Blackstone Code-Chapter 367: Seeing Is Not Always Believing

Whoosh…

“By the governor’s decree, the use of any currency other than the Gael is now prohibited in the Amellian region!”

On a street, a pharmacy clerk casually tossed a handful of silver and copper coins onto the road. Some coins rolled a few times before settling quietly, while others rolled away and disappeared—either slipping into children’s pockets or vanishing into the cracks between the uneven bricks.

Following the newly appointed governor’s orders, the Amellian province, as a leased territory of Gephra, must align everything with Gephra’s standards, including the official currency.

The governor was lenient, though. He did not immediately invalidate the currencies currently in use but allowed the people an opportunity to exchange their money.

They could use any currency they had and exchange it for Gephra’s official currency, the Gael, at the three major royal banks or several commercial banks, following international exchange rates.

To encourage a swift currency transition, the governor imposed restrictions on certain essential goods—such as grain, salt, and common medicines. These could only be purchased at designated stores using the official Gephra currency. No other currencies would be accepted.

People could refuse to exchange their money, but then they wouldn’t be able to buy these essential goods. Eventually, all other currencies would become worthless in Amellia.

A young man standing outside the pharmacy stared at the coins on the ground, his face flushing with anger. His clenched fists revealed tense muscles and throbbing veins, as if he might strike at any moment.

Perhaps sensing this, the pharmacy clerk shouted louder, “What, you’re defying the governor’s orders and still want to hit me?”

Though his voice was loud, he was clearly bluffing—deep down, he was afraid.

It had only been half a year since Amellia’s sovereignty changed hands, but conflicts were still frequent. Despite the governor’s generally positive reputation, qualities like peace and goodwill were insufficient to secure firm control.

The young man, seemingly reminded of others who had been publicly executed and left to dry in the square, finally loosened his fists. At that moment, a patrol squad nearby approached.

“What’s going on?” Even before the squad arrived, their loud voices echoed.

Spectators scattered quickly.

Among the patrol were two locals dressed in blue uniforms with white trim, while the Gephrans wore blue with silver trim.

Many despised these locals who joined the Gephra patrol, calling them Whitedogs.

Originally, they were called Bluecoats, because of their uniforms, but since that included Gephrans too—and after severe punishments across the region—people avoided insulting the Gephrans directly. R̃ἈΝȎʙĚ𐌔

Under this pressure, locals vented their hatred on these traitors who aided Gephra in suppressing their own people. In reality, many of these men protected the locals.

Like now, shouting from a distance, many thought they were abusing their power, but actually, they were warning troublemakers to flee before meeting a grim fate in the square.

Though despised, their loud warnings saved many lives.

The young man wanted to leave—patrol squads were frightening—but he couldn’t; his coins were still scattered on the ground.

Just then, one of the Whitedogs parted the crowd and immediately seemed to understand the situation. The leader kicked the young man’s knee, causing him to stumble amid gasps from onlookers. The young man glared at the local who sided with the oppressors.

The patrol leader shouted, “The governor has been merciful, giving you plenty of time to exchange your currency, yet some still haven’t. You should be grateful the governor isn’t punishing you!”

“Now pick up those worthless scraps and exchange them properly. Don’t leave them lying here to disgust everyone!”

He proudly displayed the role of a lackey—arrogant and domineering in front of the people. Yet when facing the real Gephra soldiers, he bowed deeply, “Confirmed, sir. Still those who haven’t exchanged their money.”

His flattering smile and indifferent tone made this all seem trivial.

All hatred focused on him, but he appeared unaffected, maintaining a humble demeanor.

A Gephra soldier glanced at the young man slowly picking up coins, then at the clerk. “Is that so?”

The soldier spoke slowly, knowing locals might struggle with the language—though the official tongue was shared, dialect differences over distances could cause misunderstandings.

The slow pace added pressure. Sweat beaded on the clerk’s forehead.

The clerk regretted throwing the coins on the ground—if local patrols or city officials discovered he accepted illegal currency, his fate would be far worse than the users: stripped naked, hung in the square, and brutally whipped.

He nodded rapidly, desperate to end this quickly. “Yes, Captain…”

The soldier looked again at the young man, then at the local patrol leader he clearly despised. “Repeat the governor’s order once more.”

The patrol leader bowed deeply to the Gephra soldier, then swaggered over to the young man, hands on hips and chest out. “The governor says…”

Soon the patrol left. The young man had gathered most of his coins, though a few were still missing.

An old man approached and placed two silver coins in his hand, gripping it firmly. “Exchange these quickly. These people aren’t to be messed with.”

The elders weren’t overly fearful of the situation. Though the new governor’s rules were strict and punishments harsh—like drying bodies in the sun—overall, he was not ruthless.

Ordinary people who erred faced mild consequences, just urging them to exchange their money promptly.

But merchants caught accepting illegal currency suffered severe penalties, including property confiscation and flogging.

The young man nodded and ran toward the nearest bank. The street gradually returned to calm, leaving only scornful murmurs aimed at the Whitedogs.

At night, after a long day’s work, the despised patrol leader stood outside the post, bowing and offering fresh towels to the returning Gephra soldiers, flattering them with phrases like, “Thank you for your hard work today, sir.”

Once the last soldier left, his smile faded. After packing up, he returned to his spacious house—a place once beyond his reach, only accessible after he switched sides to Gephra.

Inside, two young women greeted him—twins he had cared for during the chaos, now grown into adults.