Darkstone Code-Chapter 887 - 885: Should I Leave Then?

It was getting late, Lynch stepped out and glanced at his wristwatch, then headed towards his room.

"Help me tell your leader, I’m going to rest now. We can talk about anything tomorrow."

Lynch was grateful that everyone in this world spoke the same language, or communication would have been a major issue.

Imagine two soldiers who don’t understand what he’s saying pointing guns at his head, asking him to "bark like a dog." Just thinking about it is terrifying.

Sometimes those in higher positions are easily persuaded, whereas the stubborn lower-ranked individuals are hard to convince. Of course, their reluctance to adapt is part of the reason.

As soon as he pushed the door open, Lynch knew someone had been there, too many details gave it away.

He slightly furrowed his brows and looked towards the bedroom. There were some splattered bloodstains on the wall, which slowly dripped down and painted streaks of vertical blood traces on the wall.

He walked in, glanced at the female manager dead on the bed, and exited the room without even talking to Penny to confirm whether something had happened.

Who knows if anyone is hiding here, he thought, and at the same time, he knew the female manager’s death was Beret’s warning.

He planned to tell Lynch in this way, everything was still under his control.

Lynch sat back next to the sofa in the living room. After ten to twenty minutes, as he was about to rest, Beret suddenly burst in.

A false smile spread across his face as he raised the bottle of alcohol in his hand, "Hey, friend, mind having a drink with me?"

Several soldiers rushed in from behind him into every room, and Lynch nodded as if nothing had happened, "Sure, but I can’t drink much."

"No problem..."

Beret, as if he really came to drink, said nothing and poured Lynch a full glass of alcohol.

Federation people are strange.

They like to use big vessels to hold minimal liquid, like square cups.

Every square cup has at least a capacity of four hundred fifty milliliters, yet Federation people never give it a chance to be full; often there’s only about a hundred milliliters of liquid.

Even with ice cubes, it’s far from full.

The more luxurious the vessels, the more it is so; some experts believe this aesthetic originates from an ancient tribe, valuing big as beautiful and big as dignified.

Gradually, people got used to this; a cup that seems giant is often filled with just a tiny bit of liquid.

The cup in front of Lynch now is the only one he’s seen overflowing in the past few years.

"I can’t drink this much."

Lynch didn’t reach out; he knew if he picked it up, he would have to finish it.

Actually, given Lynch’s drinking tolerance, this amount meant nothing; alcohol in the thirty to forty-degree range used to seem just like mineral water to him.

But he couldn’t drink; it was a matter of attitude.

The soldiers who rushed in to search the rooms exited just as they entered.

No extra people.

Beret pulled out a pistol and slapped it on the table, "Drink or not?"

"I’ll drink when you point the gun at my head and unlock the safety, but not now."

Lynch’s reply made Beret momentarily lose his ability to think.

After waiting seven or eight seconds, he suddenly laughed out loud, "You really are a funny guy, Lynch, what you just wanted to express was that you’re afraid of death, right?"

Lynch genuinely nodded, "I’m particularly afraid of death. When I don’t feel the threat of death, I’m bold; when I feel I might die, I lower my head." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"You’re the first to admit it like this; you really are an interesting person!" Beret’s emotions seemed unstable, shifting unpredictably.

Many dictators have this trait; most are considered madmen by others. It doesn’t necessarily mean Beret has potential to become a warlord, but in terms of personality, he seems "coincidentally" fitting.

He put the gun away, no longer forcing Lynch to drink the full glass of alcohol, "I was just joking, friend, why would I ever do that?"

He picked up his own overflowing glass, the liquid spilling onto his hands, knees, and the expensive carpet.

Just a big gulp, then he put down the glass, wiping his alcohol-stained hand on Lynch’s chest, "Since you don’t want to drink with me, I’ll leave."

He said, smiling, stood up, looked down at Lynch for a while, then turned to leave.

Lynch lay back on the sofa, quietly, as if nothing happened.

The next morning, Lynch took a bath, changed into clean clothes, and chose a tie that wasn’t too bright—a bright tie would make him look younger; what he needed now was convincing maturity.

After checking in the mirror to make sure nothing seemed off, he left the room.

He had spent the night with the corpse, though he slept on the sofa, and the corpse was on the bed.

But he wasn’t afraid, just a dead person.

From the morning, he began doing his own tasks. Some people showed disdain towards his actions, while others were very grateful for everything he did for everyone; such conflicting emotions indeed appeared in different people.

Those who think Lynch is problematic always see him as a partner of the robbers, and then turn around to exploit their own wealth. This is indeed not an experience worth reminiscing repeatedly.

At this moment in the captain’s room, a group of people are destroying various instruments and gauges inside. They even locked the wheel hard over in one direction and then locked it in place.

The purpose of doing this, of course, is to prepare for evacuation.

Just like Lynch said, they actually can’t get much cash from these people, now they can only hope that Lynch’s check can be cashed, and that he will keep his word.

Beret will not stay here for long, with so many Federation tycoons missing, he can guess what the Federation people are like now.

They must have dispatched the Navy to search for this ship everywhere. The longer he stays, the more dangerous it becomes.

Sitting on the small stage on the first deck, he quietly looked at the far sea and sky horizon, as if his gaze could extend infinitely along the horizon.

"Chief, we have already destroyed the captain’s room," his adjutant came, actually just a pleasing lackey.

Today the lackey has some ideas of his own, "I think we should set another fire, that would be safer."

Beret gave him a sidelong glance and kicked him, "If anyone dares to start a fire, I’ll kill him myself."

In Mariluo, all warlords, whether big or small, are involved in smuggling business.

Of course, the big warlords call it "foreign trade," and only the middle and small ones are called smuggling.

Smuggling inevitably involves maritime transport, which is also the most convenient method of smuggling.

The Federation’s long coastlines can’t have coast guards everywhere, so they always find ways to get in.

At sea, many times you can’t tell the direction, let alone find anything.

If there is a column of smoke at this time, it will immediately attract everyone’s attention.

The lackey, staggered by Beret’s kick, took a few steps back, scratched his head, and walked away awkwardly.

"Prepare some bags, even though we don’t get cash this time, those tycoons have nice things on them."

"Take everything they carry, go do it now."

The lackey still scratched his head, "If anyone resists..."

Beret shot him another sidelong glance, "I didn’t buy you guns just to play with. If someone resists, won’t you shoot them dead?"

Soon, the soldiers divided into small teams of two or three, with sacks, and went into different cabins, forcing everyone to hand over any valuables they carried.

Faced with these robbers who finally resemble robbers, the tycoons’ emotions unexpectedly relaxed a bit.

Isn’t that strange?

No, not strange at all, if the robbers planned to kill them.

The robbers could’ve completely taken them out first, then taken the valuables from their bodies. Now they haven’t done so because they really don’t intend to kill.

This is the only good news during this period. The richest people cooperated very readily, though it hurt a bit.

Lynch took a million from them, and they didn’t feel the sting because a million is still far from their psychological bottom line; they don’t even consider it a heavy expenditure.

Moreover, that money also bought a tiny bit of company shares, so at least psychologically, there’s not much reaction.

But these personal accessories are different; some are unique items, even ancestral heirlooms, like the jewelry worn by the women, with some worth more than a million.

In the face of life and wealth, some made the wrong choices and became negative examples, teaching others how to choose.

What people didn’t expect was that they even didn’t spare their clothes!

This made everyone feel shameful; they were almost naked, exposing themselves in the most primitive appearance and state.

One by one, the old men with loose skin and bellies, the women with drooping, outward turned feet, and the men who wished they could fit a water cup in their pants, and the women with sagging figures and no charm whatsoever.

Ugly.

Lynch may be the only one who escaped such embarrassment, but even if he were made to disrobe, he wouldn’t care; after all, he isn’t the one who feels inferior.

Beret’s sudden decision made Lynch realize that Beret intended to leave, although from the start Beret hadn’t truly had absolute control over the ship.

He couldn’t get cash; the transferred check couldn’t be used freely, and he had offended many untouchable tycoons. When his mind calmed down, he finally understood he had messed up!

If this happened a hundred years later, it wouldn’t be a problem; a finger swipe would get the money to the account.

But in this era, robbing a cruise ship at sea, holding a group of cashless tycoons hostage, what can you get?

Nothing!

Since there’s nothing to get, Beret also doesn’t plan to keep wasting time; he plans to retreat.

So...

Lynch stroked his chin.

Should he let him leave?