Lynch's good mood came and went quickly.

Just as people were doing the most basic checks and taking forms around Asir's group, some disorder suddenly erupted at the outermost edge of the crowd.

The unrest was swiftly spreading from the outskirts to the center, and many of those queuing or watching the commotion showed noticeable changes in expression. Soon, only Asir and a few staff members were left around.

A group of locals, with an aggressive bearing and wielding sticks and similar items, rushed over, overturning chairs and tables blocking the way and using their sticks to hit others.

"Boss, I'll handle these people...," said the Senior Soldier sitting in the corner, rising with his gun in hand. His expression wasn't good; his job was to maintain stability, but clearly, he couldn't do that now.

Lynch paid them a salary much higher than what they earned in the army, and even their families could each get a job under Lynch's enterprises, if they wanted.

At first, they might not have adapted to this change, from being loyal to the country to being loyal to an individual. After all, not long ago, every dawn, they would get up and sing the national anthem around the Federation's flag while running laps.

But now, the one giving orders wasn't a "Commander," but a "Sir." Despite sometimes the two terms being one and the same word, even pronounced the same.

The people outside made him lose face. He previously told Lynch that the social environment here was stable, and they were nearly bored to death. Yet the next day gave him this embarrassment!

These people really know how to seize the opportunity!

He was furious inside, and the faces of several other soldiers who first joined Lynch also showed a bit of resentful embarrassment. Just as they were about to go out, Lynch raised his hand to stop them.

"No, don't show yourselves. If they don't use force, you don't disturb them. I believe the bullets in your guns will resolve the disputes faster than their backward weapons, right?"

The Senior Soldier nodded, but they didn't return straight to their positions. Instead, they found some advantageous spots for shooting together.

This doesn't mean they were going to take the lives of the locals at any time and place. There are ways to prevent disputes beyond killing one side; rendering a side incapable of hurting others is also a method.

Lynch just watched, calmly watching.

Actually, from the beginning, he knew such incidents would erupt. Domestic forces, foreign forces, ideological opposition domestically and abroad, social form conflict, religion, faith, freedom...

Too many things contradict the local traditional culture, and some issues may not manifest intensely, like simple matters such as living habits.

But some underlying issues have strong potential for conflict, such as religion and faith.

These problems can't be blocked or suppressed. Historically, only issues from the upper levels can be covered up, never issues from the lower levels.

The reason is simple, the scale is there.

Upper-level issues are just individual problems of a few people, even if the group expands somewhat, it's still a small portion, affecting only around five percent of people.

As long as these people don't speak up, the remaining ninety-five percent become blind and deaf, and these middle- and lower-level people, accounting for ninety-five percent of society, acquire information about upper levels directly from them.

This further eliminates the possibility of the lower levels discovering the truth spontaneously; they simply have no channels.

As for why lower-level issues can't be covered up, once these issues erupt, they impact eighty-five, ninety-five percent of people; the decisions of the remaining five percent will hardly matter much.

So, from the beginning, Lynch knew that developing in Nagariel wouldn't be smooth sailing, and this wouldn't be the last conflict; it's only the first.

Now, he wanted to see who was behind orchestrating these people, or what their motives were.

The crowd inciting disorder had already burst into the core of the recruitment site; they were mostly young, about twenty or so, with some children even younger.

They gradually stopped in front of Asir, seemingly arguing about something, and Lynch quickly figured it out.

The sound outside the glass wall grew louder, and some locals initially just watching started joining the group.

They rhythmically waved their fists high and shouted loudly, chanting "Foreigners, get out!"

Seeing these people act so uniformly, chanting slogans that might have been planned days or even longer earlier, Lynch definitely didn't believe there was no support or instigation behind them.

Meanwhile, it also posed a big problem, a "host's" animosity toward "intruders."

Less than a minute later, a group of police blowing sharp whistles ran over from afar. If this were the past, these people would scatter right away, but this time it was different.

Especially the few leaders among them, not only did they not flee, but rather stood there as if deliberately waiting for the police to capture them.

When the police engaged with them, the moment the thin rubber-coated batons struck these people, they didn't roll around on the ground to avoid the batons as in the past.

Instead, they stood tall, letting the batons fall on their bodies and heads, even if it meant being beaten severely, leaving them bloody and scarred.

It might be that the unexpected resilience of these people left the police somewhat at a loss as well; they actually stopped attacking and stood there, unsure of what to do.

The suddenness of the situation caught them off guard, so much so that they suddenly realized they lacked the experience and ability to handle such incidents.

These people just stood there, not dodging or evading, and that alone was enough to leave the police indecisive about their next move.

Lynch's expression remained indifferent; he knew that these police officers had done something foolish.

When someone standing on the side of justice discovers a scumbag on the side of evil doing something bad, he can pretend to pass by without noticing.

But once he chooses to intervene, there must be a clear result. If the intervention is not thorough enough, then what he did before will harm society more than doing nothing at all.

Previously, people might have held onto a kind of false hope that evil was simply not discovered when it sprouted. Now, however, people would only have another kind of feeling...

The young man leading them suddenly raised an arm; his head had several wounds, with blood obscuring his original appearance.

In the sunlight, among the vicious, fierce policemen akin to wolves and tigers, stood some frail figures, firm and stubborn, with eyes contrasting starkly against the surrounding scarlet.

As he slowly raised his arm, he said nothing, not even showing much of an expression.

He merely looked at each person's face, causing some of the police beside him to uncomfortably step back a few paces.

Most people dared not meet his gaze, but some did withstand an indescribable pressure and slowly raised their own arms.

The atmosphere on the scene was extremely oppressive, and finally, Lynch's expression changed slightly.

"Is there a telephone?" he turned and asked the cafe owner watching nearby, a local who had stepped out from behind the counter, unclear whether he was the owner, an employee, or perhaps both.

The owner-cum-employee quickly nodded, "Yes, sir..." he looked at Lynch; it seemed as though his lips, recently closed, might reopen but ultimately said nothing.

He initially wanted to inform Lynch that making a call would require an additional charge. In Nagariel, anything related to "modernization," like telephones, was not cheap.

However, he remained silent because the sight of the foreigners' weapons around Lynch deterred him. He didn't want a misunderstanding over a relatively trivial amount of money and preferred to bear the extra cost to avoid trouble.

Lynch dialed the Police Station's number, and soon a few police cars rushed over, as it was not far from the Police Station.

Upon arriving on the scene, the Police Station Director first tidied up his clothes and then his holster. Seeing those bewildered officers made his expression even more severe.

He drew his baton, and this time, not only the bloodied young people became his targets but also those policemen.

More police, more chaos, yet something seemed to have subtly shifted.

Meanwhile, a few kilometers away, in a villa—difficult to describe; calling it merely a villa would be an understatement.

Yet, describing it as an estate or even a castle would be too exaggerated.

In Nagariel, cheap land allowed people to build large houses, especially the wealthy, who could expand their properties unrestrainedly until satisfied.

This property was such, sprawling vast areas, though only rising to three stories at the tallest point, with only one and a half owners living there, the rest being servants.

Simon was talking quietly with a few people in a side hall, where each of them maintained a serious expression amidst lingering smoke; even with windows open, the thick smoke wouldn't dissipate.

Outside, a somewhat weak child carefully made his way with a tray. He was Simons' son with a local, yet his status wasn't very high, possibly due to his mother not being a legitimate daughter.

Of course, it might also have to do with him being a "bastard"; Simon didn't favor this child, born to integrate with locals.

In any case, his status was awkward; he was merely half an owner in the house.

His standing was somewhat above normal people, though compared to Simon and other foreigners, he was half a head lower.

Now, Simon was discussing matters with his friends, and usually, only Simons' legitimate son had the right to enter at such times.

Those people had been inside for a long time; he had prepared new tea and pastries as he usually did, ready to bring them in.

He knew Simon disliked him, but he believed that through effort, he could change his father's mind.

As he pushed the door open, barely uttering half of "father," a teacup hit his forehead, leaving him dizzy.

Alongside came a command full of irritation, nothing like what a father would say to his own child.

"Get out!"

"Immediately!"

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