CHAPTER 323: 0321 LEARNING BAD ONLY TAKES 3 STEPS: NOT OPPOSING, NOT RESISTING, NOT REFUSING!

Nagariel will no longer be as safe as it once was. As the pace of global development accelerates, many countries like Nagariel will no longer be excluded from the public eye for certain reasons.

The outcome of this world war has left every country dissatisfied. They’re all gathering strength, preparing for the next world war. Once it breaks out, those things touted as civilization, morality, and etiquette will be torn apart in an instant.

No one will just let others go for being "uncooperative." At that time, when weapons do the talking, no one can refuse the demands of ironclad battleships.

In fact, the rulers of Nagariel have some insights. The High Priest initially intended to send his youngest son to study in the Amelia Region, with plans to support him in becoming a merchant there.

The Amelia Region will be full of opportunities in the foreseeable future. It is also the most important overseas territory of the Gafura Empire, and they are bound to pay special attention to it, more than to some regions within their own country.

The High Priest is planning a way out for himself, or rather, for his children. Then what about the Provincial Governor and others—do they have the same ideas?

They certainly do, but Lynch hasn’t interacted much with them yet, and in their eyes, his status isn’t high enough. These people won’t easily divulge private matters to him.

However, he still discerned some key points through the High Priest’s plan to send his youngest son abroad.

"What do you plan to do?" Mr. Wardrick adjusted his posture and asked in a probing tone, "If we go too far, even the High Priest you mention, who may have forgotten he has such a favored child, won’t fall into our trap."

"The indifference of rulers to family ties is more terrifying than you imagine!" he explained briefly, to prevent Lynch from overlooking this in his considerations.

If the plan is simply to use the child the High Priest favors as leverage to control the High Priest, then this idea is worthless.

Faced with such a situation, the High Priest would rather lose this child than allow himself to become a marionette in someone else’s hands. As long as he retains power, he can have more children.

This is a problem. Mr. Wardrick has some vague strategies but wants to hear how Lynch will solve it—will it astonish him as always, or descend into clichés?

Lynch unhurriedly smoked a cigarette and shifted his posture, with his wrists resting on the edge of the table. From a lateral viewpoint, Mr. Wardrick’s upper body slightly leaned back, described in behavioral studies as a "defensive posture."

Maintaining a proper distance provides more security and highlights one’s status.

Lynch, leaning slightly forward with more arm movements, exhibited an "aggressive" or "offensive" posture, pressing his ideas on his counterpart through body language, forcing him to agree.

This behavior is common in negotiations, where strong representatives increase their persuasiveness by throwing out issues, with an overbearing attitude as if they could erupt at any moment.

Ironically, those who are already in a weaker position maintain a ludicrous "gentlemanly posture," sitting back as far as possible, craving escape while locked in a lion’s den.

Perhaps sensing the sharpness and aura emanating from Lynch, Mr. Wardrick moved the distant ashtray next to him with Kleve’s hand. "Don’t scatter the ashes everywhere..."

This inconspicuous gesture, along with a possibly insignificant statement, unexpectedly shifted the moment’s offensive and defensive dynamic. It asserted his stance—he was the master here.

Lynch smiled, and the atmosphere lightened immediately. "Mr. Wardrick, you know there’s something called the ’Gambler’s Algorithm’...," he rolled his wrist, searching for the word in his mind, "mathematical model?"

Mr. Wardrick shook his head, "Sorry, I’m not interested in math, but I’m very interested in hearing about it."

Lynch nodded slightly, "Among some gamblers, there’s this thought: when they lose one dollar, they bet two the next round, so if they win, they can recover their initial loss and also earn a dollar."

This concept wasn’t unusual, so Mr. Wardrick didn’t show much change in expression. He simply nodded to acknowledge that he heard.

Lynch continued with a smile, "If they lose again, they’ll place a four-dollar bet on the third round, recovering previous losses."

"Eight dollars..."

"Sixteen dollars..."

"Thirty-two dollars..."

"Until it grows to hundreds or thousands, or even tens of thousands or millions!"

"Just once!" Lynch held up a finger, "As long as it happens once, they’ll not only recover all past losses but also win the money they initially aimed to win."

At this point, Mr. Wardrick’s expression had turned very focused. This could just be a gambler’s equation, or not, but its relevance was clear—it outlines a phenomenon common in finance.

Many companies don’t immediately withdraw from suddenly deteriorating businesses; instead, they invest more, hoping for turnaround, but the more they invest, the more difficult it becomes to cut losses later.

In the Federation’s financial history, many similar cases occurred, including large consortiums, initially trying to save something, but got pulled under by ever-increasing investments, ultimately suffering ruin from "minor losses."

The "minor losses" don’t really collapse companies. It’s the relentless sunk costs that worsen situations, making disengagement harder.

Mr. Wardrick broadly understood Lynch’s point, though hesitated and doubted; he surprisingly shouldn’t have these notions. Yet Lynch had subtly taken control, drawing him into "Lynch’s tempo," leading him by the nose.

"So how do we ensure this High Priest loses every time and continues betting after each loss?"

Lynch shrugged, leaning back against the chair. He had already imparted his intended message to Mr. Wardrick, allowing a change in posture.

He smirked, "Because we’re not only players at the table; we’re also the croupier, the referee, even rule-makers."

Consideration showed on Mr. Wardrick’s expression. He realized Lynch’s ideas surpassed his previous thoughts—once the High Priest stakes his resources on the Federation’s side, he’d resist being dismissed, tied to Federation control lest he want nothing left.

If he cannot detach from the Federation, he must abide by its control, unless he desires utter ruin.

Beyond ruin, his deals with the Federation may become the final straw destroying him—he’d have no choice but to follow the Federation’s orders.

Mr. Wardrick nodded approvingly. He posed another question, "What’s your plan?"

"Start with that boy. Of course, some assistance from you, Mr. Wardrick, will be needed..."

...

After some confidential discussions, Mr. Wardrick saw Lynch off at the manor’s gates—a highly esteemed gesture not even enjoyed by Members of Parliament, to the butler’s curiosity quelled by fear to ask.

On their way back, Mr. Wardrick suddenly asked, "Do you know the ’Gambler’s Algorithm’?"

Startled, the butler shook his head, "I’ll find out soon, sir."

"No, I’ve understood it..." he paused briefly, "Also, I just reached an agreement with Lynch. In a few days, the lady will attend an expo with him. Arrange for our people to protect the lady, prevent private encounters, understand my meaning?"

Following behind, the butler kept his head low, "I vow on my life that the lady departs and returns chaste!"

Mr. Wardrick nodded with satisfaction. Though strictness might seem old-fashioned, it far surpassed his girl losing chastity and becoming a high-society laughingstock.

In this circle dwells little of the refined elegance imagined. Both gentlemen and ladies harbor deep-seated ugliness, lewdness, and a stench of rotten eggs almost palpable—rumors could ruin his girl, and he wouldn’t allow it.

Next steps involve persuading the board to agree with his ideas, as well as swaying some Members of Parliament and the President’s staff, since international matters must consult the Federation’s top echelons before execution—it inevitably involves diplomacy.

Meanwhile, a young man reveled in the Federation’s indulgences.

Pale-skinned as milk, girls in scant attire crawled around him, surrounded by exotic drinks—rarely seen in Nagariel—filling a tub; tobacco, alcohol, sex—nothing could be better.

At seventeen, he adapted in mere days and became enchanted by this lifestyle.

He forgot about that poor, backward Nagariel, suddenly believing his father’s decision to send him here was astoundingly wise. He loved it here, everything here!