Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Dawn broke over the swamp.

A damp, cold, and sticky mist clung to the water’s surface, refusing to disperse.

Ola and his Rock Breaker Knight Order were not on horseback. In this muddy land, the best mounts were their own long legs, sheathed in iron armor.

Thirty Knights stood in three silent ranks behind a thicket of reeds.

They were a heavy hammer.

A heavy hammer poised to smash the enemy into pulp.

"The lord’s timing for this initiative was just perfect," Ola’s adjutant murmured beside him, his voice filled with excitement. "Look at the men’s eyes. They’re practically spitting fire."

Ola grinned and turned to look to the other side.

Barrett was there with a dozen or so of his hand-picked veteran guards, smearing black mud all over their bodies.

"Hey, One-Eye." Ola jutted his chin. "You sure that little stealth-and-stab routine of yours is gonna work? Just follow me, charge through the front gate, and I guarantee there won’t be anyone left standing inside in less than ten breaths."

Barrett didn’t even look up, merely glancing at him from the mud. "My job is to find Pick and twist his head off. Your job is to make noise and make sure none of the rats slip out through another hole."

"Noise?" Ola’s eyebrows knitted together.

"Yes. The louder the better," Barrett said, and then paid him no further mind.

He waved his hand, and he and his men slipped silently into the shadows on the other side, quickly melting into the swamp.

Ola pursed his lips, then turned back to his Knights and raised his battle-axe.

"Brothers!"

His voice was filled with power, thundering in the Knights’ ears.

"The Lord is watching us!"

"Merit points, honor, and the bloodline power you’ve all been dreaming of—it’s all waiting in that camp!"

"For the Lord!"

"GRAH!"

Amidst the muffled roars, thirty-one giants of steel began to move.

They didn’t shout. They just accelerated, and accelerated again.

The sound of their heavy footfalls merged into one, sending ripples across the surface of the swamp.

「...」

On a watchtower in Black Water Camp, a drowsy bandit suddenly felt the wooden planks beneath his feet begin to tremble.

He yawned and peered out in confusion.

Something was churning in the thick morning mist.

He rubbed his eyes.

It wasn’t churning.

It was... a row of walls?

Rows of walls, gleaming with a metallic sheen, were emerging from the mist, growing larger and clearer with every second.

"Att... Attack!"

The shrill cry was cut short as an arrow pierced his throat.

The ten Knights in the front rank moved as one, bracing their massive shields with their left shoulders. They lowered their bodies and charged headlong toward the camp gate, their metal boots plowing deep furrows in the mud.

The gate, made of poor-quality wood and mud, along with the fences on either side, shattered as if struck by a battering ram.

Splinters of wood, chunks of mud, and bits of stone exploded in an instant, filling the air with debris.

The charge of the Rock Breaker Knight Order didn’t even slow.

A bandit had just stumbled out of a tent, sleep still in his eyes, when his vision was filled by a shield.

BAM!

He felt as if he’d been hit by a charging rhinoceros. Every bone in his body screamed in protest as he was sent flying backward, collapsing a tent on impact.

A battle-axe swung.

WHOOSH—!

The heavy axe blade whistled through the air, cleaving a bandit and his shield in two.

Warm blood and viscera splattered against the armor, creating a kind of brutal beauty.

It was a completely one-sided slaughter.

The bandits’ self-proclaimed viciousness and cunning were as fragile as paper in the face of absolute power.

In an instant, the camp became a living hell.

Meanwhile, on the chaotic fringes of the camp, Barrett and his men appeared outside the largest tent.

The few bandits who tried to stop them along the way didn’t even have time to make a sound before their throats were slit with short swords, their bodies slumping limply into the mud.

Barrett sliced open the tent flap with a single motion of his sword.

Inside, Pick, the same man who had once stirred up the refugees, was frantically stuffing bags of belongings onto his person.

At his feet lay a woman in a spreading pool of her own blood.

"Fucking bitch, thought she could blackmail me after sleeping with me for a few days!"

Pick was still muttering curses under his breath.

When he saw Barrett, the color drained from Pick’s face, and the things in his hands fell to the ground with a CLATTER.

He dropped to his knees with a THUD and crawled forward two steps, snot and tears streaming down his face.

"Lord Barrett! Spare me! Please, spare my life! I was forced into it! I’m willing to serve Lord Velin! I know the secrets of the swamp!"

Barrett wasted no words. His single eye was filled with icy coldness as he walked toward him, one step at a time.

Just as he was two steps away, a vicious glint flashed in the eyes of the kneeling Pick.

He suddenly flicked a short dagger from his sleeve, stabbing at Barrett’s lower abdomen from an extremely tricky angle!

However, Barrett simply sidestepped.

Then he raised his iron-shod boot and brought it down hard on the wrist holding the dagger.

CRACK!

A sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed from under the boot.

"AARGH!"

The scream had barely left Pick’s lips when Barrett’s other foot followed, crushing his kneecap.

A scrap of cloth was stuffed into his mouth, choking off the rest of his agonized wails.

When Ola swaggered into the tent, his battle-axe dripping with blood and gore, Barrett was wiping his weapon clean.

"Ha! All sorted?"

Ola looked at Pick twitching on the ground, writhing like a maggot, and snorted with contempt.

"See? I told you. A bunch of worthless scum. No need to make things so complicated."

His gaze fell upon the items scattered on the ground—mostly cloth, food, and some loose Copper Leaves and Silver Moons.

"Goddamn, they’re poor," Ola said, kicking a bag with the toe of his boot.

The bag tipped over, and a flash of gold caught his eye.

"Whoa! Look at this! The bastard had a secret stash!"

Ola exclaimed in pleasant surprise, emptying the bag’s contents onto the ground.

With a clear clatter of metal on metal, ten gleaming Golden Suns rolled out, catching the eye.

"Not bad, not bad. This will be a nice little addition to the domain’s treasury."

Ola chuckled, reaching out to pick them up.

A hand pressed down on his shoulder.

It was Barrett.

Ola looked back in confusion, only to see that Barrett’s single eye held no joy, but was instead filled with gravity and suspicion.

"What’s wrong?" Ola asked. "Not enough for you?"

Barrett didn’t answer.

He squatted down and picked up a Golden Sun.

The Gold Coin felt cold and hard to the touch. The sunflower emblem of the royal mint was clearly visible on its surface.

"Black Water Camp."

Barrett seemed to be talking to himself, yet also asking Ola.

"Their targets are lone traveling merchants and the dirt-poor villages on the edge of the swamp."

"Yeah, so?" Ola still didn’t get it.

Barrett slowly raised his head, stared at Ola, and said, word by word: "Those people couldn’t produce a single whole Silver Moon between them."

He pointed to the glaring pile of gold on the ground.

"There are at least forty here."

"Ola, you tell me..."

"Where did a bottom-feeder like Pick, who spends his life wallowing in the mud, get this kind of money?"