Chapter 202 | The Crimson Moon Returns

“I am a very reasonable person. I won't make sky-high demands.”

Lynch made an effort to sound convincing:

“First, the Archaeological Association. Actually, it's not just the Archaeological Association, but non-governmental organizations led by it, such as the Historical Society, the Biological Research Society, and the Arcane Research Society, all represented by the Archaeological Association. After all, who told them to have a rank eight powerhouse?”

“The Archaeological Association is merely interested in the city itself. So long as they know of its existence, how could they possibly oppose it?” Chairman Grant stared at Lynch with suspicious and vigilant eyes, his voice cold. “Do not use their name to achieve your own ends.”

“And to think you're in politics, yet you don't even understand a simple tactic like this.”

Lynch scoffed disdainfully. In his previous life, there were countless tactics like this. Almost any department could stick their nose into a construction project and find excuses to grease their palms. How far could people in another world have developed? How could they possibly understand these tricks?

“That is an archaeological discovery grand enough to shock the world—a world-class find. And you want to carry out construction right next to it? Where do you get the nerve? It requires a professional evaluation: whether excavation can begin at this stage, whether keeping the original tunnel route will damage the ruins, whether the tunnel can break ground on schedule, or whether adjustments are necessary. Who do you think provides the technical guidance for all that? A single word from President Olei can set the verdict in stone. If he says no, who takes the fall? Will the First Prince shoulder the blame for destroying a historical treasure, or will you, Chairman Grant?”

Chairman Grant clenched his fists, veins throbbing on his forehead, yet he was left speechless. He had to admit Lynch was entirely right. Unlike the Valente family, which required political confrontation, the Archaeological Association could disgust someone to death purely through academic authority, leaving no room for refutation.

“And that's not all. There's also Chieftain Bru's demand. The ancient city gets dug up, but whether the unearthed ruins actually belong to Bru's tribe, whether it's truly Zur-Baha-Sahr—who gets the final say on that? Even if it looks like it, wouldn't it be entirely reasonable to study it cautiously for ten or twenty years before making a judgment? In archaeology, examples of century-long studies aren't rare. Is Chieftain Bru willing to wait that long?”

Thump, thump, thump. Heavy footsteps sounded. The bald vagrant who was allegedly off eating emerged from who knows where, standing silently beside Chairman Grant. He merely stared at Lynch's smile with a sharp glare before finally letting out a grunt.

Chairman Grant finally let out a sigh and asked in a low voice, “What are their demands?”

He finally bought it.

Lynch breathed a sigh of relief, knowing his bluff had thoroughly rattled the man. A faint smile finally touched his tight lips. As he spoke, his mind rapidly pondered what conditions would actually entice the Archaeological Association:

“Academics are very reasonable people. Since Chieftain Bru was able to uncover the hillmen's secret, he must be intimately familiar with his tribe's history.”

“It was Frame Hand that notified us, though we did study our tribe's history for a time after that.”

It really is Black Spider again. What on earth is he after, and which major god stands behind him?

Without wasting time overthinking it, Lynch merely nodded and continued, “The Archaeological Association wants knowledge. You ghouls must fully cooperate with the Archaeological Association's research and provide them with the most comprehensive information available. Chieftain Bru, you should know that while this early contact might be troublesome for you, it is by no means a bad thing.”

“Hm? Just that?” Both men opposite him were slightly stunned.

Is that not enough? This way, I won't have to live under the constant shadow of having my brain freeloaded on and being terrified by surprise tests. Muttering inwardly, Lynch curled his lip and said sullenly, “The second demand is for Chairman Grant. For the subsequent excavation of Zur-Baha-Sahr, you must find a way to have the municipal government cover the entire cost.”

“Are you joking?” Chairman Grant jabbed his cane hard against the ground. “Do you have any idea how much that would cost? How could the municipal government possibly afford it?”

“I don't know, and that's your problem—why should I need to know?” Lynch threw up his hands with a half-smile. “I'm not here to negotiate. I'm merely relaying the Archaeological Association's demands to you. Satisfy them, and every issue they can resolve will be handled cleanly and smoothly for you. Reject them, and every matter will be handled strictly by the book. How you decide is entirely up to you and has nothing to do with me.”

Chairman Grant choked on his words, glaring at Lynch as if he wanted to devour him alive. But Lynch merely offered an elegant smile, even tipping his top hat in a polite bow. His calm composure was infuriating: “To be frank, this demand isn't high—at least not compared to what other factions are asking. Given your position, you have plenty of ways to solve it. I suggest saving your anger for when you hear the other demands.”

“Fine, I accept,” Chairman Grant said through gritted teeth. “What else?”

“Second, on behalf of the hillmen.” Lynch winked at the slightly puzzled Miss Valente beside him and said with solemn gravity, “The hillmen have lived in Bester Mountain for centuries; they have deep roots there. Now, because of the tunnel project, they're forced to relocate, which is a very troublesome affair. Furthermore, land prices in Lande are so ridiculously high that finding a new settlement after being displaced will cost them a fortune. Shouldn't you show some goodwill? Hmm... this seems like a novel concept. Let's call it a relocation resettlement fee.”

As Chairman Grant listened to Lynch's description, his expression warped, but Lynch ignored it and continued nonchalantly:

“Forcing them to abandon ancestral lands inhabited for centuries inflicts immense psychological distress—that's called a mental damages fee. Moving furniture and belongings accumulated over hundreds of years takes tremendous effort—that's called a moving fee...”

Lynch ticked off his fingers, listing terms with fluid ease, leaving the other three dumbfounded. Miss Valente in particular could hardly keep her mouth shut behind her folding fan. Poor people of an archaic era, now it's your turn to witness the terror of eminent domain relocation:

“We Lande people have always been gentlemen, prizing gentlemanly etiquette. I won't ask for too much on the hillmen's behalf—one hundred Lande pounds per person. That's not unreasonable, is it? I am always a fair man. Miss Valente, roughly how many hillmen are over there?”

“Ahem, one hundred twenty-seven,” the noble lady replied, finally snapping her mouth shut.

“So few? What a pity. Looks like a little over ten thousand Lande pounds will settle it.” Lynch spread his hands toward Chairman Grant. “A shame it's such a paltry sum. In reality, this money will be used to resolve the threat posed by that thing—we can't let it wake up and destroy the world, after all. The municipal government's construction budget probably doesn't include this sum, so His Excellency the Chairman will have to figure out a way personally. This money cannot be reduced by a single penny either, or the threat won't be resolved, the hillmen won't move, and the Governor's Office and civilian associations will stand firmly with them. There is no room for negotiation here either. If you disagree, feel free to reroute the tunnel through another city hundreds of kilometers away.”

This time, Chairman Grant didn't explode in rage, clearly having braced himself beforehand. However, hearing the exact figure still made his face twist in agony, his eyes practically turning red.

“Don't rush, there's still a third party.” Lynch lit his pipe once more to clear his head. Recalling Duke Vane's mannerisms and tone, he assumed a somber composure and spoke in a low voice, “You crossed the line, Mr. Grant. You went too far with that matter.”

Chairman Grant's face darkened, cold sweat beading on his forehead for the first time.

Hmm? Lynch's mind stirred, realizing something was amiss.

His original intent was to intimidate Grant using the Governor's Office's authority. "That matter" was naturally referring to the square incident. Yet when Grant mentioned the victims of the Crown Square Massacre earlier, he hadn't shown the slightest hint of guilt. How could he become so visibly unsettled just a few minutes later?

No, the only explanation is that he misconstrued it as something else.

His mind racing, Lynch maintained an unfathomable demeanor and said gravely, “I didn't pursue the affair at the square, but did you truly think I knew nothing? To pull a stunt like this again... do not forget your position, you are the Chairman of Rhine City.”

“That matter has nothing to do with me!” Grant no longer doubted Lynch's status in the slightest and explained rapidly, “The one in private contact with the Princess of Salter is Howard. He claimed it was to raise loans, but I have no interest in what he's actually scheming! I merely cooperated with him on the railway project—whatever he did cannot be pinned on me!”

Hiss... I unexpectedly caught a big fish. It seemed the one colluding with Princess Chloe in secret was the Mayor of Rhine City himself. The person who made Princess Chloe cautious enough to drag Lynch into this was likely him—no, a mayor alone might not be enough to intimidate a princess, it had to be the faction behind him.

Lynch discreetly exchanged a glance with Miss Valente and said nonchalantly, “I hope what you say is true. A mistake like this won't be as easy to resolve as the square incident. His Grace the Duke will investigate it thoroughly.”

Grant wiped cold sweat from his forehead, finally letting out a breath of relief.

Lynch narrowed his eyes in thought, then continued, “Furthermore, His Grace the Duke is extremely dissatisfied with how you handled the square incident. Though you found a scapegoat to take the fall for you, you offered nothing to the victims, causing terrible public backlash. Here's what we'll do: pay out of your own pocket—not a single coin from municipal funds—and issue a stipend to every victim in the name of the Governor's Office. No less than fifty Lande pounds per victim.”

“I...” This time, Chairman Grant's face turned ghastly pale, veins bursting in his eyes as his knuckles cracked tightly. “Do you have any idea that my entire wealth doesn't contain that much liquid cash?!”

“As I said, I don't know, nor am I interested. But didn't you lament that their deaths were meaningless? Now they have value.” Lynch smiled calmly. “Once the stipends are paid, the Governor's Office will not only continue turning a blind eye to your actions, but will also maintain neutrality regarding the Bester Mountain Tunnel project without administrative interference. But if the stipends are delayed... then best of luck to you. Remember, it must be in the name of the Governor's Office—you know why.”

Having laid out all his terms, Lynch beamed at Chairman Grant, who was on the verge of breakdown. “I trust you can resolve everything satisfactorily. Of course, if you can't, it doesn't matter to me either—at least it has nothing to do with me. No need to answer me right now. Take your time to think it over, and let me know once you've decided so I can arrange a meeting between the parties as soon as possible. No need to thank me, I'm just doing my job.”

Tipping his hat with another bow, he turned and departed with Miss Valente. They had nearly walked out of the cemetery before Miss Valente couldn't help asking excitedly, “I had no idea you were a representative of both the Governor's Office and the Archaeological Association!”

“I didn't know either—I only found out just now.”

“Huh? You made it up? It sounded so real!” The noble lady's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “Weren't you worried he'd figure out you were tricking him?”

“It's the classic 'son-in-law of Gates' joke—an old trick, but surprisingly effective.” Lynch gave her a mischievous wink. “As for your worry, don't sweat it. We're heading to the Archaeological Association right now.”