Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

The first snow of December fell upon the Royal Capital.

The flakes mingled with the wind blowing in from the sea, striking one’s face with a damp chill.

The port had ceased operations. Hog was directing his apprentices, loading one snow-dusted box after another onto the carriages of the Golden Sail Commerce Association.

The wheels crunched crisply as they rolled over a thin layer of ice.

On a street corner, Tristan stood beside Velin. Neither spoke.

He watched the craftsmen who were about to embark on a long journey. Their faces held no sorrow for leaving their homeland, but rather a kind of feverish excitement.

For the past few days, Velin had accompanied Tristan, exploring much of the Royal Capital on foot.

From the slick cobblestone paths of the wharf district to the great oak doors of the artisan quarter.

From the steps of the council plaza to the flickering oil lamps of the underground black market.

They spoke little, but with every observation, every pause, Tristan became more certain: this southern Baron was unlike any noble he had ever met.

Velin was observing, too.

He watched Tristan meticulously note the subtle differences in grain prices between districts and saw how he could estimate the type and tonnage of cargo simply by observing a ship’s waterline.

Initially, Velin had viewed him as a bargaining chip for a deal with Marquis Lorenzo.

He planned to trade the activation of a bloodline for the powerful Marquis’s vote of approval for his development rights.

But now, the plan had changed.

Tristan himself, and a friendship with his father, the Marquis, were equally important.

"Look at those craftsmen."

Velin spoke, his voice unusually clear in the cold air.

"When they arrive in the Grey Marsh Territory, they will build houses and pave roads. But who will plan the layout of those roads? Who will establish the tax code? Who will ensure their arrival doesn’t disrupt the livelihood of the local craftsmen?"

"I am building a port city in the Grey Marsh Territory—Minas Tirith. It needs a mayor."

Velin turned his head to look at Tristan.

"Someone who can understand urban planning blueprints, establish tax laws, and manage all the administrative officials."

"I want that person to be you."

A fine frost had formed on Tristan’s eyelashes. He blinked, and the tiny crystals fell away.

He was the second son of a Marquis, yet he had never tasted power.

His status as one of the Bloodless determined that he could never inherit any title or fiefdom.

Velin’s invitation was no empty pleasantry exchanged between nobles.

It was a formal offer of a position with real authority, from a lord who wielded the same.

In any territory, such a post would only be granted to the lord’s most trusted kin or to a follower with powerful bloodline potential.

The hands Tristan kept hidden in his sleeves clenched abruptly. His nails dug deep into his palms, and the sharp pain brought a sliver of clarity to his chaotic mind.

His throat felt dry. After a long moment, he finally forced out a few words through gritted teeth.

"I... need to consult with my family."

That night, the lights in the study of Marquis Lorenzo’s estate burned late.

After hearing her son’s story, Tristan’s mother, the Marchioness Lorenzo, went alone and knocked on the door to the Marquis’s study.

No one knew what they discussed.

All that was known was that the next morning, the Marquis sent out a permit bearing his family’s wax seal.

To the Marquis, the results of his investigation into the Grey Marsh Territory were clear.

The southern Baron, though young, had a solid foundation and practical methods. He was no idle dreamer.

Letting his "good-for-nothing" second son go to a remote, developing territory to serve as mayor, far from the whirlpool of gossip in the Royal Capital, was perhaps the best possible outcome.

「Two days later.」

Tristan met Velin again in a reception room at the Golden Sail Commerce Association.

A contract, written on fine parchment, lay on the table.

Tristan did not immediately pick up the quill.

He read the terms, word for word.

The contract’s terms were clear, strict, and delineated all rights and responsibilities with precision—it was imbued with Velin’s unique style.

The confidentiality clause was particularly severe. Once signed, the Magic Runes on the contract would act directly upon the soul, causing excruciating pain for any breach of secrecy.

This would essentially bind him to the Grey Marsh Territory and all its affairs for the next ten years.

But after a moment’s thought, Tristan picked up the quill from the table and signed his name at the bottom of the contract.

He knew an opportunity to change his fate like this might only come once in a lifetime.

The day after the contract was signed, Velin arranged to meet him again.

The location was the Royal Library, where they had first met.

When Tristan arrived, Velin was seated at a long table with several books spread out before him.

Tristan recognized one of them: *Ancient Bloodline Origin Study*.

It was a well-known classic in aristocratic circles. He had read it and considered its views absurd and its arguments riddled with errors.

He walked over.

"The Chapter you’re reading, the one that posits a common origin for Griffin and Harpy bloodlines, is utter nonsense."

Tristan said bluntly.

Velin looked up, a hint of a smile on his face.

"You think it’s garbage, too?"

"It’s not just garbage." Tristan’s words began to tumble out. "The author infers they have a common ancestor simply because they can both fly. He’s clearly never even glanced at the *Exotic Creature Anatomy Atlas*. A Griffin’s wings are independent appendages, while a Harpy’s wings are modified forelimbs. They are fundamentally different organs!"

Velin closed the book and slid over.

"Sit."

He didn’t continue the discussion about the book’s errors. Instead, he posed a question that made Tristan’s heart stop.

"So, have you ever wondered what truly determines whether a bloodline can be activated? Is there really... no possibility of change?"

Tristan froze.

"...According to accepted theory, yes," he answered.

"And are accepted theories always correct?"

Velin slid a notebook on the breeding of Magical Beasts across the table.

"Look at this. Silver-maned Wolves and Shadow Wolves."

"If you breed a pureblood Silver-maned Wolf with a pureblood Shadow Wolf, the first-generation pups will all have silver manes."

"But," Velin tapped a line in the notebook, "if you let those first-generation silver-maned pups breed with each other, pure-black Shadow Wolves reappear in the next generation."

"The black trait never disappeared."

"It was merely suppressed by the silver trait—rendered dormant."

"I call this phenomenon ’The Dormancy and Expression of Traits’."

"The same thing can happen as a family’s bloodline is passed down through the generations."

"A powerful gift might become ’dormant’ for some reason, but that doesn’t mean it has ceased to exist."

Tristan’s breathing grew ragged.

He felt as though a hope he had personally buried, packed the dirt over, and for which he’d erected a tombstone was now breaking free from the earth before his very eyes.

He couldn’t stop himself from pouring out years of pain from being one of the ’Bloodless’ to the lord he had known for only a few days.

"Is what you’re saying... true? I’ve tried hundreds of methods, drunk the most disgusting potions, and read every ancient text I could find. Everything failed."

Tristan’s tone was laced with a bone-deep exhaustion.

Velin looked Tristan in the eye and said, enunciating every word.

"It’s true. Dormant does not mean nonexistent."

"Perhaps what you’ve been missing was never the bloodline itself."

"But rather, the key to awaken it."

Tristan’s mind went blank.

Then, he heard the words that would shatter his entire reality.

"Because I, too, was once one of the ’Bloodless’."

The words struck Tristan’s mind like a clap of thunder.

Awaken the bloodline.

Those three words had been his nightmare and his most fervent hope for over twenty years.

He forced himself to remain calm, but his voice trembled with an excitement he couldn’t suppress.

"Why... Why would you help me? What do you need me to do?"

Velin didn’t answer directly, asking a question in return.

"I need an ally with sufficient influence in the Royal Capital, and you need a chance to break free from your shackles. Is that not a fair trade?"

Velin’s candor, ironically, dispelled Tristan’s final doubts.

This was an investment between equals.

He finally understood the true secret that the strict soul-bound contract was meant to protect.

It wasn’t the tax code for the Grey Marsh Territory, nor the blueprints for the port.

It was the secret that could overturn the entire aristocratic system: the method for awakening a dormant bloodline.

He was willing to pay any price to grasp this one last straw.