Blackstone Code-Chapter 369: Smoke Screen
“Destroy two copper mines…”
The request completely caught Lynch off guard. He expected something more practical, perhaps a demand for power or monopoly from this so-called kind sponsor of the resistance.
But just blowing up two copper mines? It wasn’t that the demand was too high—it was too low, so low he didn’t know how to respond.
He even felt the other side was looking out for him. The copper mined by the Gephra wasn’t used locally; it was shipped back home to be made into bullets, shells, and various military weapons for future wars.
Even if the person on the other end hadn’t mentioned this, he would have wanted to sabotage Gephra’s production facilities in Amellia. And it would be a long-term effort.
Still, the request felt strange, so strange it made him hesitate. “Sir, may I ask—what benefit do you gain from destroying two copper mines?”
He explained his curiosity, “I believe your support isn’t without reason. I need to know what you expect in return, so I can cooperate with peace of mind. Maybe I’m not clear, but I trust you understand what I mean.”
The young man on the phone didn’t hide anything. “So that’s what you worry about. If you destroy those two mines, the global price of copper will rise…”
Typical capitalist profiteering, which annoyed him—but ironically, it also reassured him. He sighed with relief. “Maybe we can try cooperating once. Sir, may I know your name?”
“Name?” The other laughed. “No, no need. If all goes well, we’ll never meet in person. But since we must address each other somehow over the phone, call me Robin. And you can pick a codename for yourself.”
Robin…
The codename made him pause briefly. He didn’t know if it was intentional, but the robin was a special bird—it perfectly matched his current mindset.
Whenever invaders came, the robin would fight them fiercely. Though small, it carried great courage, confronting opponents like eagles or others bravely.
Either it drove all enemies off its territory,
Or fought until death.
Wasn’t that exactly how he—and many others—felt?
The evil Gephra invaders occupied the land their ancestors had lived on for generations, enslaving them and casting darkness over the land.
Their homeland had abandoned them. Now they were isolated and helpless, and worse, many had numbly or even gladly accepted the invaders’ rule.
Ten years…
Twenty years…
Thirty years…
After a hundred and twenty years, no one would remember where they came from, their true language, or the sacrifices their ancestors made to survive on this land.
Though many had given up, they hadn’t given up themselves. They resisted, refusing to bow to fate.
A few seconds later, he came back to himself. “Swallow. You can call me Swallow, sir.”
“The swallow that bravely fights the storm?” Robin’s voice felt warm. Th man, calling himself Swallow, felt as if he had found a kindred spirit and was quietly pleased.
“Three days from now, go to this address… You’ll find the gifts I promised, my sincerity. I hope you’ll inform me before you act, so I can prepare.”
“All you need to do is leave a wildflower at… that spot. Then you’ll know how to contact me. That will be our way. Any questions?”
He shook his head. “None, sir.”
“Then good luck, Mr. Swallow, brave resistor of tyranny.”
After hanging up, the man sat stunned for a long while before rubbing his face and shaking off his shock. He felt energized.
No matter the true motives behind this man’s support against Gephra’s rule, at least the resistance would get much-needed aid.
Weapons, funds, supplies—once the resistance captured a few strongholds, they could gradually break free from control.
But until then, he decided to cooperate with Robin.
Three days passed quickly. In the early hours of the third day, the man, codenamed Swallow, used his status as the top informant in the patrol to easily switch to the night shift. R𝘈Ｎọ𝐛Ɛꞩ
The night shift wasn’t desirable. Since Gephra began ruling Amellia, nearly all patrol assassinations happened at night.
Darkness was the assassin’s natural cover. Though many failed, over forty dried corpses still hung in the city square outside city hall. Assassinations persisted.
Both Gephra and locals preferred day duty.
This gave him the perfect cover. He needed the night to hide his identity.
At 2 a.m., the man and his several comrades, under the guise of patrol, arrived at the train station. According to Robin’s clue, the supplies were hidden in a train that had arrived the previous evening.
They quickly found the marked car—a robin drawn in white chalk on the outside. Though crude, it was recognizable.
“Faster…” he urged, then carefully assigned others to keep watch. He and two resistance comrades climbed into the car.
Lifting a thick layer of grass, their breaths quickened.
Boxes filled with new Gephra-standard weapons, ammunition, explosives, scarce medicine, and a chest of money—worth at least 100,000 Gael. Many items were impossible to buy locally, no matter the cost.
He snapped back to urgency. “Fifteen minutes max before the next patrol passes. Move quickly!”
The resistance members, hidden among the patrol, sprang into action, swiftly loading the goods. Nearby lookouts moved in and out, ensuring safety.
The supplies were dispersed among them, each carrying a portion. Excited and thrilled, Lynch and his comrades patrolled through the night without fatigue.
They had survived the dark and welcomed the dawn.
But he didn’t know—besides him, the Swallow, there were many other creatures.
The Amellia resistance wasn’t a single group. Lynch had hoped to avoid the National Security Council, but he underestimated his own influence.
When he began contacting international merchants to buy large quantities of Gephra weapons, the National Security Council’s internal investigation unit showed up.
Since Lynch was registered with both the President and Mr. Truman, the Committee didn’t make things difficult for him.
About ten minutes after his secret call with Mr. Truman, Lynch received a list from the National Security Council.
He had hoped to avoid involvement but found it impossible. At this point, resistance was futile; the arrow was already on the string and had to be released.
“The price of copper won’t see any significant rise in the short term. In fact, I believe it will either remain stable or continue to decline, with a decline being more likely.”
At a financial salon in Eminence, Lynch shared his view. Regarding the future of global copper prices, most held similar opinions: prices wouldn’t keep climbing like during wartime, but would instead fall.
During the war, mining regions were frequently shelled by opposing forces, turning many copper deposits into ruins. Despite steady demand, supply fell due to damaged mining capacity, driving prices up.
Now, over a year after the war ended, most damaged mines have been rebuilt. Countries can largely meet their current copper needs without relying on imports, leading to the first significant drop in copper prices since the conflict began.
The price per ton of copper ore fell from 371 Federal Sols at the war’s end to 266 Federal Sols, nearly a 30% drop.
“With countries reducing dependence on imported refined copper, and with advances in mining technologies, copper prices are expected to remain stable over the next five to ten years without major fluctuations.”
The salon was filled with people—from businessmen like Lynch to Eminence’s major capitalists—all seeking new markets and opportunities.
As the domestic financial economy rebooted, attention turned to international markets. Though unfamiliar, someone had to take the first step.
Lynch’s analysis earned widespread agreement—not blind faith, but recognition of the facts.
After the war, many essential commodity prices didn’t skyrocket as expected. Instead, after a brief rise, they declined.
Even gold prices had fallen, so a drop in copper was unsurprising.
Some anomalies existed, like silver’s inexplicable rise.
International futures salons like this one had become Eminence’s hottest topic. Many prided themselves on attending such high-level events, and Lynch’s salon was among the most prestigious.
