Chapter 269: Radical, Objectives, Methods

The hall fell silent, drawing the attention of those farther away. But before they could approach, someone reacted.

“A very unique perspective…” Wadrick raised his glass. “Though the war is over, its scars remain as a warning to all—peace is hard-won!”

“To peace!”

Many, including the President and Truman, raised their glasses in response. After the toast, Wadrick excused himself and left the crowd with Lynch.

Everyone knew Lynch had come with Wadrick’s daughter, so no one found it strange.

But in reality, both Truman and the President, along with their aides, had realized Lynch had said a bit too much.

Even now, as the Federation faced an unprecedented economic depression and a tidal wave of bankruptcies—with countless people unemployed and homeless—the Federation remained one of the most economically powerful nations on the planet.

Though times were grim, it was still easy for the government and banks to come up with money.

Of course, just because the government and banks had money didn’t mean the people did. That was why life was hard. But it wasn’t like the government and banks had done nothing. Hadn’t they already offered low-interest, unsecured loans based on a person’s social status and credit?

As for other countries—

Many were still in the early stages of postwar reconstruction. Their workers weren’t even paid—just given enough food to stave off hunger for themselves and their families.

Compared to them, the Baylor Federation was still immensely wealthy—wealthy enough to launch an economic war.

Lynch hadn’t spelled it all out, but for those who dealt with these matters daily and studied international policy, it was already clear what shape such a war might take.

Which is why they felt Lynch had gone too far. After all, they were moderates within the Progressive Party. These were things better said by radicals.

That’s also why Wadrick stepped in. He didn’t know if others would help Lynch, or whether Lynch even realized how radical his words had been. So he had to act.

Not because he thought Lynch was a good kid—but because he didn’t want to be seen as part of the radicals.

Factional divides within the party could lead to complications, and given current domestic and global trends, the moderates’ approach was far more suitable.

People were just emerging from a period of devastation. They didn’t want more disruption. Radicalism would only drag them back into chaos. A moderate stance was the wiser path.

Outside the crowd, Wadrick swirled his glass and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have said it so plainly…” Lynch smiled without agreeing or denying it, giving Wadrick a strange feeling.

Just now, Lynch had acted exactly as someone his age might—sharp-edged and defiant when needed, not worrying whether it was appropriate, as long as it made people notice him.

Yet at other times, he didn’t act young at all. He remained composed, unlike most his age. Right now, he just smiled, leaving Wadrick uncertain whether he had understood or not.

“Did you come up with all that yourself?” Wadrick couldn’t resist asking. That so-called merchant’s perspective sounded simple to some, but it was actually sharp and incisive.

Until now, the Federation’s Defense Ministry had always defined the key to victory in terms of military strength. Radicals and the military alike focused on troop numbers, artillery, and the size of land and naval forces.

That was the standard thinking. But Lynch had identified another layer—the role of economics in warfare.

Even if his insights were still rudimentary, they opened a new door for others, allowing them to see what they’d never seen before and think in new directions.

It didn’t sound like something a 21-year-old could come up with. Yes, Wadrick had already looked into Lynch—he even knew which hospital and which nurse had delivered him.

So he found it hard to believe Lynch had developed those ideas alone. Not because he looked down on the lower class, but because they spent their days just trying to survive. They didn’t have the time or energy to think on that level.

You could ask any homeless man the name of the Progressive Party’s chairman and he wouldn’t know. So how could one expect them to offer sharp insights into federal policy?

Lynch looked at Wadrick—not angry, not pleased. He simply shrugged. “Fine, I heard it from someone else…”

“You’re lying,” Wadrick saw through him immediately. “You’re lying.”

Lynch maintained the same demeanor. “You don’t believe I came up with it myself. I say it was someone else’s, and you still don’t believe me.”

“Mr. Wadrick, you’re not God. You don’t get to decide what’s true and what’s false.”

They locked eyes—one filled with doubt, the other calm.

After about ten seconds, Wadrick’s gaze softened. He took a sip of wine and raised his glass slightly. “I’m sorry. I was too presumptuous.”

Lynch clinked his glass and sipped. “It’s fine. Judging by appearances has always surrounded us.”

“Just like we talk about inner beauty with women who’d throw themselves at us if we flashed a bit of cash, but we never spare a glance at the plain-looking girl with a kind heart.”

“Vulgarity and shallowness are part of human nature—it’s hard to erase. I forgive you.”

Wadrick chuckled. Lynch had just called him shallow and suspicious, but he found it amusing.

It had been years since anyone had spoken to him that way. Ever since people started calling him Mr. Wadrick or Executive Director, deference had become the norm.

It was as if people were supposed to behave like that—so Lynch’s attitude came as a pleasant surprise.

He laughed for a moment, then nodded. “You’re interesting, Lynch. A very smart young man. But don’t think that means you get to date my daughter.”

He paused. “If I gave you the opportunity, what would you do next?”

Lynch’s face lit up with a bright, almost blinding smile. “I would do what the Baylor Federation once did—cross endless oceans, come to this land, and help the natives build a civilized world. Let the light of civilization shine across the earth!”

Wadrick gave him a strange look, uncertain whether Lynch’s meaning matched his own interpretation.

Elsewhere, a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Severella stood beside her, talking. It was her mother. Their eyes had also fallen on Lynch and Wadrick.

“They sometimes have similar expressions, don’t you think?” Severella’s mother smiled. It wasn’t a baseless comment—there really was a resemblance at times.

The girl said nothing, but she felt the same. Both men seemed to have something extraordinary about them—like they were destined for success.

Her mother’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly she sighed. She too had learned the details about Lynch. A young man like him would never become their son-in-law.

He’s not qualified—not even close. He’s a hundred thousand miles from the minimum standard. He’s not even a member of the Saint Harmony.

In this family, all three—Wadrick, his wife, and Severella—are members of the Saint Harmony.

Wadrick’s wife clearly understood what lay behind her daughter’s expression and demeanor. When a young girl begins to take an interest in a man, it signals the arrival of danger.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too late. They had ways to reverse this. The simplest was to make sure they didn’t see each other for a while.

Time and distance can sever any bond of affection. People like to romanticize love as something sacred and inseparable, but in reality, it’s easy to divide.

“How long have you known each other?” she asked again.

Severella had already been silent once; she couldn’t avoid it again. “Just over three days. Before that, we didn’t even know each other. He just wanted a suitable companion for the occasion.”

“And I… you know. Father didn’t want to bring me here. I only wanted to prove that I could get here without him.”