The Provincial Governor of Nagalier held a position akin to that of a state governor in the Baylor Federation, but with notable differences. Here, the Provincial Governor wielded both military and political power, yet he was not without rivals. His primary adversary was the High Priest.
The people submitted to the authority of those in power, but they placed even greater faith in the divine. This dynamic created an uneasy balance between secular and religious powers. While the Provincial Governor possessed considerable influence, he couldn't dominate entirely.
"Your boss didn't co with you?" Arthur's father asked warmly, shaking his hand and inquiring about Lynch.
Arthur had ntioned in his letters before the New Year that his boss might invest here. He knew his father well; the old man couldn't keep secrets or, rather, he loved to boast. He enjoyed flaunting his successes: having a son with foreign residency rights, receiving monthly remittances from him, and boasting that his son was a high-ranking manager in a company.
He loved to talk about these things, which earned him respect. Whenever he went out, he could avoid bumping into commoners, enjoying privileges reserved for the elite, such as personal space.
Hatred? It was part of the local culture. Perhaps Arthur's father once believed curses were effective, but now he was indifferent.
When local officials heard rumors of Arthur's boss planning to invest, Arthur's family status significantly improved. Officials frequently inquired when Arthur's boss would arrive, the scale of investnt, and what kind of factory would be built. Locals were equally curious, as it would impact their lives.
In this era, it was common for a factory to create a small economic ecosystem. Once investnt was confird, the factory would hire workers, offering so secure jobs and altering inco prospects for many.
Many visited Arthur's father, making him a minor celebrity. He was invited to festivals, political events, and religious gatherings, feeling increasingly important. Just then, the passenger liner, which had finished replenishing its supplies and was about to set sail, sounded its horn. The captain seed unwilling to stay in this place even for an extra minute.
Throughout the journey, at each stop, the captain and sailors would normally engage deeply with local girls, leaving sothing behind. But here, they left promptly, seemingly disliking the place.
The loud horn made Arthur glance back at the departing ship. Turning around, he felt an inexplicable sense of loss. His father and brothers appeared strangely distant, unlike the warmth conveyed in their letters. Their forced smiles and greedy eyes unsettled Arthur.
Still, he answered, "Around mid-March, my boss has so unresolved matters..."
"Two weeks from now?" Arthur's father clapped his hands. "That's a great ti!"
Why it was great, he didn't know. It was rely a habit, a way of blending into high society by affirmatively acknowledging everyone and everything—a characteristic of Nagalier.
"Let's go ho, you must be tired!"
To Arthur's astonishnt, his eldest brother arrived in a car that looked decades old, retaining the peculiar aesthetics of a bygone era.
His brother patted the car, "Surprised? We have cars now..." His tone carried a pride that left Arthur bemused. "Do you have a car in the Federation?"
Arthur smiled, and though his brother didn't press further, his expression suggested he thought Arthur lacked one.
As they drove, the foul wind hit Arthur, bringing clarity. Upon reaching ho, the shabby house of his mories was gone, replaced by a mansion surpassing those in the Baylor Federation—more exquisite and grand.
Religious culture perated every aspect of life in Nagalier, evident in the intricate patterns and carvings on bricks and pillars. These elents lent the house not just luxury but an aura of sacred dignity.
Looking at the house stood in a courtyard, Arthur, curious, asked, "I rember we had neighbors."
His father proudly nodded, "Yes, but they left when we built our new house!"
Evicting neighbors brought no sha to Arthur's father; instead, he took pride in it. Most couldn't do it, but he could, and that was his boast. Arthur paused, reflecting on the values instilled during his years in the Baylor Federation. Evicting others for a better house and yard seed cruel, yet here it was celebrated.
Increasingly alienated, Arthur silently followed his father and brothers inside. His mother and sisters-in-law knelt at the door to welco the male heads.
Nagalier was a patriarchal society where won held no status. Arthur felt awkward as his eldest brother's wife removed his shoes, washed his feet, and put on new ones—a gesture that embarrassed him but seed normal to others.
The n gathered in the living room, sitting on chairs woven from dried vines, known for their resilience, often found in the hos of priests and those who held powers.
n sat while won knelt in a row, serving spiced milk and local pastries. More servants than mistresses, they catered to the n.
"Why does your boss suddenly want to invest here? What's worth investing in?" Arthur's father finally voiced a long-held question.
Everyone knew Nagalier's poverty. Despite claims of rich mineral resources, none had been discovered. The only notable product was spices, once famous but now largely replaced by synthetic flavors. Only a few wealthy individuals sought natural spices.
Arthur hesitated before answering, "Labor is cheap here..." As he spoke, he accepted a cup of spiced milk from his sister-in-law.
Before tasting, a strange odor hit him—fresh milk mixed with fresh spices, creating a bizarre blend of scents. Watching the spices swirl, Arthur hesitated to drink.
Though reluctant, he thanked her. In Nagalier, it was customary for the eldest son's wife to serve guests. However, Arthur's thanks, a habit from the Baylor Federation, slightly changed his father and brother's expressions.
They glanced coldly at the kneeling woman before his father chuckled, "You don't need to thank her; it's her duty."
"She eats, drinks, and wears what we provide. We shelter her, so everything she does is expected."
"I understand this is your habit from the Federation, but you don't need it here." With that, his father sprinkled so yellowish-black spice into Arthur's cup. "Drink up; it's best when warm."
Suppressing disgust, Arthur sipped the milk, nearly spitting it out. Forcing it down, he resolved never to touch it again.
His father continued, "What will your factory produce? How many workers will you need?" He began boasting, "I have so standing now, so I can help with certain things. You understand?"Please vote for this novel at snovelupdates/series/blackstone-code/There are advance chapters available nowAccess will be granted 24 hours after the donationTier 1: 7 Advance chapters Link
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