Chapter 454: Listen to Mr. Lynch and You’ll Eat
The young man lying on the ground clutched his thigh, screaming in agony. Of the three bullets fired, one missed, but the other two tore through his thigh, creating penetrating wounds.
Because the young man had little body fat and weak muscles, the bullets easily ripped through the flesh and exited the other side.
“Lucky guy,” Lynch said, lowering his gun. “Your god watched over you and gave you good fortune. I forgive you.”
The bullets didn’t hit the bone; had they done so, they would have lodged there instead of passing through. Although the wounds looked terrible—and they were—it wasn’t too serious.
With proper treatnt, he would heal soon.
After struggling and screaming for a while, the young man’s cries gradually subsided. Sweat poured down his face as he forced himself to stand, supported by others.
“Thank you for your rcy, Mr. Lynch,” he said with repeated praise. The young man probably thought Lynch had deliberately avoided breaking his leg bone, seeing this as kindness and rcy. Lynch never insisted on breaking legs.
What they didn’t know was that Lynch simply wasn’t a good shot. Yet this gave the situation a positive spin.
Those who believed in religion, gods, and fate always thought life was controlled by so higher will. Since Lynch missed the bone, it ant his rcy played a role—along with fate.
This made the others start accepting their fate. They lined up for their turns, taking the shots. Even if soone was unlucky and the bullet hit bone, people helped them up and praised Lynch’s rcy.
In the end, Lynch even gave them money to see doctors for their leg injuries. These actions earned him both respect and fear.
Just as everyone thought it was over, Lynch spoke again.
“I know so of you took things that belong to , like what happened earlier. I am a reasonable man…” He stood calmly in the camp’s center, looking at the watching crowd. His composed presence was compelling.
“You took my property and damaged my place. I’m giving you one last chance to see my rcy.”
“Return what you stole, and I will drop other charges. But if anyone refuses…” He looked at the police chief nearby. “You’ll arrest them, right?”
Lynch was neither a local official nor part of the ruling class. He was just a foreign businessman. Yet in this mont, what he did seed justified.
The police chief nodded repeatedly. “Yes, Mr. Lynch. I will catch them.”
“Good. It’s in your hands. I’m taking my father to get his wounds treated,” Lynch said, then glanced at the young n standing awkwardly nearby. “You get three days off to enjoy your honeymoon. After three days, I want to see you on the construction site. Understand?”
When Lynch and Nail got into the car, Nail’s bleeding had already stopped. He was picking at dried blood crusted on his skin. “I thought you’d be harsher with them.”
“Why would you think that? We’re civilized people,” Lynch said, handing the gun back to the sergeant and praising his weapon. “Your pistol is great—you can fire many bullets without changing the magazine.” ????????ＢЁs??
The sergeant grinned without answering.
Limited gun modifications were allowed in the military—like increasing magazine capacity. So purposely added larger magazines because if a war reached the point where pistols were needed, there wouldn’t be ti to reload.
Although these Federation soldiers never fought on the front lines during the world war, they prepared well. The sergeant modified his pistol magazine; one soldier even invented a large-capacity drum magazine and got a patent. He now worked in a military industry group.
Such small mods were normal.
After returning the gun, Lynch looked at Nail. “Killing them won’t help. It’ll only make locals hate and resent you more, and you’ll constantly be at risk of losing your life. You gain nothing.”
He was clear: killing them now would only cost a few dozen Sol in bullets. He didn’t even need to spend extra on cleanup. The local governor would handle the fallout.
It was possible to do, but unnecessary.
Nail sighed. “So we’re just letting them go? They destroyed our gate, our houses, stole our things, and broke my head. Just letting them go?”
Lynch studied Nail, noticing his discomfort. “Look, you didn’t strike when you had the chance. Now you feel uneasy.”
He laughed, the smile lingering with a playful tone. “Don’t worry, Nail. This won’t end so simply. I’m a fair man, rember? I’ll give them a fair outco.”
Lynch shook his head. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Can you tell
more?” Nail moved closer. “Am I the only one who knows?”
Lynch never answered, just glanced sideways. Nail looked shocked. “Don’t you trust ?”
Lynch’s efforts were not wasted. Seeing these foreigners recklessly shooting their own people was terrifying.
To them, the powerful police chief looked like a neutered rabbit, standing tensely beside Lynch. Once the chief acted seriously, those who stole things wouldn’t escape.
This was a problem in a closed society—no way out, no way in.
Compared to adults, youths with so knowledge but incomplete understanding of the world were more easily frightened.
They knew so cruelty existed, but only vaguely. Their half-understood grasp of social rules made them instinctively fearful.
Shortly after Lynch left, a boy no older than seventeen or eighteen entered the camp carrying a torn bag filled with bottles and jars.
He set the bag down roughly—not even dropping it, just putting it down—and started to leave.
Soone called after him.
“Sir?” The boy turned nervously to a balding foreign man in his forties, eyes full of fear. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have taken those things.”
“It’s alright. Your honesty saved you. Mr. Lynch knows so will bravely take the first step. You’re remarkable, so you get a chance.”
“He asked
to ask you sothing: would you work for him?”
The boy froze for a mont, then nodded furiously. “Yes, sir! Yes, sir! I thought Mr. Lynch needed help. What can I do for him?”
“I can do anything!” He puffed out his thin chest. “I’m fast. No one can catch .”
He boasted about his strengths, while the deputy manager’s eyes casually scanned the bag containing the items the boy had stolen. “There’s a job opportunity—maybe so physical labor, or possibly work abroad.”
“Mr. Lynch has businesses all over the world. We need reliable, honest people, and you fit that description well…”
As the boy stumbled out of the camp in a daze, he never imagined fate would play such a huge trick on him.
He simply returned the stolen goods, and Mr. Lynch was offering him a job—possibly even overseas work!
Everyone knew how good the benefits were with these foreigners. A few days ago, Asel had already announced the recruitnt policy: nearly two hundred Valier per day (about one and a half Federal Sol), which excited many.
They also promised a free lunch and provided labor protection gear. These conditions were extrely attractive.
Everyone wanted to work for Mr. Lynch, to wear neat uniforms and enter clean, orderly factory gates. But such opportunities couldn’t be given to everyone who needed them.
He had tried to apply before but failed; the recruiters said he was too thin and didn’t et the requirents.
Unexpectedly, the hope he’d lost was revived here.
Not long after he left, peers and so adults gathered around him, eager to know what he had discussed with the deputy manager.
They had been watching from outside, desperate to hear what Lynch would do. They wanted to know what promises were made.
The boy was honest and shared everything he knew, including the promise that because he followed Mr. Lynch’s rules, he earned Lynch’s approval.
He was going to beco Mr. Lynch’s employee!
This instantly ignited enthusiasm among others to return stolen goods. No matter how worthless the scrap tal, a job at a foreign company was more valuable!
The second person appeared, carrying a phonograph into the camp. Soon, he erged with a surprised look, laughing heartily with the others, the aning clear.
In less than a day, not only were all the missing items recovered, but many extra bits and pieces showed up as well.
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