Blackstone Code-Chapter 368: An Invitation from a Well-Wisher

The visitor’s accent revealed his identity. Only then did the young white-skinned local raise his head and look at him.

The man’s clothes were plain—long pants and a brown short-sleeved shirt—casual and unremarkable. He bore none of the typical features of either the native people or the Gephra. His accent made it clear: he was a Baylor, a foreigner. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

“I don’t know you, sir,” the young man said, refusing to immediately let him inside. Besides himself, there were two young girls in the house, and if this visitor wasn’t trustworthy, he couldn’t protect them.

Gephra didn’t fully trust him, and most locals hated him deeply. Except for a few, nearly everyone despised him. Threats on his life happened often, attempts to kill him for prestige.

After a brief silence, the visitor handed over a small note. “I see you’re cautious, but it’s okay. I only want you to make this call…”

The young man glanced at the paper. It had an out-of-town number—but still within the Amellian region.

Since Gephra stamped their authority on Amellia, the governor had cut all communications linking to other regions. Radio transmissions were strictly controlled, and now phones in Amellia could only dial local numbers.

“I don’t understand, sir…” The young man was about to hand back the note, suspicious this was a trap.

Though he had gotten familiar with the patrol by now and knew some people, the arrogance of the Gephra made trust impossible. He had faced at least four or five such tests before.

Maybe this was another—this time from a foreigner, different from both Gephra and locals.

The visitor didn’t take back the note. Instead, he said, “Someone asked me to pass on a message…”

“Darkness may blind us to the path ahead, but the stars will guide us. Night will end, dawn will come—as long as hope remains.”

He sounded moved by his own words. Both men seemed to feel the weight behind them.

After a moment, the visitor said, “This phone number will remain active for three days. Any time within those three days you may call. After that, it will be permanently cut off. You have only three days to decide.”

“Well… I must take my leave, sir.”

The visitor’s faintly mocking smile froze the young man for a moment. Before he could respond, the visitor had already stepped away.

Few knew his true identity. His expression grew serious—if this was another test, it meant a traitor lurked in his resistance group.

Back inside, he comforted the two girls, then lay awake in his bedroom, unable to sleep. If he was wrong, it could hurt others. But if it was true…

Questions swirled in his mind. What did this call mean? Who was waiting on the other end? What would happen if he called? What if he didn’t?

Heavy thoughts kept him restless until dawn. During the day, he was less lively than usual. He sensed the call’s importance but couldn’t decide.

He’d spent years undercover here, sacrificed people. He didn’t know what to choose.

Three days passed quickly. Exhausted, the young man returned home one night, ignoring dinner and locking himself in his room.

No new tests came. Paranoia crept in. At that moment, he seemed to make up his mind.

Even if his secret was exposed, he would take it to the grave. But if this was truly an opportunity, he couldn’t miss it.

He dialed the number from his bedroom phone. Earlier, late-night calls had summoned him and soldiers to hunt resistance members. He hadn’t removed the number. ᚱäＮ𝔬ΒΕ§

After several busy signals, just as he was about to give up, the call connected.

“I thought you wouldn’t call,” came a clear voice speaking the common tongue, easy to understand.

The young man stayed silent, analyzing the voice. It sounded young, calm, but carried an underlying control—confidence, arrogance, pride.

After a few seconds, he asked, “Who are you?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here to help you.”

The young man immediately interrupted, “You can’t help me, or us. You don’t know what we need!”

“No, I don’t know!” The other side wasn’t offended, even smiled faintly. “Money, weapons, supplies, medicine, consumables—everything except your people, I can provide.”

The claims sounded absurd—so outrageous the young man doubted if he was dealing with a madman.

Since Amellia’s sovereignty changed hands, resistance groups had formed. The governor ordered a complete gun ban, destroying all civilian firearms and workshops.

Those caught with illegal weapons faced punishment, worst of all being dried out alive, and citizens were encouraged to report offenders.

Successful informants gained wealth and social status, even a path to first-class citizenship in Gephra, allowing their families to leave Amellia for better education and life.

This made firearms scarce, and many resistance groups had only a few guns.

Not everyone wanted to fight the rulers; many dreamed of becoming Gephra first-class citizens, rising above others.

So when the voice on the phone made these promises, the young man was at a loss for words.

This was the dilemma all Amellian resistance faced: no weapons to fight the Gephra—though their rule wasn’t harsh, life was better than before, just emotionally hard to accept.

They couldn’t get support from their homeland either. The defeated nation knew of them but chose neither to help nor hinder.

Any rash approach could worsen conflict and reignite war. It was wiser to bide time, gather strength, and wait to reclaim Amellia in one strike.

The resistance groups were isolated and unsupported, lacking supplies. Large-scale rebellion would be crushed by restricting food, medicine, and goods.

More deadly was the lack of resources—people were abundant, but materials were scarce.

The phone voice’s offer was tempting. The young man’s breathing quickened. Joining the patrol had been his way to access Gephra arms depots, but now he seemed to have a better choice.Lynch forced down the pounding in his chest and lowered his voice. “What do you want from me?” He added, “I want the truth. Those empty words are disgusting. I need to know what you really want from us, what benefits you expect.”

It was a reasonable question. The other party offered scarce supplies and money—valuable things, not common trash. If they were simply “supporting the resistance,” it had to be a joke.

Their homeland had abandoned them. How could a federal or foreigner help them fight Gephra, a power unrelated to the federation?

He suspected a trap and had to clarify before considering whether to continue the conversation.

But his caution quickly turned to confusion. He couldn’t tell if the visitor was being honest or just dodging the question.

“I won’t ask for any direct benefit from you. My only goal is to make the Gephra suffer. My support isn’t without conditions.”

“I’ll start by providing two hundred firearms made in Gephra, along with ammunition, explosives, some scarce medicine, and money. Your task will be to blow up two copper mines in the XX region.”

“Future aid will follow the same pattern: complete the missions I assign, and you’ll receive new support. Fail, and you get nothing.”

“That’s fair, isn’t it? At least for now, you get what I just mentioned, and my sincerity.”