Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

The burly man in the lead grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow from tobacco. He strode toward Garris.

The woolen vest he wore reeked of livestock, a smell that seemed to awaken a deep-seated fear in Garris.

"Little Garris, why so quiet after seeing your uncle? Did a leech from the swamp eat your tongue?"

The burly man’s booming voice was full of mockery.

Little Garris.

When they heard that name, the jaws of the Seven Ports Alliance representatives nearly hit the floor. They exchanged looks of utter shock.

The smile on Garris’s face completely shattered, but he still tried to maintain a final shred of dignity.

He forced a smile that looked uglier than a grimace. "W-Why are you here? You didn’t even send word you were coming to visit." He turned to the side, trying to lead the burly man away from Velin, to emphasize that this was a family matter.

But Golden Whistle paid him no mind, instead slapping him hard on the shoulder, sending up a human-shaped cloud of dust.

Then, the burly man spread his arms and gave Garris a bone-crushing hug.

BAM!

Garris felt like he’d been rammed by a charging ram.

The thick stench of sheep and the sweat of a long journey brutally assaulted his nostrils.

He felt like he was about to suffocate. His stomach churned, and he wanted nothing more than to jump into the nearest river and scrub himself clean.

But he didn’t resist. Instead, he closed his eyes in resignation.

"...Golden Whistle... Uncle," he squeezed out through gritted teeth.

The burly man named Golden Whistle loosened his arms in satisfaction. "Now that’s more like it!"

His gaze fell upon Velin. "So you’re Baron Velin Klein?"

Velin nodded calmly and extended his hand.

Golden Whistle didn’t shake it. Instead, he slapped Velin’s arm hard with his fan-like hand, a coarse but friendly gesture.

"Golden Whistle Highland, a Baron from Golden Thread Province. I raise sheep and do a little business in wool textiles." He introduced himself succinctly. "That shorty Ola told me you have something good here, something that can grow grain on salt-alkali land. I came to see for myself."

His gaze was frank, his speech direct.

Garris stood to the side, his face pale as a sheet. He glared daggers at Caroline.

The silver-haired sorceress was elegantly dabbing her lips with a handkerchief, but her eyes were filled with the mirth of someone enjoying a good show.

’Caroline... How could she possibly know...’

’What else has she dug up?!’

In the Lord’s Mansion conference room, the atmosphere was strange.

Baron Gold Whistle sat brazenly beside Garris and slammed his gleaming battle-axe onto the table with a loud CLANG, making the teacups rattle.

Garris visibly scooted to the side.

The negotiation resumed, and Garris still wanted to put up a fight.

When Velin presented the grain seed proposal, he cleared his throat, attempting to muddy the waters again with his "maintaining market stability" argument.

"Baron Klein, your idea is understandable, but we must..."

"Must my ass!" Golden Whistle slapped his thigh, and the table shook again.

He scoffed inwardly. He was sick and tired of hearing Garris’s spiel.

Every winter, the Banky Commerce Association used the bullshit excuse of "maintaining market stability" to raise the price of feed grain sold to the Golden Thread Province by ten percent.

His Highland Clan’s flocks had to survive the winter, and his hundred thousand-plus subjects had to eat, so they had no choice but to bite the bullet and accept it.

Now, a grain seed that could produce a harvest on salt-alkali land had appeared. What was this? This was a blade that would allow him, Golden Whistle Highland, to break free from the Banky Commerce Association’s chokehold on grain! It was the leverage he needed to turn the tables and get the Banky Commerce Association by the throat!

Right now, helping Caroline was helping himself!

"Market stability? Is that something your Banky Commerce Association gets to decide all by itself? Baron Klein, how are you selling these seeds? I’ll take enough for 1,000 acres to start!"

He turned to Garris and grinned. "Little Garris, your uncle’s domain is poor. Just a few worthless plots of salt-alkali land. We can’t grow more than a few bags of grain. That won’t affect your Banky Commerce Association’s big business, right?"

Garris’s lips moved, but not a single word came out.

He couldn’t.

Golden Whistle Highland was his paternal aunt’s husband—his uncle by marriage.

Worse, half of the livestock and textile industries in the Golden Thread Province were controlled by the "Highlands." They handled massive purchases of grain and feed, making them a major client that even the Banky Commerce Association had to handle with care.

He could threaten and bribe insignificant minor lords, but he absolutely could not afford to offend this true local powerhouse.

Only then did Caroline speak, her voice slow, clear, and pleasant.

"Mr. Garris, it seems our previous terms require a small adjustment."

The next two hours were entirely Caroline’s show. She didn’t yield an inch, rejecting Garris’s proposed monopoly clauses one by one.

Every time Garris tried to counter, Baron Gold Whistle would let out a timely, booming cough or tap his fingers on the battle-axe on the table.

Finally, a brand-new agreement was placed on the table.

The Banky Commerce Association would receive exclusive distribution rights for Sea Salt Potatoes in three provinces in the northwest of the Duchy.

The Golden Sail Commerce Association would retain the right to sell the grain seeds to other regions and specific partners—the first of whom was Baron Gold Whistle.

With the contract settled, the Banky Commerce Association immediately paid a deposit of two thousand Golden Suns and agreed to purchase no less than five thousand Golden Suns’ worth of grain seeds from the Golden Sail Commerce Association annually for the next five years.

Garris held the quill, his hand trembling violently.

He signed his name. The ornate, flowing script suddenly seemed absurd.

「Late at night」

The faint sounds of celebration outside the Lord’s Mansion gradually died down, but there was no trace of joy in Velin’s study.

He wasn’t looking at the contract worth tens of thousands of Golden Suns. Instead, he was rapidly calculating a series of numbers on a new sheet of parchment.

Cultivating the Salad Worm swarm, developing Mist Spring Valley, equipping the Ola Knight Order... each item was a money-devouring beast.

Two thousand Golden Suns, invested in these projects, wouldn’t even make a splash.

’It’s too slow.’

’Making money in traditional industries is just too slow.’

There were always behemoths like the Banky Commerce Association at the top, setting the rules and controlling the channels. They were like a great mountain, crushing all latecomers and leaving them gasping for air.

’I got lucky today, bringing in Golden Whistle. But what about next time?’

’I can’t always count on finding a relative of some major commerce association.’

Velin needed a completely new track—an untouched field with astonishing profits, something that would allow him to complete his primitive accumulation of capital.

The door was pushed open gently, and a faint fragrance wafted in.

Caroline had changed into a soft, silk nightgown. Her long hair was casually draped over her shoulders, and in the moonlight, her skin was fairer than snow. She had shed some of her queenly sharpness, replaced by a heart-stirring laziness and charm.

She had just taken a bath and was in an excellent mood.

"We’ve achieved a great victory. Why are you hiding in here? What are you thinking about?"

She walked over to Velin’s side, looking curiously at the papers on his desk.

Velin didn’t look up. His finger paused on the paper. "I’m thinking about a new project. One that will let us make some real money."

Caroline’s eyes lit up, a spark of excitement in them from having defeated a powerful enemy.

"Oh? More profitable than Sea Salt Potatoes? Tell me about it. Is it reliable?"

Velin leaned back in his chair, his gaze passing through the window toward the distant Royal Capital.

"How much money we can make depends on how many old men there are in the Royal Capital."