Chapter 994

When Bartgas first heard Lans say, “I want to buy your Backmount Silver Mine,” he wore a grin that said, “You’re fucking hilarious,” and glanced at Gomes.

He wanted to ask Gomes: Is your friend really this… funny?

Who doesn’t know the Backmount Silver Mine belongs to Diego? To buy it?

Isn’t that like reaching into Diego’s pocket and shoving the cash into your own?

What is this?

This is suicide!

But he saw no such expression on Gomes’s face—instead, Gomes looked serious, utterly sincere.

Bartgas’s smile faded slowly; he frowned at Lans. “Mr. White, you’re not joking, are you?”

Lans spread his hands. “Do you see a single cell in me that looks like I’m joking?”

He didn’t get the joke, but he understood what Lans meant.

That made him even more uncertain; he glanced again at Gomes, now unsure whether Gomes knew—or didn’t know.

He must know. But why would he do this?

Cut the Federals’ throat?

In a flash, he realized the possibility; the words on his tongue vanished. His brow relaxed, his expression emptied.

He looked once more at Gomes, mentally replaying everything that had happened recently.

He didn’t quite understand—but all he could do now was figure out the situation.

“Mr. White, may I speak privately with Gomes?”

Lans didn’t refuse; he gestured “go ahead,” gave Gomes a look, then stood and walked to the door.

Gomes glanced at Lans, rose, and followed him to the door.

The two left the room and stood outside; the moment the door shut, Bartgas blurted, “What the fuck are you doing?”

He glanced at the closed door, as if sensing if anyone lurked behind it.

He stepped a few paces aside, lowering his voice further. “We both know the mine belongs to the President. Have you thought about what this will do to you—and to me?”

The ownership documents are in the company office—that’s my office—and I know the safe’s code.

Just like… what I just told Lans—in Lapa, no one forges ownership documents. It’s pointless.

Likewise, no one cares if the documents disappear. It’s equally pointless.

Any valuable resource development here? Either controlled by the ruling clique—or tied to them.

Ordinary people want to mine?

Not in this life, not the next, not the one after that—never!

Here, the ruling clique decides everything. Whether you have ownership papers has nothing to do with whether you can mine—or who owns the ore.

Gomes smiled to calm him. “Mr. White is a big shot from the Federation. He plans to invest heavily here. You’ve read the papers.”

Bartgas nodded. “I know—he’s opened several factories, but I heard they haven’t started production.”

The factories are nearly built; now it’s just training. These people have never used Federation-grade equipment.

Without training, they can’t even operate the assembly line.

In fact, after investing in a few factories, Lans discovered a problem no one had considered—or rather, almost no one had.

Lapa’s labor is cheap, but these workers are classic low-end laborers—low-value labor.

If you rank workers by the value they produce, some clearly generate far more.

Like skilled technicians.

They occupy critical, irreplaceable roles in production.

Others are low-value laborers, doing only the simplest repetitive tasks.

These Lapa people? They’re the lowest of the low-value laborers. They’ve never worked on an assembly line. As soon as the line starts, they’re just staring blankly, flailing, clueless.

All the factories are now in training mode.

Calling it “training” is generous—it’s slow production. With reduced wages, output still fails to meet assembly-line standards. In effect, Lans pays them more but gets far less product than expected.

Gomes clearly knew the inside story: within the next two or three months, normal production was impossible.

They could only hope the machines would run smoothly by late this year.

He looked at Bartgas. “You know this already. Good. Mr. White is a big man. Let him buy Backmount Silver Mine. Sell it to him.”

Bartgas frowned again. “I thought you planned to swindle him.”

Gomes shook his head. “You and I are small fry. Don’t meddle in big men’s affairs. I know what you fear—it won’t touch you.”

“Sell him the mine. Take the money. Leave Lapa. Live freely in the Federation.”

“Whether Mr. White can smoothly take over the mine, whether he can mine normally, whether the President reacts—none of it matters to you. Understood?”

Gomes pulled out cigarettes, offered one. “He makes hundreds of thousands in profit yearly. He’ll pay you sixty thousand Pala a year.”

“At today’s exchange rate? Eight hundred Federation Sol.”

“Work fifty years? You’ll earn forty thousand.”

He lit his lighter; both men lit up by the door. “Mr. White told me—he’ll pay you one hundred thousand Federation Sol. And arrange your entire family’s Federation residency.”

“Even if the President gets angry, he can’t touch you.”

“In Lapa, he’s President.”

“In the Federation? He’s just a nobody—even less than that!”

Gomes understood people like this—he was one of them. He knew how to persuade them.

Bartgas was clearly tempted. As Gomes said, he’d earn barely enough in a lifetime.

Now this Federation bigshot offered him two lifetimes’ income—in one lump sum—with full family relocation. It was tempting.

But he didn’t answer right away. He needed time to think. Gomes didn’t rush him.

As he thought, Bartgas kept glancing at Gomes; Gomes kept smiling back.

After a while, he suddenly asked, “Why?”

Gomes paused. “Why what?”

“Why betray the President?”

“Why betray Lapa?”

Two questions—one same question. Gomes fell silent for seconds. “I haven’t betrayed anyone. I just want a better life.”

“He’s President—but he has no right to decide my future!”

“No one does!”

Gomes grew suddenly agitated, pacing back and forth. “Diego’s completely unpredictable!”

“One day he’ll clasp your shoulder and call you brother. The next, he’ll have your head delivered to him.”

“I just made two extra trips to the Federation—he’s already suspicious of me.”

“And in this state, how long do you think he’ll last?”

“The Federals are here. Who comes next?”

“Federation officials? Or Federation troops?”

“He won’t hold out. The Alliance won’t either.”

Hearing these honest words, Bartgas’s attitude softened. “So you’ve sided with the Federals?”

Gomes pinched the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, took one last drag, then crushed it hard on the ground.

As the ember touched the pavement, the vibration made the red glow flare violently, sparks flying—then it died, sinking into silence.

He exhaled the smoke that had circled his lungs. “I haven’t sided with the Federals. I chose the path best for me.”

“If there were a better option, I’d take it.”

“Think it over. Remember the recent unrest. I’ve always treated you as a friend. After this unrest, Diego’s control beyond Zolan will keep weakening…”

Bartgas hesitated, then asked the question he truly cared about: “You—you aren’t afraid I’ll tell the President?”

It seemed a stupid, meaningless question—but it was the key to the whole deal.

Like street thugs who approach passersby, demanding money or favors.

What makes you submit isn’t that you can’t beat them—it’s knowing they have ways to ruin you.

They can harass you, your family, your workplace, your school—turn your life into chaos.

That’s the real threat—not them standing there saying, “Give me two bucks or I’ll punch you.”

Bartgas wanted to know: if he refused, what could they do to him?

Balgas wondered what means they had to punish him if he disobeyed.

Gomes smirked with contempt. “You’ve lived in Lapa too long—you’ve forgotten Mr. White is a Federation man. A big one.”

“Even if you call Diego right now and tell him what happened…”

“Diego will pretend nothing occurred. But do you know what comes after?”

“Think: who dares challenge Diego in Lapa? Is he just some pure businessman?”

That was a question worth pondering. Bartgas’s gaze shifted subtly.

Minutes later, the two returned inside. Bartgas’s face was still smiling—but now, it felt more natural.

“Mr. White, how much are you willing to pay for Backmount Silver Mine?”

Lans sized him up, smiled. “One hundred thousand Federation Sol. That’s a fortune for you.”

It was a fortune—eight million Pala at today’s rate. He’d never earn that in a lifetime.

But Bartgas said, “Not enough, Mr. White.”

But Balgas said, “Not enough, Mr. White.”

After I sell you the Mabashan Silver Mine, I won’t be able to stay in Lapa—I need to leave and go to the Federation.

I heard the cost of living there is extremely high—a single meal can cost dozens of credits, and ten thousand credits won’t even buy you a house before it’s all gone.

He stared at Lans, his greed unhidden, “I still have an iron mine—add it to the others, thirty thousand total—I’ll give it all to you!”

Iron mines aren’t worth much, and the Federation itself doesn’t lack iron ore, but as the team leader said, once you own a large enough number of mines…

The intrinsic value of a mine and its social value are two different things.

“I don’t like haggling—it’s pointless.”

“Twenty thousand. I’ll get you Federation status, and if you run into trouble, I can handle it for you.”

Baragas didn’t hesitate long—he agreed.

He thought clearly: Gómez, once one of Diego’s closest men, had already defected to the Federation—what did that prove?

It proved they sensed Diego’s government might be unreliable.

Baragas was a distant relative of Diego’s—very distant—but still connected.

He had no loyalty to Diego or to Lapa—he only wanted a better life.

After arranging their next meeting, where Baragas would hand over the ownership documents to Lans, he left on his own.

He’d come here only to flee—he had to prepare everything before the whole affair went public.

Get his family ready—once he got the money, he’d leave immediately!

After Gómez saw Baragas off, the team leader asked curiously, “Mr. Lans, Lapa still has two active gold mines…”

He didn’t finish—he was asking why Lans hadn’t targeted the gold mines first, or perhaps subtly reminding him.

Lans shook his head. “Gold mines are too sensitive. Diego has placed his own loyalists there.”

“We can’t move those people yet. We need to wait.”

The team leader looked puzzled. “Mr. Lans, I have a question I don’t understand.”

Lans gestured for him to continue. He went on, “Mr. Gómez said these ownership papers have no real value—so why are you paying so much to buy them?”

In the team leader’s view, since these assets were effectively Diego’s private property, and Diego was the nation’s ruler…

Then even if Lans bought the ownership documents, Diego’s government could reclaim them as state property at any time—or simply declare the documents invalid.

After all, here, he was the one who held the final say.

Lans smiled and shook his head. “When you’re in a position of advantage and try to reason with someone stronger than you—especially when it threatens his interests—he’ll only respond with fists.”

“But when you possess greater strength than him, and you don’t want to appear as a brute, you need a reason to strike him.”

“That ownership document—that’s the reason!”

The team leader seemed to grasp a little, but not fully—he nodded unconsciously, then began to think slowly.

Lans wasn’t just buying one silver mine—he was buying several other mines too.

At the same time, he had too much money to launder, and these mines were excellent channels—simple, clean, pure.

From ore to refined metal to final sale, the total amount was entirely up to the company to declare.

Once these funds were taxed, they became legal income.

Daily profits of hundreds of thousands could be laundered this way—and their value went far beyond that, offering even more opportunities and gains!

When Gómez returned, Lans waved him over and pointed to a nearby sofa. “Sit down.”

“There’s something you need to do.”

Gómez didn’t hesitate—he immediately nodded. “Tell me.”

“I want you to report some people…” He handed Gómez a list. “These individuals are suspected of looting grain sent by the Jede Republic to Lapa. Diego is searching for them—but doesn’t know who they are.”

“You don’t have to report them yourself. Just make sure Diego finds out it was these people. Do you understand?”

Gómez’s mind was already overloaded—he hadn’t even known the Jede Republic’s grain had been stolen!

But he quickly recovered. “No problem. I’ll arrange trustworthy people to report them.”

Lans gave a slight nod. “Do well. There will be a seat for you on the ship to the next era.”

Gómez acted fast. That same afternoon, people began reporting these individuals—claiming they’d seen them moving grain through the jungle, others saying they’d spotted some secretly selling it, clearly of suspicious origin.

Diego’s men had been gathering intelligence on this very issue—and had found nothing.

Lapa had tens of millions of people—who the hell knew who had stolen the grain?

But now someone had reported them—it meant progress. Whether it came from their own investigation or from tips, they now had a target.

Diego quickly reviewed the files—and grew even angrier.

If the grain thieves were members of the privileged class—or even other figures within the ruling elite, like a minister—

He could accept that.

It would be like an equal opponent landing a punch—balanced, fair.

“But who the hell are these people?”

“These are commoners!”

“They dared steal my grain?”

“People have clearly underestimated me. Who does this country belong to?”

His chest heaved with rage—this was humiliating!

He could feel the mockery hidden behind the ministers’ expressions!

These dirt-smeared dogs had jumped up and slapped him. The slap didn’t hurt—but it left a muddy handprint on his face.

That muddy handprint angered him more than any blow ever could!

“Deploy the army. Find these people. Bring them to Zolan. I want to watch them die before my eyes!”

His eyes turned bloodshot as he roared.

(End of Chapter)