the new one to power. Truman had played an active role in that movement.

The interruption lasted less than thirty seconds before Lynch resumed.

“I’m a businessman. My perspective is sometimes different from others.”

“Looking at all the countries involved in this world war, I noticed something worth our attention—something others might have missed: the role of money.”

“Money plays a far greater role in war than most people imagine. Many think all you need is soldiers, but you also need money—a lot of it.”

“I spoke to several arms dealers. They told me even a small skirmish, even a one-sided victory, could burn through hundreds of thousands in ammunition and result in tens of thousands of Sol in damage or losses.”

“This global war didn’t end because someone admitted they were wrong—it ended because someone ran out of money. They couldn’t keep fighting. So they had to surrender.”

“I believe war is not just about military strength—it’s a contest of national strength and wealth.”

Lynch’s tone grew firmer. “Especially money. Money is critically important in war.”

“We may lack manpower, but if we have money, we can hire those willing to risk their lives for it to fight for us.”

“But if we have no money, even the bravest young men can’t stand against a fortified gun squad.”

“So shouldn’t we reconsider what war is really about? Maybe war isn’t fought with people—but with money.”

“And if our goal is to force certain powers into surrender—can we not achieve it without gunfire, through economic warfare alone?”

This idea was easily accepted by the audience. Even if many of them were fools, they still understood that if a small victorious skirmish cost hundreds of thousands, then a large-scale battle would cost even more.

Many wore thoughtful expressions. Perhaps they had noticed this issue before, but had never studied it deeply or considered it seriously.

Now that Lynch had brought it up so directly, it was as if a fog had suddenly lifted—what had once been unclear became immediately obvious.

Especially his final remarks, which directly highlighted the core of everything he had said: war is about money. If you bypass the involvement of people and target the money directly—could that work?

When it came to war, maybe the Federation wasn’t strong—maybe it was. They hadn’t participated in a large-scale global conflict, so no one really knew the true strength of their military.

But when it came to money, the Federation was undoubtedly number one in the world.

And so, Lynch’s idea took root in some of their minds—deeply planted, nourished by this new line of thought. It began to grow, to sprout.