Every country has its own troubles. Just as most federal citizens opposed waves of immigration, Gephras resented seeing their projects and profits taken over by the Federation.
However, unlike the Federation, demands from the lower classes in Gephra weren’t so easily t—because their upper class wasn’t ford through elections.
Still, placating the lower classes had its benefits—it could reduce dissatisfaction with the elite and ease public anger.
Governor Sedel’s stance perfectly aligned with the sentint of most Gephras in the Allian province: Yes, the Federals needed to be put in their place. Let them understand this is Gephra’s Allia, not the Federation’s!
In the center of Zhuris, after two rounds of inspections, Lynch’s motorcade finally entered the city’s innermost area—within the old moat.
Many historically rich nations built cities around common structures: an ancient city core, a family’s ancestral castle, or a historic free trade market.
Zhuris had once been a small city with walls and a moat. Though the walls were later demolished, the moat remained.
Now, nearly all Gephras lived inside the moat—for safety.
Living outside was dangerous. There was no telling when a rogue rebel might sneak in to assassinate soone. It had happened before, fueling local ideological division.
Gephras lived in the best part of the city—the Imperial Zone. Outside the moat was where the natives lived.
These two incompatible groups would never share true friendship. Only conflict, which would eventually escalate into sothing far worse.
Inside the moat, lights blazed bright. Outside, pitch darkness.
“We need to humiliate the Federals!” Inside a grand house within the moat, a group of Gephra rchants were discussing the latest developnt. Word had co that the emperor approved the Federation envoy’s request: Federal personnel would receive equal treatnt in the Allian region.
If it were just workers or simple businesspeople, fine. But these newcors made their intentions blatantly clear—they were here to steal business.
That was unacceptable. From top to bottom, the Gephra business community resented Lynch and his people. But they couldn’t be too direct—this was, after all, the emperor’s decision.
The governor had his thods. So did the rchants. They wanted to disgrace Lynch. It was a warning: This is Gephra’s territory, not the Federation’s.
No matter how successful he was back ho, here he needed to keep his head down.
Soone asked, “So what do we do?”
Another suggested, “Maybe we can put the signs back up…”
These signs had beco popular in the Imperial Zone recently. Shops would hang signs stating, “Gephra Citizens Only / Inferiors Not Allowed.”
Though so, including early defectors, voiced concern, they ultimately couldn’t stop the trend.
Rumor had it the governor silently approved of the signs. He had once treated the locals with a softer touch. But they betrayed his trust—so now he’d hardened his stance.
If you can’t speak standing, then live kneeling.
So proposed using coded insults the barbaric Federals wouldn’t even understand. On this point, everyone was remarkably united.
Ten minutes later, Lynch’s car stopped outside the mansion.
As he stepped out, he saw the Gephra rchants standing on the steps—and the prominently displayed sign with its discriminatory ssage. Their smiles, polite on the surface, carried veiled arrogance. Lynch showed no visible anger.
Wearing your emotions on your face is never wise—he had learned that decades ago.
He rely paused for a mont. Unless soone was paying close attention, they wouldn’t even notice.
At the top of the steps, a man looked down at Lynch and moved his lips: “Mr. Lynch, I’m Rufe, president of the local chamber of comrce. Welco!”
Polite words—honorifics included. That was the biggest difference between Gephra and the Federation.
In the Federation, equality and freedom were core values. Legally and morally, everyone was considered equal. Even a holess man standing before the president didn’t need to use honorifics—they were equals in dignity, only differing in social roles.
Everyone believed this. Capitalists talked about it and worked toward it. Politicians too. Ordinary people truly believed it—and would keep believing.
So even two people with vastly different statuses would use casual terms to show respect for personal dignity, fairness, and liberty.
But in Gephra—a monarchy—class stratification was strict. Defying superiors was forbidden. Every level of society adhered to this rule. The masses were the lowest class of privilege. The privileged were the lowest tier of rulers. That was their worldview.
Thus, Gephras used more honorifics than Federals, and took pride in hearing themselves addressed with lofty titles like Respected or Honorable.
They used honorifics to address Lynch too—but their faces betrayed no genuine respect.
Rufe, the chamber president, looked down from above. He planned to ask Lynch whether he was a Gephra citizen the mont he stepped inside.
He already knew the answer. Lynch was a Federal. And everyone had seen the sign. At that point, they’d laugh at him.
So of these people had strange ideas. They thought it clever to mock Lynch as an illiterate who couldn’t read the sign—implying Federals were all cultural savages, descendants of thieves and criminals.
Highbrow mockery, absurdly subtle. Another person might not even notice. They’d be confused when laughter broke out—and that confusion would only deepen the insult.
My God, look at this bumpkin—he doesn’t even know we’re mocking him! What a fool!
Sothing like that.
But Lynch didn’t give them the chance.
He didn’t step inside. Instead, he looked around. Even in the Imperial Zone, there were dense night patrols.
Both sides held their ground. Lynch wasn’t in a hurry. About two minutes later, a patrol unit approached.
As they passed, Lynch suddenly called out.
“I’m Lynch. You probably know who I am.”
The patrol mbers all nodded. A newly minted imperial noble, even if just a baron without formal investiture—still counted for sothing.
Unlike the rchants—shielded by noble backgrounds and unchecked arrogance—the patrol soldiers were relatively normal.
Lynch pointed to the one holding a dog. “Could I ask a favor?”
The soldier stood at attention and saluted. “Of course, sir!”
Lynch nodded, glanced at the uneasy expressions on the steps, then said, “Would you mind bringing your pet over to stand beside that stairway?”
The soldier glanced at the nearby steps, said nothing, and walked over. He faced Lynch and stood at attention. “Yes, sir!”
Only then did Lynch adjust his clothes and step through the door. Instead of approaching the steps to greet the Gephra rchants above, he walked to the side, bent down, and looked at the dog. “Hello, I’m Lynch…”
The expressions of the n on the steps instantly soured. They had intended to humiliate Lynch, leaving him no room to retaliate.
But unexpectedly, their plan backfired—and they were the ones humiliated.
By convention, the host should be the first to greet the invited guest as a show of mutual respect.
Today’s host was the president of the local chamber of comrce. But Lynch ignored the real host and instead greeted a dog—personifying it. With that discriminatory sign prominently beside them, the n’s faces turned purple with anger.
The soldier, sensing sothing was wrong, grew uneasy. “Sir, may I return to my patrol?”
Lynch took out a plain-colored cigar from his pocket and tucked it into the soldier’s chest pocket. “Of course, soldier.”
The soldier saluted and left quickly with the patrol unit. Small fry like them couldn’t afford to get caught up in this.
The president, now recovering, forced a smile. “Mr. Lynch, you do have a sense of humor.”
Lynch smiled. “Not as much as all of you.”
A thoroughly unpleasant first eting. The president began to realize that Lynch wouldn’t be easily dealt with. Standing on Gephra soil, he still showed no hint of submission. Where did this man get such nerve?
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