After leaving Lynch’s villa and returning home, the sergeant took off his heavy gear and sank heavily onto the sofa.
After a moment, he stood up again and grabbed a bottle of beer from the kitchen.
It was a bit cold, but just right for him.
The bulletproof vest, pistol, spare magazines—these things were so heavy that only after taking them off could he truly relax.
Maybe he made a bit of noise because his wife opened the door and came out from the bedroom, standing by the railing on the second floor watching him.
They exchanged glances for a moment before she came downstairs and sat beside him.
“You seem off,” she said. Though often away, as his wife, she knew him well enough to tell something was wrong.
She immediately noticed the unusual mood. He rarely drank beer right after coming home—it might affect his sleep and make him feel unwell the next morning.
He only drank to relax on his days off, and tomorrow clearly wasn’t one.
That meant something was troubling him.
The sergeant took her hand, raised the beer bottle, then put it down quickly. After swallowing, he sighed and said, “I can transfer to administration.”
The moment he spoke, his wife’s eyes widened with joy.
No one wanted their closest loved ones doing dangerous work every day, even if Lynch paid well.
They had a child now, and she’d hoped he could move to administrative duties. Although sitting in an office all day might feel less manly, at least he wouldn’t face unknown dangers suddenly.
“Did you agree?” she asked again, squeezing his hand. “Did you?”
The sergeant hadn’t fully decided. He could refuse to write the list or remove himself from it.
Frontline security personnel often looked down on administrators, much like active soldiers viewed civilian defense staff as not really soldiers. This hierarchy existed in Blackstone Security too.
They scorned the nature of the work, not the work itself.
Administrative jobs weren’t for everyone, though they might seem simple.
Hands used to guns now had to handle pens and typewriters and deal with office politics. The sergeant, tough on the front lines, suddenly felt a bit hesitant.
His wife saw his hesitation and went upstairs to bring their child down.
The child was small and briefly startled when picked up, but quickly fell back asleep once seeing a familiar face.
“Look at us,” she said, sitting beside the sergeant.
He avoided meeting their eyes directly, raising his bottle to dodge the topic and muttering, “Don’t make a fuss…”
“This isn’t fussing. You know I always worry when you go to work, especially during the Nagaryll and Gephra assignments.”
“We all know Lynch has many friends, but he also has many enemies. I don’t want to wake up one day to someone handing me money and saying, Your husband died protecting Mr. Lynch. That’s not what I want!”
“There wasn’t a chance before, and I don’t blame you—Lynch has given us a good life. But now that there is, you shouldn’t give it up.”
“Besides, this is what Lynch wants too, right?”
They exchanged looks. The sergeant felt close to being convinced.
Just as he hesitated, his wife suddenly said, “I’m pregnant.”
He was stunned. “Since when?”
She pounced fiercely. “Now!”
In the end, the sergeant decided to transfer from frontline security to administration. His salary would drop somewhat, but otherwise, nothing would change.
In the Federation government, civilian military personnel typically had higher status and pay than frontline soldiers due to fewer highly educated soldiers. But in Lynch’s company, the more dangerous the job, the higher the pay.
Like the colonels still fighting bandits in the mountainous Amellia region—they earned three to five times, even more than, Blackstone Security’s management.
Sitting in an office reading papers, drinking coffee, and flirting with female clerks while relying on Ministry of Defense connections to get a high salary? Impossible.
Want high pay? Go to the frontlines, to the most dangerous places, and make your paycheck worth it.
Though it seemed unfair and unorthodox, Lynch earned the respect and loyalty of frontline personnel, who all felt their boss truly understood them.
The next day, the sergeant contacted some veteran employees and finalized a list for Lynch.
Looking it over, Lynch recognized most names. After signing his own, those on the list officially left frontline duties.
The first batch of security personnel had been with Lynch nearly three years. They’d grown from their early twenties to mid-to-late twenties or even early thirties. It was time to take a step back.
Blackstone Security’s management saw minor changes, quickly noticed by the Ministry of Defense.
But since those promoted were the first veterans who followed Lynch, after a brief background check, the Ministry didn’t interfere.
As long as the Ministry and military retained some influence over Blackstone Security—if not full control, then at least insight into core operations—that was acceptable.
Lynch never considered pushing the Ministry or military out of Blackstone Security. A private armed force of thousands would be a disaster for any country.
Only with the Ministry and military involved, and their interests represented, could Blackstone Security continue.
With the sergeant’s departure, Lynch’s personal security advisor became a young woman, thirty-one years old, briefly married but now single, without children.
This woman, named Austin, had reached the rank of captain before retiring. Female officers often advanced faster in rank than men.
She had a good figure, ash-blonde hair, sharp and delicate features, slightly mixed-race in appearance. Seeing her, Lynch thought of the phrase “tailor-made.”
Damn, does the whole world really think I’m into this type?
He was baffled. The Emperor of Gephra was like that—sending Jania to him. Now the Ministry of Defense was doing the same, recommending this big woman through Blackstone Security’s internal management.
Well, they were right.
Lynch looked at the résumé in his hand, glancing at Austin about five meters away.
Her photo matched her in person, except her lips were noticeably full.
“You’ve been involved in multiple military operations?” Lynch asked casually.
“Yes, sir,” Austin said loudly. “I’ve taken part in seven operations dismantling gangs and three armed escorts against border smugglers.”
Lynch whistled. Captain Austin’s record was much more impressive than he expected. “Why isn’t that on here?”
The résumé was very… basic. Such experience should have been highlighted.
“Sir, those were covert missions. The gangs and smugglers we targeted were never completely wiped out. To protect our soldiers, this information isn’t included on the résumé you hold.”
Lynch nodded. “You don’t have to speak so loudly…” He paused, then added, “Also, where exactly do these… troubles happen? The Federation seems pretty peaceful.”
Austin named a location: the northwest.
North of the Federation wasn’t the Arctic but another country—roughly the same size but far poorer.
That country was trapped in prolonged chaos, with the military and government fighting for power. Any regime that lasted three to five years was considered long-lived.
Most governments changed every two or three years, sometimes failing to form an effective unified government, with local military juntas controlling regions.
It was a chaotic, dangerous place—but also rich in Coluff tobacco, fine dragon’s blood wood, and some poisonous mushrooms.
Locals often smuggled these goods secretly into the Federation, trading them for guns and weapons, then returned home to fight.
Some gangs along the border were deeply connected with these smugglers. Combined with geography, gangs inside Federation borderlands grew lawless.
To combat this, the Federation frequently deployed the military to deliver devastating blows to these gangs.
The results were poor—where there was profit and demand, people risked execution to cross legal and moral lines.
From time to time, some gangs disappeared and new ones appeared. It was a lawless land.
Lynch found it unbelievable. Before this, he knew little about that area. Had Austin not mentioned it, he wouldn’t have thought it was a troubled country.
He hadn’t seen any detailed reports about the neighboring country in newspapers or on TV. To him, it was just a normal country relying on Coluff as its economic pillar, nothing more.
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