Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Laine arrived in Minas Tirith just as morning broke.

A sea breeze, tinged with salt and the distinct smell of dust from the construction site, billowed through the new, coarse-cloth clothes he had just been issued.

The sliver of superiority he had brought with him from Newly Town was crushed the moment he set foot in the fjord.

Unlike the refinement and prosperity of Newly Town, the construction site, centered around the City Hall, was more like a vast network of blood vessels.

Countless streams of people flowed out along the roads in a regular rhythm, only to return, their movements accompanied by a constant hum of hammering, work chants, and the rumble of cartwheels.

The foundation of the site had already been dug down two stories, with countless people moving like ants in the enormous pit, simultaneously excavating and working on the urban expansion.

On the ground of the plaza, large, dark-red stains were still visible—blood that had been washed with water but not entirely cleaned away.

A crowd had gathered up ahead, seemingly watching some sort of commotion.

Laine was just about to ask someone for directions to the City Hall when the crowd in front of him suddenly parted, a stir running through it.

"The Patrol Team is here!"

"Make way! It’s Captain Barton!"

Laine peered through the gap in the crowd and saw a figure both familiar and strange.

Barton still had the same brawny, bear-like physique, but he was now wearing a fitted leather jerkin with a standard-issue Longsword hanging at his waist.

Behind him followed a dozen or so men also clad in leather armor.

They were escorting two bruised and swollen workers.

"Captain, these two started fighting over a shovel and knocked down a newly built wall," one of the Patrol Team members reported to Barton.

Barton walked up to the two men, his massive shadow completely engulfing them.

"You two, what are your names?"

"I... my name is Peter."

"I’m Cohen."

Barton didn’t hit or curse them, merely tilting his head toward a team member beside him.

The team member pulled out a small notebook and a charcoal pencil and began to write.

"Peter, Cohen. Brawling, destruction of public property." Barton rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. "...Fined five merit points each. Three days hauling rubble at the quarry, without pay. And then, rebuild that wall."

Having dealt with the matter, Barton waved his hand, and the Patrol Team continued on their way with the men in custody.

The surrounding crowd immediately resumed its flow.

Watching Barton’s retreating figure, Laine felt a surge of warmth in his chest and shouted out loud.

"Barton!"

Barton stopped in his tracks. He turned, spotted Laine in the crowd, and the stern look on his face was instantly replaced by a smile.

The surrounding Patrol Team members all looked surprised; they rarely saw their captain smile.

"Laine? What are you doing here?"

"I was transferred." Laine looked him up and down, overcome with emotion. "You... you’re a captain now?"

’How long has it been? The man who risked his life in the mud for merit points to pay for his mother’s medicine is now a feared enforcer of the law.’

"Lord Velin’s orders." Barton scratched his head, a little embarrassed. "His Lordship said these fists of mine are perfect for managing these unruly types."

He unhooked a waterskin from his waist and handed it over.

"Must be thirsty from the road, right? Have some water first. Where are you headed? I’ll take you!"

"Perfect. I need to report to the City Hall and don’t know the way."

Barton led Laine through the clamorous construction site. Along the way, everyone who saw them proactively made way.

When they reached the City Hall, a building that was already taking shape, Barton pointed to the entrance. "Just go in and give them your name. I get off duty tonight. I’ll find you in District Three, and we’ll have a good drink!"

With that, he led the Patrol Team away to continue their patrol.

Laine stood there for a moment before walking toward the two-story building.

After he announced his name and purpose, a clerk checked a list and led him to the second floor.

Velin was looking at a document.

"Laine. On the third of October, 1374 of the Eternal Radiance Calendar, you reported three suspicious individuals in Newly Town."

Velin didn’t look up.

"Yes, my Lord." Laine immediately stood ramrod straight, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Your report was timely, and your description was accurate." Velin finally put down the document and looked up. "You also attended the first literacy class. Tumo said your performance was excellent."

"Newly Town has enough agricultural technicians now, but Minas Tirith is short on people."

"We’re short on people who can read notices, keep records, and manage affairs."

Velin walked up to him, his wine-red eyes seeming to pierce right through to one’s soul.

Laine’s heart began to race.

"I’ve reviewed all your work records, from reclaiming wasteland to managing farm tools, all without a single error. You know the value of learning and improving, and you also know how the vast majority of people on this land think."

"Therefore, I intend to give you a new position."

"From this day forward, you are the Centurion of Minas Tirith’s Third Residential District."

Centurion?

Laine’s mind went blank.

A year ago, he was just a farmer, at most a literate agricultural technician. How had he suddenly become an official in charge of a hundred households?

He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and feet.

"My Lord, I... I’m afraid I won’t do a good job."

"It’s alright, you’ll adapt to the work gradually. You can start by listening to the residents’ ideas."

"In your jurisdiction, there are ten Decurions. They are your subordinates, as well as your eyes and ears." Velin ignored his trepidation and continued explaining.

"You have three tasks."

"First, implement the orders from the City Hall. For example, if we need to organize manpower to build a new sewer channel tomorrow, you will be responsible for requisitioning enough people and tools from your hundred households and supervising them to completion."

"Second, resolve disputes that the Decurions cannot handle. If one work team clashes with another over resources within your district, you will be the one to adjudicate."

"Third, compile the needs and problems within your district into a report and submit it directly to me. I don’t need to know which family has no rice for their pot, but rather how many rations District Three is short this month, how many tents are needed, and how many people have fallen ill because they can’t acclimate to the local environment."

Velin raised a hand to the bridge of his nose.

"Work hard. I believe you can do it well."

Half an hour later, Laine stood in an open area in the Third Residential District, holding the card that signified his new status.

Two massive quadrangle-style apartment blocks had already been erected here, but most people still lived in crude shacks.

A clerk helped him gather the ten "Decurions."

These men were of all shapes and sizes, from old artisans with graying hair to sturdy young lads who looked even younger than Laine.

They looked at Laine with varied expressions: curiosity, scrutiny, and even a hint of dismissal.

Laine cleared his throat, imitating the way Lord Velin used to speak.

"Everyone, my name is Laine, and I am your new Centurion. I’ve called you here today on Lord Velin’s authority to announce a few new rules."

He repeated what Velin had told him, but in his own words.

"From this day forward, you ten are the Decurions. Each of you is responsible for ten households. But this isn’t a position for you to take advantage of; it’s a position for you to be the eyes and mouths of the people."

A weathered old carpenter snorted. "Easy for you to say. We speak, but will you listen? And even if you listen, will the people above you listen? The stewards on the estate where I’m from, every last one of them just took the food and did no work."

"This old-timer is right. Talk is cheap." Laine didn’t get angry; instead, he admitted it frankly. "So let’s not waste time with empty promises."

He scanned the crowd.

"Starting next week, every Monday morning, all Decurions will gather here for a regular meeting. You will bring up the problems you’ve collected, right here in front of everyone."

"At the meeting, we will record and categorize every issue. If it can be resolved on the spot, we’ll make a decision then and there. If it needs to be reported to the City Hall, I’ll immediately draft a document and send it up."

"At every meeting, I’ll start by reporting on the status of the previous week’s problems. Which ones have been solved, which are in progress, which were rejected and for what reason—everything will be transparent. No one will be able to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes."

After hearing this, the ten men’s whispering grew louder, but this time, their skepticism had turned into genuine discussion.

"Weekly meetings to announce results? This... this might actually be for real."

The Decurions were starting to believe it, because they would know in a week or two whether things were actually getting done.

The old carpenter pressed on relentlessly.

"So what if someone can’t be bothered to do the work? There’s no benefit to being a Decurion."

"There’s a stipend. It’s not much, but it’s enough to trade for an extra two pounds of salted meat each month," Laine said. "And the term is only one year, on a rotating basis. If anyone dares to slack off and gets reported jointly by their ten households, they won’t just be replaced—they’ll be punished with a month of cleaning the public latrines."

He added, "Conversely, if someone reports a major hidden danger—for instance, someone trying to stir up trouble like the Iron Fist Gang—once it’s verified, the reporting Decurion will also be rewarded."

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone’s breathing grew a little heavier.

Seeing their reaction, Laine felt a surge of confidence.

"Alright, that’s all for the rules." Laine closed his notebook. "Now, esteemed Decurions, you can tell me the most urgent problems in your jurisdictions. We’ll start with the first small matter."

The old carpenter was the first to step forward, pointing to a nearby corner with a look of disgust.

"Lord Centurion, the latrine pit in our area is almost full. In another two days, the shit and piss are going to overflow!"

Laine: "..."