“Mr. Lynch, have you seen today’s newspaper?”

Inside the train carriage, a sergeant suddenly asked. Lynch, who was reading, put down his book and looked at him, signaling him to continue.

The sergeant gathered his thoughts and voiced the question that had puzzled him all morning. “The joint military exercise just ended, and Shepford Marine released the specs for the Sea Wolf II submarine. Isn’t that…”

He hesitated. “Too arrogant?”

“What I mean is, if we have new military equipment plans, we should keep them secret—not publish them where anyone buying a newspaper can see critical details!”

He waved the newspaper, which featured, besides a blurry design sketch, very detailed submarine specs.

For ordinary people, these were just numbers with no value. But for foreign military research labs, this data exposed the Federation’s current tech strength and served as a beacon.

For example, if a country planned to build a sub capable of 10 knots underwater but the Federation’s specs showed 12 knots—a 20% difference—that was a crushing tech gap.

That country might redesign a new sub to at least match or get close to the Federation’s speed to compete.

Though it seemed insignificant, this avoided wasting money on inevitably outdated gear, reducing losses.

The Federation’s published data would cause global shockwaves, becoming a standard to compare the next batch of subs.

This benefits the Federation nowhere. So the sergeant couldn’t understand why they’d do this.

Before, the Federation never disclosed such info—they wouldn’t even reveal the caliber of army rifle bullets. Now, they leaked so much; it was baffling.

Lynch smirked and took out a pack of cigarettes. The sergeant opened the window.

The rhythmic clatter of wheels rolled forward as the summer heat and a faint scent of sun-scorched wilderness drifted in.

Lynch lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “We often say humans are different from animals because we’re intelligent. But actually, many creatures in nature are intelligent too.”

“Why am I the master of this world, and not them?”

The sergeant thought hard. A high school graduate with average knowledge, he guessed, “Because we use tools?” 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

“That’s part of it, but humans aren’t the only tool-using intelligent creatures.”

“There’s more. Think again.”

The sergeant listed many differences between intelligent and ordinary animals but missed Lynch’s point and finally gave up. “I don’t know. It’s too hard.”

“Not at all!” Lynch smiled knowingly. “Because humans lie.”

Lies are a crucial driver of social progress—from life will get better to capitalists will care for us to we’ll never lie, human history is a saga of deception.

Lies’ role is complex.

From the first who comforted others saying, I’ll find a way, even as he hurt himself with a broken stone,

To the one who rallied everyone, We will win, charging toward fiercer beasts, facing unknown fate—lies become hard to distinguish.

“We gave false specs, so they’ll desperately develop based on our numbers. You might not know, but every slight improvement means breakthroughs in multiple fields.”

“More money, more social resources,” Lynch shook his head. Arms races are dangerous because to keep up, someone must constantly chase security.

A nation concentrating its manpower, money, and resources in military fields neglects other social sectors, creating a distorted society.

Related industries balloon, crowding out others, even swallowing them due to policy, forming monstrous entities that drag the nation into ruin.

The sergeant still wondered, “Mr. Lynch, if they really build subs surpassing those specs, how should we respond?”

Lynch glanced disdainfully at the newspaper featuring Shepford Marine’s CEO. “They chose the wrong future.”

Submarines are useful but not invincible.

People obsessively research subs because countermeasures don’t exist yet. Once anti-sub aircraft appear, subs’ value will plummet.

At current depths, any observation within a 15-degree angle above a sub reveals its dark, ghostlike silhouette moving slowly underwater.

Once spotted, it can be attacked. Depth charges or alloy nets may not destroy it but will render it useless.

The current submarine craze exists only because of the lack of effective counters. When my aircraft arrives, they’ll regret it.

But planes entering warfare isn’t simple; many technical and political issues are involved.

The clatter of the train was oblivious to the man scheming in one carriage. It just knew to eat, drink, and rush forward.

Lynch arrived at Eminence station past eleven at night. The train crossing half the Federation was never on time.

Few people were at the station, but the lights stayed on. Gephra’s delegation was still in the Federation, and many accompanying reporters hadn’t followed them everywhere. To showcase Federation prosperity and freedom, places like Eminence delayed turning off public lights.

Stations for trains, buses, and cars stayed lit all night.

It was a show project, but most taxpayers didn’t mind.

It felt like sudden wealth after poverty—noble elites visiting the Free Federation wouldn’t dare hide their strength.

The station glowed as bright as daytime.

Some homeless and beggars quietly gathered there, drawn by clean benches, a safer, more comfortable environment, and the light.

Crucially, they could do business there.

With a hiss, a hot steam burst and dissipated as a few hardworking beggars holding Help me signs moved toward the platform.

But this time, they were blocked by several suddenly appearing men dressed in black.

Watching those men who practically wore Don’t mess with me on their faces, the homeless wisely chose to back off.

The Federation is a city of freedom and fairness—but those ideals exist only in the dictionary of the wealthy.

Lynch stepped out of the train. His polished shoes had already been cleaned by a shoeshine boy before he got off. Lynch handed him two Sol.

One Sol for the shine, one Sol tip. The boy was so happy his nose bubbled.

A crowd gathered around Lynch and the sergeant. The sergeant, who looked much heavier than before, was actually wearing a bulletproof vest. His job was simpler now: to shield Lynch from gunfire.

They soon left the station and headed to a villa halfway up the hill.

No sooner had Lynch arrived home and left his clothes on than the phone rang from the corner.

“There’s a mission for you…”

It was Mr. Truman. He had known Lynch would return to Eminence tonight, confirming it again as Lynch entered the villa.

Lynch understood this well—he wasn’t annoyed by being watched. Nearly every major figure in the Federation was under some surveillance.

But these watchers weren’t gathering evidence—they were there to help solve problems.

“What mission?” Lynch asked, pressing the phone to his shoulder, carrying it as he walked to the bar.

He casually grabbed a bottle, poured himself a drink with ice.

“The President thinks we shouldn’t treat Gephra’s cultural delegation too coldly. Since you and Princess Jania get along well, some believe you’re perfect as a host. Make sure they leave satisfied.”

Lynch caught the implication, raised an eyebrow, and sipped the cold drink, the summer heat instantly lessening. “Is this considered a sacrifice for the country?”

After seven or eight seconds, the answer came: “Yes.”

A slight smile appeared at Lynch’s lips. “Then once I complete the mission, will I get a medal?”

“After all, I’ve sacrificed for the country too!”