Chapter 394: The Road to Escape
News of Lynch agreeing to give a speech at Kurland State University quickly spread.
The university’s president, vice president, and many professors mobilized their resources to promote the upcoming public lecture. Both the state and local TV stations approached the university, hoping to broadcast the event, even offering to pay a portion of the broadcasting costs.
In an era still sowhat marked by simplicity, celebrity influence remained highly effective. While people often dismissed politicians’ words as empty rhetoric, they still placed a certain sincere trust in public figures like celebrities. Most believed these elites wouldn’t lie just to deceive the average person—though in reality, they often did.
Lynch returned swiftly. On the third day, he arrived in Kurland City and even had dinner with the city’s mayor.
The mayor of Kurland was a 47-year-old man, younger than the mayor of neighboring Sabin City. He was a charismatic figure who, at first glance, struck Lynch as almost celebrity-like. He wore a trendy hairstyle—distinct from traditional cuts—with a small lock of hair curled back over his forehead, giving him a modern flair. His colorful shirt also set him apart from most n his age, who still clung to more conventional fashion—though it could have simply been a style ant to please others.
After a brief period of getting to know each other, the mayor asked, “Mr. Lynch, have you considered investing in York State?”
“We have the best academic and research environnt in the state. The state university is right here. In so areas, our research progress isn’t behind international standards.”
“We’re also open to new things and friendly to investors. You might want to give it so thought.”
Most dostic officials were facing the sa problem: employnt remained low. While Kurland’s 14.7% unemploynt rate was better than Sabin’s 19.4%, the situation was still severe.
Many families relied on food aid to survive. After over half a year of distributing aid, municipal budgets were nearing their limits. The wealthy no longer wanted—or were able—to contribute. This wasn’t a problem a few thousand, hundred thousand, or even millions could solve; it affected whether entire cities could feed their populations. In a city with 300,000 people in need, even just $1 in aid per person per day ant $300,000 in daily food expenses. How many 300,000s could the rich really provide?
One? Ten? A hundred?
No matter how much they donated, it would be consud almost instantly. Food aid wasn’t a real solution—only creating jobs so people could earn and buy food themselves was.
Even if Lynch could provide a hundred jobs, that would an a hundred families lifted from the brink of starvation each month—saving potentially thousands in aid costs.
Every little bit helped ease the governnt’s burden.
But Lynch shook his head. “I currently don’t plan to invest dostically. The environnt isn’t suitable for large-scale investnt right now. And, you know…”
He picked up his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. “My future focus will be abroad. So, I must say, I’m sorry.”
The mayor wasn’t too disappointed—he hadn’t really expected a yes. He’d asked on a whim. What if Lynch had agreed?
“I’ve heard so things about you,” the mayor continued. “I’m very interested in your proposed trade war. Can you tell
more about it?”
Lynch nodded slightly. “Of course, but we don’t have much ti. We’ll have to keep it brief. If you want details, maybe you could attend the lecture at the university tomorrow.” He smiled and shrugged. “You know, they invited
to give a public talk…”
anwhile, as Lynch dined amiably with the mayor, Mr. Preyton was in the middle of a panicked escape.
Who would’ve thought the invincible Gephran Royal Navy would lose to the Federation? If he had known that outco, he never would have asked the Naval Minister to intervene.
He cut off all contact with everyone the mont he learned of the naval defeat. He vanished from public view and fled alone.
He no longer trusted anyone. Anyone could sell him out—for money or favor—either to the Gephrans or the Federation.
Such a betrayal might elevate soone else, but it would an death for him.
Knowing the Gephran Emperor’s temperant, Preyton was certain he’d be sentenced to the Judgnt Cliff and pecked to death by shield-beaked eagles.
That punishnt was one of Gephra’s cruelest. The shield-beaked eagle, unique to Gephra, had a heavy, hamr-like beak—unlike the hooked beaks of its relatives. It lived mainly along the coast, feeding on hard-shelled sea creatures. It would dive like lightning from the sky, smashing prey with its dense, fist-sized beak before feeding on the soft insides.
Their diet was varied. Given the chance, they’d even hunt large mammals. And they were intelligent.
They knew that if they smashed an animal’s skull instantly, they’d only get a small portion before other predators took the rest—or before it rotted. So they started with the limbs, crippling their prey.
With hamr-like beaks and high-speed dives, they could shatter any bone. Once downed, the prey would be slowly pulverized—bit by bit—kept alive to preserve the at as long as possible.
Experts estimated a large mammal could survive three to seven days under such an assault—enduring agony, infection, and fever, watching itself being eaten alive until, finally, its skull was smashed.
The Gephran Emperor was not known for rcy. To prolong the suffering, they’d even bandage victims between attacks, ensuring they experienced the full horror before dying.
Whether the stories were exaggerated or not, Preyton had no desire to find out.
He had just stepped out of a train station, where the sweltering sumr air reeked of sweat and decay. Carrying a bag, he scanned the surroundings and quickly headed to the roadside.
No one knew it, but Preyton—wanted by both Gephra and the Federation—was actually hiding within the Federation.
He’d faked his escape, making it seem like he’d fled the country. In reality, he had stayed. To him, the Federation was safer than Gephra or anywhere else. Its loose political structure and liberal system ant enforcent was lax.
He had no recent, identifiable photographs in circulation, so it was nearly impossible to catch him using a wanted poster.
This was a land of money. With enough of it, anyone could live comfortably.
And Preyton had money—a lot of it.
Aside from the well-known accounts everyone was aware of, Preyton also had nurous ergency and backup accounts—more than enough to allow him to live lavishly in the Federation for the rest of his life.
The thought brought a faint smile to his lips. Those fools were probably still chasing down his decoy identities, believing they were closing in on him.
From the very first day he set foot in Nagaryll, Preyton had anticipated this mont. He knew the secrets he carried would eventually make him a target.
So he had ticulously planned everything. His next move was to head west, find a small town without phones or television, blend in as a local, and then figure out his next steps.
As Preyton was looking for a temporary place to settle, a few young people stood up from an alley near the train station.
A girl was the first to step out and walk toward him.
To him, he believed he looked ordinary enough now. But in reality, his idea of ordinary still stood out. In this environnt, an average person wasn’t likely to step out of a train station in the middle of the night wearing clean clothes and carrying a leather bag.
The girl decided to take a chance. She quickly followed him. Preyton turned sharply, alert, his eyes flashing montarily with a lethal glint.
“Can I help you, miss?”
The woman in front of him wore little more than a sumr outfit—just a short skirt and a tube top. Besides that, maybe the underwear tying up her hair could count as clothing.
She flaunted her body and struck a pose. “Wanna have so fun, sir?”
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