On the lawn, two people sat facing each other. A gust of autumn wind blew by, the bleak autumn chill akin to a killer’s murderous intent—warm as spring, yet sending a cold shiver down one’s spine.
The diplomat wrapped his clothes tighter around himself and fell into silence.
Mr. Truman unabashedly admitted that he was behind all of this. Although it was unpleasant, it wasn’t hate-inducing.
This was much better than discovering the truth himself long after the decision was made. An unpleasant... well, sowhat detestable guy, but not nauseating. This explanation suddenly seed much more acceptable.
In fact, at this point, he didn’t have many options left to choose from.
Once he returned ho, the royal family would definitely make an example of him. Over the years, he had beco too familiar with that decayed and outdated country. Everyone there wanted to seize more power, and no one was willing to listen to any valuable advice.
Nagariel was not weak. He had held this belief ever since graduating from Gafura, even during his indulgent days in the capitalistic life of the Federation. He never thought of Nagariel as a weak country.
It might not be technologically advanced, but the country had a large population, and population was potential for developnt. Unfortunately, the dostic clans only cared about their benefits and didn’t even want to listen to so of his ideas...
Now, he had fewer choices than ever.
If he returned, he would die, and so would his family. Staying here, on the other hand...
He glanced at Mr. Truman, who sat across from him, and was annoyed by the "you have no choice, better surrender soon" smile on his face.
This annoyance drove him to do sothing even he didn’t expect. He leaned forward, almost over the table, and waved Mr. Truman closer, who thought the diplomat had sothing confidential to say and leaned in as well.
Then... a fist smashed into Mr. Truman’s nose, causing blood to erupt.
Yes, erupt. It might have been due to the discomfort from the broken blood vessel causing Mr. Truman’s lungs to contract, hoping to expel the "foreign object" in his nasal cavity with airflow. It was a natural bodily reaction, leading to the initial spurt of nosebleed!
He fell back into his chair, spreading his arms and looking at the blood on his hands and arms, even his pants.
The surrounding Special Agents had already leapt onto the grass, advancing quickly with guns raised. If the diplomat made any further suspicious moves, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.
The diplomat sat back down. He felt much better. He picked up his coffee cup elegantly, like a Gafura noble, pinching the cup handle with his little finger, savoring the fragrance of the tea, a satisfied smile lingering on his lips.
Mr. Truman raised his hand, telling them to lower their guns and leave the vicinity.
He took out a handkerchief to press against his still-bleeding nose, looking at the diplomat across the table. "Your options have beco even fewer."
The diplomat shrugged indifferently, just like Mr. Truman had earlier. "Why choose? We’ll soon be colleagues, but the precondition is that my family must appear before unhard."
Mr. Truman’s smile grew wider; this was the best outco. However, he shook his head and said, "I’m sorry, I can’t do that because..."
In the diplomat’s astonished gaze, he revealed the truth, "It’s all fake."
"We found your friend and bribed him with just twenty thousand dollars and a federal citizenship. Then he forged this telegram and also helped us forge the royal telegram. In reality, your family is doing quite well."
"Bringing them here hastily would instead cause unnecessary chaos and wouldn’t benefit you. Your current work is very important."
After hearing Mr. Truman’s words, the diplomat laughed out of anger, "You’re a real bastard, Mr. Truman!"
He had already made his choice, and he had no qualifications to regret it, which was why he found it both angering and funny. He had been fooled by such a lowly trick!
If only he had waited a few more days, he would have known the truth. If the royal family of the Nagariel United Kingdom really intended to apprehend him, they would have already sent a replacent diplomat on the way to the Federation, and they would have dispatched soone to bring him back too.
Just a few days, three to five days, with no ships arriving, no new diplomat, nor those sent to capture him, he would naturally realize these things were fake.
But humans can’t be so calm and objective when facing this world, analyzing this world.
The telegram from his close friend beca the straw that made him certain it wasn’t a scam. There might not be many people in the whole world who knew about his relationship with his close friend, which he considered the most reliable layer of protection.
Combined with the shocking and terrifying content of the telegram, even though he had a decent ability to withstand psychological pressure, he was caught off guard.
"How did you find him?" He wasn’t too concerned about how much money the other party took. He was just curious about how Mr. Truman found that person.
Mr. Truman spoke in a sowhat muffled voice, "We checked on other Nagariel nationals who were also studying in Gafura during your ti and found so interesting characters among them, including your friend."
Alright, they had taken such a thorough approach. The diplomat could only sigh, "What do you want to do?"
Mr. Truman’s expression was sowhat nuanced, "It’s not ’you’, it’s ’we’ who need to decide what to do next!"
Three days later, a heavy envelope was delivered to the coast of Nagariel’s ngwu Province from a sealed mailbox, and under the escort of a group of people, this mailbox was eventually presented before the visible Grand President, Chief, and King of the Nagariel United Kingdom.
This is a very complex title; according to the Nagariel people’s own view, they only have a Chief, and no Grand President and King—those are external titles.
The local clans, though referred to as clans, were initially tribes linked by blood relations. A Provincial Governor is a Chief, and the Chief of the largest and strongest tribal clan is the Grand Chief.
The title of Grand President was added to cater to the mainstream international power, as at least a President sounds more fitting for a civilized society compared to a Chief.
The title of King erged as a sort of honorary role after they integrated all resources and designated a fixed domain.
In any case, discussing this matter is too complicated and largely unnecessary; let’s just continue using the title of King.
Simultaneously, three people and a dog disembarked from the ship.
"Damn, it’s really slly here. Do the people here never take baths? I can already imagine the thick grease on them!" The woman with the little dog could never stop chattering.
The small dog, which she held and was slightly bigger than a palm, also showed no affinity for this foul-slling place. The sense of sll of dogs is far stronger than that of humans, and the newcors here find it difficult to endure the sll, not to ntion this little dog from a developed country.
It sneezed while barking frantically, seemingly fighting invisible odors wafting through the air.
The young man who disembarked afterward also showed complete disdain, but his disdain was different from others—he was appalled by his deceased father Mr. Simon’s decision to settle here after abandoning them and marrying a slly woman here who bore a slly son. Truly an incomprehensible man.
As for the last one disembarking, the lawyer seed unaffected by the surroundings.
"Don’t you think it’s slly here?" The woman couldn’t resist asking, seeing his bright smile.
"Slly?" The lawyer was a bit surprised, "Of course, it’s indeed slly here, but as a professional lawyer, I should represent absolute professionalism before my clients!"
Not to ntion the sll; as long as the paynt is sufficient, he would even eat feces if required.
Forty percent legal fees—he calculated, based on the employers’ words, at least two to three hundred thousand Fla (Fla). This amount of money would allow him to rest for a long period.
Even if he lost the lawsuit, he could receive twelve percent in fees, roughly around forty thousand Fla; there is no reason not to smile.
This is the nature of the lawyer profession, especially the perks in being a divorce lawyer or inheritance lawyer.
Win or lose, a large sum of money will co in either way.
"Where are we heading now?" The woman asked, covering her mouth and nose, "It’s too slly here!"
"First, we’ll head to the local judicial agency. We need to first understand the local inheritance laws, and preferably..." He looked around, "secure so help from capable locals. If soone is willing to speak for us, then the proceeding tasks will be much easier."
"Capable locals?" Simon’s son repeated the phrase, puzzled by what it ant.
Over the years, all he learned was how to incur losses and never gained any insight from the experience.
The lawyer squeezed out another smile, "Yes, Mr. Simon’s wealthy friends, so of his political acquaintances—they can all help us."
"I wonder if you’ve heard a saying?" He uttered a warning proverb with a special emotional tone, "The victory and defeat are always decided outside the courtroom!"
"That’s what we need..."
The group quickly disappeared into the streets of Nagariel, and no one knew whether their attempts would fulfill their objectives smoothly—perhaps they could, or perhaps they couldn’t.
With the arrival of November, Nagariel’s hot climate finally started to cool down, dropping from daily temperatures of around thirty degrees to twenty-four or five degrees, making everything pleasant.
Sitting inside the room, Lynch listened to Asir’s report.
During this ti, he had moved around the ngwu Province completely, not hard during the unrest, with his local identity effectively sparing him from becoming a target.
This was a fresh experience for him, knowing that when he heard the civilians chanting "Expel foreigners" or "Beat the foreigners" while charging towards the hotel, he almost peed his pants.
But when people rushed past him, it hit him—he was a Nagariel citizen.
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