Blackstone Code-Chapter 694: Losing the Initiative

After getting what he wanted from Lynch, Akumari left on his own—he still had work to do.

With the return of the federal merchants, some factories had resumed production, making transportation suddenly a top priority.

But in just that fleeting moment, Akumari felt he had gained the most valuable asset of his life.

This asset wasn’t money, jewels, or anything tangible. It was spiritual wealth—a guiding light that helped him see through the fog and into the sunshine. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

He sincerely appreciated what Lynch had said. Now, he had ideas. He would work hard, go to the Federation to study and improve himself, and then bring what he learned back to Nagaryll to inspire others.

He wanted to witness the transformation of the Nagaryll people and see that backward, ignorant country become prosperous and strong. It might take many years to become the ideal nation he dreamed of, but he would keep watching—watching it become a happy place.

Lynch glanced at Akumari’s departing figure, mentally making a note of him. He felt it was worth giving this young man some opportunities, helping him quickly become a Level 3 employee and head to the Federation for further study.

The ruling class of Nagaryll, with the help of the Federals, had realized their shortcomings and were willing to cooperate in building a beautiful homeland. But among the lower classes, there were still some who clearly deviated from the mainstream.

They believed the Federal involvement in Nagaryll was wrong. Many of them were remnants of grassroots organizations from the former Nagaryll Youth Party.

Uneducated, poor, lazy—they saw their own idleness as a result of an unjust world. Still clinging to old ideas, they wanted to expel foreigners. As long as this mindset existed, it could spread to others.

Solving the problem with force wasn’t ideal. But if someone could change them through different means—teaching gratitude and inspiring hard work—it would be a good thing.

Soon, with this brief interlude over, the machines and raw materials in the factory were in place.

Many factories and shops had been abandoned for a while. Much of the equipment had no owner, so Lynch didn’t need to spend much.

The local workers hired off the street followed the formula provided by Lynch and Mark, mixing various ingredients and successfully baking a cookie with a slightly earthy green color.

Its color was hard to describe, but its aroma was undeniably appealing.

“We used high-temperature soaking and rinsing to remove some of the separable tissues and strong odors, then cut them into sections…”

Mark picked up a cookie and explained it to Lynch. Actually, the first batch had been a failure—it came out a weird green-purple color and smelled strongly.

Not like meat or fish, but a pungent grass smell.

It was midsummer, plants were thriving, and wild grasses had a particularly strong odor.

Later, Mark drew on his previous experience in a food factory and consulted an engineer. Before putting the grass into the machine, they blanched it with high heat and rinsed it in a drum washer to remove the outer layer and strong-smelling juice, leaving behind only mild-tasting yellowish fibers.

Other non-food ingredients were treated the same way. Now, the cookie had only a light milk-powder fragrance and no grassy smell.

“Did you try one?” Lynch casually picked up a cookie, about the size of an adult’s palm. About 70% of it was non-nutritious plant fiber, 15% whole grain, and the rest included various nutritious ingredients—meat powder, fish meal, crustacean powder, nuts…

And milk.

These ingredients baked together made a very solid cookie, largely thanks to the plant fibers.

Mark stared at the cookies on the plate, unsure how to respond. He clearly hadn’t tasted it—this wasn’t meant for people to eat!

Even now, he still thought so.

But Lynch didn’t hesitate. He took a bite.

He immediately reached out with his other hand to catch it, as the fibers kept parts of the cookie connected.

Chewing slowly, he commented, “The fibers are still too long. You can make them a bit thicker, but not this long—it’s hard to eat.”

His tongue and teeth worked through the cookie. Honestly, it wasn’t dirty or toxic. Its main ingredient just lacked nutrition—common plants and grasses.

The Federal concept of vegetables was still stuck on what was available on supermarket shelves. But in many countries, what Federals called weeds had long been part of the diet.

Besides, this cookie had wheat flour, meat powder, and vegetables. It could fulfill most nutritional needs.

“The flavor’s a bit bland—add more seasoning. Cheap seasoning. We’re not running a charity here.” He placed the half-eaten cookie back on the plate. “Once it tastes right to you, start production—quickly.”

“There are over a million people in this city waiting for food. Don’t screw up our first deal!”

With that, he waved at the others and left by car.

He was in a good mood. These cheap cookies were meant to disrupt the current relief food supply chain.

Even the Gephrans had to pay to distribute those relief supplies. Due to maritime transport issues, many commercial ships didn’t want to pass through the Euprel Strait or take the long way around.

Most supplies had to come by land. If not for the constant threat of anti-government forces, land transport would already cost more than sea transport.

So Lynch was confident he’d secure the order. And it might not be just from Zhuris—other cities might join in too.

But he didn’t plan to monopolize everything. In business, the worst thing you can do is be the only one stuffed while everyone else is starving.

He would leave something for others—both Federals and Gephrans.

Meanwhile, just as Lynch was gearing up for a major push, the Gephran merchants were stunned—they couldn’t recruit workers.

Their recruitment signs were far more elegant than those of the Federals: better fonts, even a touch of calligraphy.

The boards detailed job types and pay. To speed up operations, they even offered slightly higher wages.

But after a whole day, only a handful of workers signed up at several hiring points in the city.

It wasn’t that no one wanted the money. But in the current climate, even those who wanted to earn more were morally pressured—better to starve than work for the Gephrans.

Now, the men sitting under fans were growing anxious. Without workers, the factories couldn’t open.

Without factories, the Federals would steadily take over the market.

This was no longer the Amellian Province of the Empire. This was the Empire’s Special Imperial Zone.

The old aristocratic game of frosted cakes didn’t work here. Everyone had to fight with everything they had.Losing the initiative is terrifying.

In the oppressive silence, someone suggested, “Raise the wages…”

Soon after, a lackey ran to the recruitment board under the sun, wiped off the old salary, and wrote a new one. But the results were still poor.

It couldn’t be helped. Not long ago, the Gephrans had publicly executed a large number of locals. In a city with a relatively small population, almost everyone had witnessed it or knew someone affected.

These killings completely destroyed the local population’s perception of the Gephrans. Without resorting to enforced administrative measures, it was nearly impossible to recruit more workers in a short time.

But this was the Imperial Special Zone. The Governor’s Office no longer directly interfered in urban development; it only set the rules.

The merchants couldn’t rely on their connections for help. They had to cater to the market.

If the empire wanted change, the merchants had to adapt.

Over two full days, these merchants from the Gephraan chambers of commerce planned to recruit seven to eight thousand workers. In the end, they got fewer than a thousand.

And many of those were the bottom of the barrel—the kind you’d usually avoid eye contact with on the street.

“This number isn’t nearly enough!” The chamber president’s expression was grim. He had privately contacted the governor the day before, asking if coercive methods could be used—forcing people to work.

But the governor rejected the proposal and warned him that every rule here had been approved by the Emperor himself.

If he wanted to invoke administrative orders, he’d have to persuade the Emperor first.

And persuading the Emperor was no easy task—even with powerful backing.

One merchant complained, “We’re offering nearly double the wages of the Federals. Even if we’re in the same business and strictly control costs, we still can’t compete with them.”

“Labor costs are too high. If we don’t find a way to bring them down, we might lose this entire market!”

It wasn’t just panic talk. “For the same product, the Federals can produce it for one Sol. We need one Sol and twenty cents. That twenty-cent gap is enough to crush us!”

“These details aren’t the priority,” the chamber president said darkly, knocking on the table. “What matters now is starting production. Gentlemen, haven’t your backers told you anything?”