On the lawn, two n sat facing each other. The autumn wind blew, carrying a chill beneath the seemingly gentle warmth, like a hidden killer’s intent.
The diplomat wrapped his coat tighter and fell silent.
Mr. Truman openly admitted that everything was his doing. Though unpleasant, it was not hateful.
This was far better than discovering the truth long after making a decision—a botherso, sowhat hateful man, but not disgusting. Such an explanation felt much easier to accept.
At this point, he had few choices left.
If he returned ho, the royal family would co after him. Over the years, he had learned too much about that corrupt, backward country. Everyone there wanted more power and refused to listen to any valuable advice.
Nagaryll was not weak. Ever since graduating from Gephra, he had believed this. Even living in the Federation, imrsed daily in corrupt capitalist life, he never saw Nagaryll as weak.
Its technology might be underdeveloped, but it had a large population, and population ant potential for growth. Unfortunately, the clans only looked out for themselves and refused to even hear his ideas.
Now, he had no choice.
Go back and die, and his family would die with him. Stay here…
He glanced at Mr. Truman sitting opposite, annoyed by the smirk that said, “You have no choice, better surrender early.”
That anger made him do sothing even he didn’t expect. Leaning forward, almost crossing the table, he beckoned to Truman. Truman thought he wanted to speak privately and leaned in.
Then—his fist slamd hard into Truman’s nose. Blood instantly sprayed out.
Yes, sprayed. Possibly from broken blood vessels causing discomfort, Truman’s lungs contracted to blow the foreign object out, an instinctive reaction causing the blood to spurt.
He fell back in his chair, hands open, looking at the blood on his arms and pants.
Agents nearby rushed onto the lawn, guns raised and moving quickly toward them, ready to shoot without hesitation if the diplomat made any suspicious move.
The diplomat calmly sat back. Feeling better, he lifted his coffee cup with the elegance of a Gephra noble, pinky raised, savoring the floral tea’s aroma, a satisfied smile on his lips.
Truman raised his hand, signaling the agents to lower their weapons and leave the area.
He pulled out a handkerchief to stem the bleeding from his nose and looked at the diplomat across the table. “Your choices are becoming fewer.”
The diplomat shrugged indifferently, just like Truman had earlier. “Why choose? We’ll soon be colleagues—on one condition: my family must appear before unhard.”
Truman’s smile deepened, the best outco. Yet he shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t do that because…”
Amid the diplomat’s shocked expression, he revealed the truth: “It’s all fake.”
“We found your friend and bribed him—just twenty thousand and a Federation citizenship. He forged that telegram and also helped us fake one from the royal family. Your family is actually doing quite well.”
“Bringing them back hastily would cause unnecessary chaos and hurt your position. Your work right now is important.”
Hearing this, the diplomat laughed bitterly. “You’re a bastard, Mr. Truman!”
He had made his choice and couldn’t back down. That was why he was both angry and amused—he had been fooled by such a cheap trick!
If he had waited a few days, he would have learned the truth. If the Nagaryll royal family really wanted to arrest him, they would have already sent a replacent diplomat and the people to capture him to the Federation. ꭆ𝔞₦𝖔₿ĘȘ
If no ship arrived in three to five days, no new diplomat or captors ca, he would naturally know it was a lie.
But people can’t always stay calm and objective when facing such things.
The telegram from his close friend was his last straw—very few in the world knew of their relationship, which made him believe it was trustworthy.
Plus, the telegram’s content was shocking, horrifying. Even with a strong mind, he lost his footing.
“How did you find him?” He wasn’t interested in how much they paid, just curious how Truman tracked the man down.
Truman spoke gruffly, “We checked Nagaryllans studying in Gephra at the sa ti as you, found so interesting characters—your friend among them.”
Well, they took it seriously. The diplomat sighed. “What do you want to do?”
Truman’s expression shifted slightly. “Not you, but we. What we’re going to do next.”
Three days later, a heavy envelope arrived in a sealed mailbox at a coastal port in the Magulana Province of Nagaryll. Escorted by several people, it was ultimately delivered to the public president, grand chief, and king of the Kingdom of Nagaryll.
This title was complex. According to Nagaryll’s own view, they only had a grand chief. President and king were external titles.
Local clans were essentially blood-related tribes. The provincial governor was the chief, and the strongest tribal chief was the grand chief.
The title president was added to cater to international powers, sounding more civilized than chief.
King was a mostly ceremonial title after uniting resources and establishing a fixed domain.
Discussing this was complicated and unnecessary, so king was used for simplicity.
anwhile, three people and a dog disembarked from a ship.
“This place reeks! Do these people never bathe? I can already imagine the thick grease on them!” The woman with the small dog chirped incessantly.
Her tiny dog, barely larger than a palm, disliked the foul odor as well. Dogs have keener noses than humans; newcors found the sll unbearable, especially this dog from a developed country.
Sneezing and barking, it seed to be fighting an invisible stench.
The young man who got off next wore a disgusted expression of a different kind—disgusted that his deadbeat father, Simon, had settled here after abandoning them, married this foul woman, and fathered a foul-slling son. Truly an irrational man.
The last to disembark was a lawyer, seemingly unaffected by the place.
“Don’t you think it stinks here?” the woman asked the lawyer, noticing his cheerful smile.
“Stinks?” The lawyer was surprised. “Of course, it slls bad, but as a professional lawyer, I must maintain absolute professionalism in front of my client!”
Don’t talk about the sll—if the money’s right, he’d even eat shit.
Forty percent of the lawyer’s fee, he calculated. Based on the clients’ accounts, it would be at least two or three hundred thousand Gael. That sum would allow him to rest for quite a while.
Even if he lost the case, he’d still get about twelve percent, roughly forty thousand Gael. He had every reason to smile.
That’s the advantage of being a lawyer, especially a divorce or inheritance lawyer.
Win or lose, plenty of money would co in.
“Where do we go now?” The woman covered her mouth and nose, “It slls terrible here!”
“First, to the local judicial office. We need to understand the local inheritance laws and ideally…” He glanced around, “…get help from capable locals. If soone’s willing to speak for us, things will go much smoother.”
“Capable locals?” Simon’s son repeated, unsure what that ant.
Over the years, he’d only learned how to lose money, not how to gain experience from it.
The lawyer forced a smile. “Yes, so wealthy friends of Simon, so political connections—they can help us.”
“Have you heard this saying?” He spoke with a certain intensity, a warning phrase: “The outco is always decided outside the courtroom!”
“That’s exactly what we need…”
They soon disappeared into Nagaryll’s streets. No one knew if their mission would succeed—maybe it would, maybe not.
With November’s arrival, Nagaryll’s hot climate finally cooled, dropping from around thirty degrees to twenty-four or twenty-five. Everything beca more pleasant.
Inside a room, Lynch listened to Asel’s report.
He had already toured the Magulana Province area during this unrest and remained unhard. His local status had kept him from becoming a target.
This was a new experience for him. When he heard the locals shouting Expel foreigners! or Kill the foreigners! charging toward the hotel, he almost lost control.
But as they rushed past him, he realized—he was one of them.
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