Chapter 318: Gold Rush

“…We were very close to the migrating herd. The grass on the prairie was tall, and we didn’t realize danger had already crept up around us…”

In a spacious, well-lit room, gentlemen and ladies of high society gathered. Some stood, others sat. Each was impeccably dressed, graceful, and elegant, listening attentively to Lynch’s tale of adventure.

Their attention was fully focused—Lynch’s experiences were firsthand, and things none of them had ever gone through. Precisely because of that, they were enthralled.

When he described the danger of hunting a leopard-lion, everyone held their breath. Some women clutched their chests in alarm—a testament to the thrill of the story.

Standing at the center of attention with a wine glass in hand, Lynch’s slicked-back hair and slightly outdated attire gave him an air of maturity beyond his years.

He nodded slightly, raising his glass. “Just then, a leopard-lion suddenly leapt out of the grass to my left. It thought I was prey. It was hunting me!”

Gasps from the women. The men took sips of their wine to ease the tension.

“Its gaping jaws looked big enough to swallow my head whole—yellowed fangs, a terrible stench. In that instant, I thought of death.”

The room fell silent. Only the echo of his last word lingered. Lynch looked around. “Yes, that was the first time I ever truly thought about death. Until then, I believed it was something only old people or the unlucky had to worry about. I was young—I wasn’t supposed to think of such things. But in that moment, I felt it.”

“The value of life. And a deep fear and reverence for death.”

His words swayed the emotions of everyone present. He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle.

Life has always been a solemn topic, and he handled it well—especially because he’d lived through it.

After a moment, a faint smile returned to his face. “I thank the Lord for not abandoning me. Even in a foreign land, I survived. I bent down just in time…”

He mimicked a dodging motion—not the most elegant move for such a formal gathering. But no one minded. In fact, they wanted more.

“Leopard-lions can jump very high—maybe three, maybe four meters?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. What I do know is it lunged at me, trying to make me its next meal. Unfortunately for it, I wasn’t ready to die. I dodged its bite, and it flew right over my head. I could feel the fur on its belly brush against my neck!”

“I was lucky to survive. And that’s what gives me the chance to stand here and share everything I saw in that distant land with you.”

“You’re incredibly lucky, Mr. Lynch. These stories are both thrilling and moving,” a young woman couldn’t help but say. Lynch’s gaze lingered on her. She was clearly shaken.

Language truly is a miraculous thing.

“My lady,” Lynch smiled, “these aren’t stories. They’re real. Every word. May the Lord be my witness!”

The young woman blushed deeper and lowered her head. “Forgive me, Mr. Lynch. I used the wrong word. You are a true adventurer.”

Lynch grinned and pointed at her. “Adventurer—I like that word.”

He looked at the others. “In fact, we are all adventurers. My journey in Nagaryll was an adventure. But so is everyone’s life. Our nation is in the midst of one.”

“To me, any exploration of the unknown is an adventure. Life, work, even our expansion of international relations under the President’s leadership—that’s adventure. We are all adventurers.”

The words struck a chord. A gentleman stood up and raised his glass. “To the adventurers! A toast to Mr. Lynch!”

Arms lifted, fine wine poured, smiles bloomed. Lynch felt right at home. Since returning to the Federation, he’d been leveraging his past fame and these tales of adventure to launch a speaking tour and appear on various programs.

Public curiosity about the outside world was in full bloom. Most people already knew his stories, but they still gathered to hear him tell them again. His influence was growing fast.

At the very least, everyone knew the name Lynch the Adventurer and everything he’d seen in Nagaryll. All of it was part of his plan.

After over two hours, the crowd left satisfied. Lynch received a few notes—some women wanted to talk business…and maybe a few more private adventures, like cave exploration.

Naturally, Lynch declined. He was a man of discipline.

Once almost all the guests had left, one man remained. Lynch looked at him. The man looked back.

After a few seconds of silent eye contact, the guest nodded. “Great story. Did you make it all up?”

Unfazed by the question, Lynch shook his head. “No. I lived every moment of it.”

The guest chuckled. “I don’t believe that…” He glanced toward the door, then added, “Want to grab a drink?”

The venue was a hall at the Eminence Grand Hotel, rented by Lynch to host this event and promote his tales.

Everything needs packaging. Everything needs PR. Lynch understood this well.

Now that the story had been told, the hotel staff waited to clean up. They wouldn’t rush Lynch—but he knew not to overstay.

He checked his watch and nodded. “Of course, Mr. Truman.”

That’s right—the last guest was none other than Truman, head of the Office for International Affairs and Policy. Rumor had it he might soon be appointed to the cabinet, not just serve as a department head.

His recent takes on foreign policy had been visionary—and eerily accurate.

He’d also been pushing a controversial idea: the doctrine of “national interest above all else.”

It wasn’t new—capitalists had lived by it for years. But Truman reframed it within the context of international policy, using sharp, cutting language to drive home the point: in global affairs, compassion and morality are useless.

The President seemed to appreciate his stance. Others found it… unsettling.

Lately, Lynch had been aggressively promoting his adventures. On the surface, they were just personal legends. But Truman sensed something more.

They changed clothes and found a quiet corner in an ordinary bar. No one disturbed them.

They ordered two drinks and a few small dishes. Then Truman asked, “What are you planning?”

He didn’t believe Lynch was doing all this for no reason. He’d studied the young man. Lynch never did anything without purpose. He already had a goal in mind—and that’s why all of this was happening.

Lynch’s gaze settled on the glass in his hand. He swirled the amber liquid, which shimmered with a faint blue tint under the changing lights. The scent rising from the rim was tempting, but he didn’t drink. He just watched. He was thinking.

After fifteen, maybe twenty seconds, he looked up and met Truman’s eyes.

“You ever heard of gold prospectors?”

The abrupt question caught Truman off guard for a moment, but he quickly understood what Lynch was implying.

“You want to turn Nagaryll into the Wild West?”

Though both men phrased their statements as questions, their tone made them sound like affirmations.

Lynch took a sip from his glass, set it down, and swallowed the drink slowly. He looked Truman straight in the eyes.

“Gold everywhere.”

“Whether material or immaterial, it’s all gold. We only need to bend down and pick it up. It reminds me of what people call the best of times—not that long ago.”

Truman didn’t respond, simply watching him. He didn’t believe Lynch’s ambition was that simple.

A faint smile appeared on Lynch’s face.

“But we have many opponents. I don’t fear them. I’m even confident I can crush them—but that would take time.”

“Mr. Truman, the world is changing too fast. I don’t have the luxury of taking it slow. I need help. I need people I can rely on.”

Mr. Truman furrowed his brow and muttered a single word—

“Prospectors.”

He had more or less grasped Lynch’s idea, though he found it somewhat absurd and a little comical.

“You really have that much confidence?”

“When you hesitate, you’ve already surrendered to fate,” Lynch replied—saying something Truman hadn’t expected at all.