Lynch was not acting on a whim. In fact, he had begun planning this back when the elderly Professor Dartmond, a professor of archaeology from his own school, brought the even older President Olei to shamelessly solicit knowledge. He had simply been waiting for Miss Valente to wake up so he could consult her and Elder Nikolai of the hillmen before proceeding.
The news he had learned at the banquet yesterday regarding a manifestation grade mystery relic only made him more determined to execute his plan as soon as possible.
“He has killed hundreds, if not thousands, of workers over the years, and I have long found him intolerable.” Once inside Miss Valente’s carriage, Lynch finally explained, “However, he used the Railway Workers’ Union as a scapegoat to absolve himself of responsibility for the Crown Square Massacre, and the workers who were consumed in his factory left no evidence behind.”
Miss Valente rested her chin on her hand, tilting her head to gaze into Lynch’s eyes as she spoke softly, “Actually, having evidence wouldn’t change much, would it?”
This young woman’s analysis of the situation remained as incisive as ever.
Lynch sighed. It was true, just as Miss Valente said. The Watchers had long known Chairman Grant was behind it, and the Duke’s mansion surely knew as well, yet it seemed no one wished to delve any deeper.
After all, workers in this era were of little value. No one cared for their lives; the only reason the square massacre was investigated was because the public impact was too severe. With the Railway Workers’ Union serving as a scapegoat to appease the public, that was sufficient; there was no reason to pursue the matter further into the upper echelons.
This was a limitation of the era that could not be forced. Lynch could understand their attitude, yet he still felt deeply dissatisfied. Thus, he had resolved to punish Grant in his own way, utilizing the man’s desperate hope for the tunnel project to move forward to bleed him dry in the name of various interests.
“To people who only care about money, taking their wealth is sometimes more painful than killing them. I believe he will have a very hard time sleeping for a long while, and the innocent dead may finally receive a modicum of comfort.”
“But what if he refuses your demands?” Miss Valente asked with some concern. “Those compensations combined must amount to tens of thousands of pounds. Few people could produce that much cash in a short time. Aren’t you afraid of forcing him into a corner where he fights us to the end?”
“Not at all. I understand such people all too well.” Lynch smiled. As a corporate slave in his past life, he had seen plenty of capitalists. “What they fear most is bankruptcy; once they go bankrupt, they have nothing left. To avoid that, Grant will certainly be willing to pay the price. I heard their conversation at the Douglas Bank; a wealthy banker could barely scrape together a few thousand pounds of cash each month. By that estimate, given Grant’s resources, he could manage to pull together tens of thousands of pounds if he exhausted his options. It isn’t enough to make him fight for his life. He will come to understand this eventually. Let us toast to his wisdom in advance.”
“You really are…” Miss Valente shot him a glare, though her expression held a trace of admiration. She bit her lip gently and asked, “But don’t you think you’ve forgotten something?”
“Oh?”
“Someone has been so busy for so long, even thinking of victims they don’t even know, but what about themselves?” Miss Valente’s gaze lingered on Lynch with a soft, steady intensity as she said, “Legend says that the nobles of the Mythological Era were men of principle, taking the protection of the common people as their duty, disregarding personal gain and fearing no sacrifice. Could it be that this person wishes to emulate the ancients?”
I have no idea what your ancients were like.
The thought had barely crossed his mind before a muffled chuckle echoed in his head.
Tch, is it that funny? Fine, I won’t be so blunt.
Lynch blinked and smiled, “It can’t be helped. Someone used their own actions to show me, a young lady of noble birth, how to balance the conflict between morality and responsibility, performing a display of sacrifice for me. If I don’t learn a thing or two, what if she decides to blow my head off with a shotgun?”
“Hee, I wouldn’t.” The noble lady laughed until her nose wrinkled, playfully shaking her folding fan. “I’m carrying a fan today, not a weapon.”
“Really?” Lynch began rolling up his sleeves.
“Of course. It’s a very ordinary fan, look…”
Click… The sound of a gun bolt sliding back unintentionally emanated from the fan.
Silence instantly filled the carriage, broken only by the awkward rattling of the wheels. Through the front window, he could see the elderly coachman’s back twitching; he wondered if the man was having a stroke.
“Ahem, sorry, Mr. Lynch. I brought the wrong fan.”
“I’d be a fool to believe you. You young women are quite devious. No wonder they say nobles are the most deceptive creatures.” Lynch rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he straightened his expression to explain, “Actually, I didn’t forget my own interests. It’s just that if I took them from Grant, the nature of the matter would change. It would be equivalent to being bought by him, or colluding with him to accept his exploitation of the people for money. Perhaps no one would blame me, but I don’t want to sell my morality for profit, so I would rather not take anything from him. Besides, all he can offer is money, and what I truly need, he cannot give. That can only be obtained from the other side.”
“The Archaeological Association?”
“Yes. For an ancient mystery relic like the Gate of Falsehood and Reality, the Archaeological Association should be the deepest-rooted private society with knowledge of it. If we want to resolve the threat of this relic as quickly as possible, we cannot avoid needing their help. Moreover, archaeology inevitably involves frequent contact with ruins, leading to much knowledge about relics and evil gods. For certain reasons, I happen to need that knowledge. Oh, and I also need information on the red moon, which they might possess. Helping others always invites scorn, but if I show up with a generous gift, those professors surely won’t throw me out, right?”
“You explain it so clearly, but it isn’t as touching as that last sentence.”
Miss Valente blinked, a playful, knowing glint in her eyes.
“You wouldn’t have known if I didn’t say it?”
Lynch sighed deeply, distracted as he looked into her beautiful eyes. The thought that he had found her a bit dull when they first met made him want to slap himself. He wondered if realizing it only now was already too late.
“Hee… too late.”
Amidst her musical laughter, the carriage sped into the city center. After circling through the dense crowds of the Crown District, it turned toward the edge of the district.
Before them appeared a massive, circular stone building with a pointed roof. It resembled the large concert halls of his past life, tall and imposing, standing out distinctly among the elegant Victorian-style architecture.
The Great Museum of Rhine City.
There were few people coming or going at the entrance, save for two human stone statues. It was said that one was the first King of Lande, Karlga I, and the other was the founder of the Archaeological Association, Jones Drake, who was active in the mid-Fourth Age—the statue that only had one arm.
As soon as he approached the concert hall-like building, Lynch felt a splitting headache. Although it faded back to normal quickly, the intense pain left a deep impression on him.
He realized immediately that he had come to the right place. The interior was filled with mysterious filth, which was absolutely connected to the information he sought.
However, this museum was truly desolate. Upon entering, one was met with a massive, open hall of at least several hundred square meters, so empty that one could hear their own echoes.
There was only a young woman sleeping at the counter, and not a single visitor in sight.
The receptionist had a red mark on her forehead from sleeping. She rubbed her eyes in a daze, her gaze sweeping over their clothes before she immediately beamed and pushed a wooden box forward.
A donation box.
The museum was free to enter but accepted donations. However, looking at the empty box, Lynch offered a sympathetic smile.
Even if you look at me with longing, I am not donating. I’m not here to visit; I’m here to find your president.
The hope was immediately replaced by disappointment, and the smile was retracted instantly, with a skill that was painful to watch. The receptionist sulkily threw the empty box back into the counter before leading Lynch around to the office area behind the museum.
Behind a magnificent door lay a long corridor. The moment they stepped inside, a sudden burst of light erupted, and a streak of radiance arrived at the center of Lynch’s brow in an instant.
What the hell.
Rate on N.U.
