Chapter 299: Close Friends, Mentors, and True Companions

The song Lynch hummed carried a deep cultural resonance, a flavor rooted in ethnic tradition—hard to describe but unmistakable.

Asel asked curiously, “Mr. Lynch, is this a federal song? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.”

Lynch glanced at him, smiled, and stopped humming. He explained, “It was popular during the cultural filling period. Later, the Education Committee stopped promoting it. It’s normal you haven’t heard it—most people in the Federation haven’t.”

The Federation’s history was neither long nor glorious. A group of bandits had taken over foreign land to build their nation; there was little to boast about.

While others spoke of dynasties and grand history, or sang heroic ballads like miracles…

The Federation had nothing to proudly offer.

So they created cultural filling: inserting indigenous culture into their history, awkwardly recasting invasion, occupation, and slaughter as a “new page of civilized progress,” while depicting indigenous peaceful life as “feudal barbarism full of backwardness.”

Though feudalism was brutal, this rewriting stretched the Federation’s brief few hundred years of history into over a thousand.

It was ridiculous and sad, reflecting the Federation’s inferiority complex—they desperately wanted to appear as historic as other nations.

During this era, the Federation introduced many policies and propaganda, including a song called Hunting Tune (19), a cheerful, folk-flavored song originally sung by indigenous hunters returning with game.

It was added to the elementary curriculum during the cultural filling period as a required song.

But soon it was removed after indigenous rights groups revealed data: the Federation’s invaders had sung this simple tune while slaughtering natives.

Some footage showed gentlemen in vests, bowler hats, and spurs, holding hunting rifles, bloodied faces, stepping over countless native corpses while singing loudly.

The song was socially dead; its cheerful tune and uplifting message were never mentioned again. Asel’s ignorance of it was normal.

Moved, Asel said, “It’s a beautiful song. More people should hear it; they would like it.”

Like? Lynch smiled bitterly. No, they wished this history never existed—even if, at the time, slaughtering natives was an inevitable, necessary step.

Around 6:10, the convoy stopped before a palace-like complex. Asel explained it wasn’t a historical site, but the provincial governor’s residence.

The architecture formed a 气 shape—one main building with four symmetrical wings, surrounded by lawns and an artificial river teeming with fearless ornamental fish. Wealth and power proved their greatness—and their terror.

Mayor Mishehaye personally greeted Lynch. Though technically the host of the banquet, the real organizer was the provincial governor, so Mishehaye’s status was a notch lower.

He couldn’t send the governor himself to greet Lynch, so he took the initiative, smiling warmly and even opening Lynch’s car door.

“You’re too kind. I’m not used to such treatment,” Lynch said modestly.

Mishehaye shook his head. “No, today you are our most honored guest. You deserve to enjoy it fully.” He led Lynch into the grand hall.

Words like exquisite couldn’t capture the building’s interior luxury—gold, jewels, animal trophies everywhere. Lynch even saw what looked like lion or tiger pelts laid as carpets at entrances.

No incense burned, yet a subtle, pervasive scent of fresh wood filled the air. The main building material was a deep red wood with golden threads running through it, vibrant and eye-catching.

The Federation’s temperate climate lacked special plants and animals, so such exotic materials and gems sold for high prices.

To prove their power, humans hunted apex predators, preserving them as trophies to show dominance over nature.

Some wealthy individuals even had “zoos” filled with mounted specimens, a status symbol for guests.

But since the Federation Environmental Agency was established, many such acts became illegal—destroying vegetation, dumping industrial waste, and hunting fierce beasts were banned, with protected areas set up.

Notably, the Federation also created three reserves for indigenous peoples, claiming to protect their rights—though outsiders wondered how treating natives like animals related to human rights. Regardless, the protection was effective.

As the heavy main door opened, an even grander room appeared before Lynch.

It was huge and magnificent, with ceilings over ten meters high, inspiring awe and a sense of smallness. Words failed to describe its opulence—only overwhelming impact.

The crowd awaited eagerly. After half a month of Asel’s promotion, the city and provincial elite knew a wealthy Federation investor was coming to Nagaryll.

Privately, the governor had checked Lynch’s assets to avoid losses.

They’d been fooled before by fake investors; now they were cautious—investigate first, then arrange.

According to Federation sources, Lynch’s wealth exceeded ten billion Nagaryll currency, confirming the banquet’s hosting at the governor’s mansion.

“This is the police chief, whom you met yesterday…” Mishehaye introduced guests, starting with the police chief.

The chief removed his cap, tucked it at his waist, and shook Lynch’s hand. “If there are any security issues in this city, contact me anytime. I’m at your service, Mr. Lynch.”

His attitude was humble because the police chief was not among the nobles. In Nagaryll, the chief was the ruler’s enforcer and lackey, a low-status job even wealthy families avoided.

Most police chiefs came from commoner backgrounds and served as tools for the real rulers. They were often harsher to the populace than the elite.

When useless, they were discarded, sometimes to pacify public anger. So the police chief’s status was low.

Next came local officials, wealthy merchants, celebrities, and socialites, until the provincial governor appeared.

It was Lynch’s first meeting with the governor, who wore well-fitted, locally styled clothes—a distinctive feature.

Unlike others dressed in international fashion, showing blind admiration for developed countries, the governor’s entire outfit reflected Nagaryll’s style.

He wore wide-legged reddish-brown pants and an unusual top with many fabric strips wrapping and twisting around his body—a strange yet unique look.

The provincial governor’s face looked very friendly, not stern, and his voice was gentle, giving the impression of someone easy to get along with.

“This gentleman requires a formal introduction,” Mishehaye said with a slight bow. “He is Drag Bilre, the governor of Magulana Province, a beloved friend of the people, and a mentor and close companion on our life journey.”

Mishehaye’s choice of words for the governor was completely different from those used for others, highlighting the governor’s unique status.

In Nagaryll, the position of provincial governor had become almost hereditary. After the upper class closed off avenues for advancement, the elite society began to rot from within.

In a society where power was concentrated and class rigidified, people treated authority as private property. This led to abuse of power and made leadership transitions difficult.

Furthermore, Nagaryll had no concept of term limits. Decades-long reigns allowed rulers to suppress all opposition and smoothly pass power to their heirs.

The central government of Nagaryll had considered addressing these issues, but the historical problems were deeply entrenched. That this flawed system still endured was largely due to the regime’s main rival—the theocracy—playing a crucial role.