Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Hog walked along the stone-paved path of Golden Cross Avenue in the Royal Capital.

Behind him followed more than fifty apprentices, carrying tool bags filled with chisels, plumb bobs, and folding rulers.

Their destination was Flower Hall, where they planned to pledge themselves to the lord from the south.

The group had just turned a corner when several people emerged from an alley. Leading them were two guild deacons, stone ruler insignias pinned to their chests.

They blocked the path.

One of the deacons, a forced smile on his face, walked straight into the group and clapped a young apprentice on the shoulder.

"Young Tim, what do you think you’re doing? Hog’s gotten old, his mind’s gone soft. Are you going to join him in this foolishness?"

"Go back. The guild president said if you return now, you’ll immediately be promoted to a third-rank artisan, with a thirty percent raise."

Tim’s face flushed red as he violently flung the man’s hand away.

"My master isn’t soft in the head!"

The other deacon looked at the remaining apprentices, his voice turning cold.

"All of you, think this through. If you leave the guild, your names will be struck from the register. In the future, no workshop in the Royal Capital—no, in the entire Duchy—will dare hire you."

"Or do you plan to go play in the mud in that Swamp Lord’s territory for the rest of your lives?"

As soon as he finished speaking, a commotion stirred among the apprentices.

A slightly older apprentice spoke up hesitantly.

"Master, maybe... we should reconsider? The deacon is right. Our skills are worthless outside the Royal Capital."

Tim glared at him. "Buck! Have you forgotten how your father died? He coughed himself to death in a workshed because he didn’t have the money for the guild-appointed physician! Now they offer you a thirty percent raise, and you forget all that?"

"I..." The apprentice named Buck’s face went deathly pale. He finally lowered his head and silently backed out of the group.

"I still have three younger brothers to support at home."

Leaving those words behind, he followed the deacon away.

With one person leading the way, another seven or eight people quickly left the group.

Hog never looked back.

The group pressed on. It seemed the departing apprentices had taken more than just their tools; they had taken the very air from around them. Sweat beaded on every face, and people unconsciously unbuttoned their collars.

When they reached the canal bridge, a second group blocked their path.

This time, it was their families.

Women, old men, and even some children were crying and pleading, throwing the procession into complete disarray.

A woman with salt-and-pepper hair clutched her son’s arm tightly.

"Son! If you leave, your sister will lose her job at the dyeing mill! Are you going to just stand by and watch your family starve to death?"

A haggard-looking young woman clutched her fiancé’s hand, tears streaming down her face.

"You promised you’d save money to marry me! If you leave, the guild will take back our family’s bakery! What am I supposed to do then?"

Tim stood there, stunned.

He was an orphan, taken in by Master Hog one snowy winter’s night after being found by the canal.

He had no family to hold him back.

But as he looked at his companions, at the tormented expressions on their faces, a profound sadness washed over him.

’Why does this world always have to crush ordinary people like us, who just want to make a living with our hands?’

He lifted his head and looked at Master Hog’s back.

That back was his family. His everything.

An apprentice collapsed to his knees, letting out a loud sob. He slammed his tool bag on the ground and ran back to his mother.

One after another.

The apprentices lowered their heads, dropped their tool bags, and left in silence.

Hog stared at the murky river water below the bridge, which reflected his deeply lined face.

When he looked up again, only three people remained behind him.

Tim, the orphan he had taken in.

And a pair of brothers whose parents had died in a plague a few years ago. Hog had raised them as well.

Hog spoke, his voice hoarse.

"You..."

"Master, we’re coming with you," Tim said, his voice unusually firm.

The four of them crossed the canal bridge in silence.

At the very back of their group, a girl in a coarse-spun dress with a small bundle on her back was quietly following them.

Tim glanced back and saw her. He froze for a moment, then hurried over.

"Lina? What are you doing here?"

The girl’s name was Lina, the daughter of a nearby spice merchant.

She was supposed to be wearing respectable dresses and living a carefree life, not like this—clad in homespun cloth, looking weary and travel-worn.

She looked at Tim, shook her head firmly, and said in a soft but resolute voice, "I’m going with you."

"No! Go back!" Tim said urgently, his voice low. "If your father finds out you’ve run off with a poor artisan like me, he’ll break your legs! We’re going to the Grey Marsh Territory. It has nothing! You’ll only suffer!"

Lina’s eyes reddened, but she stubbornly gripped his hand.

"My father only wants to marry me off to the fat owner of the silk shop next door to secure a more stable supply of goods. But the man I want to marry is you." She pressed her cheek against the back of Tim’s rough hand. "Anywhere with you is home; I’m not afraid of hardship. I have all my savings in this bundle, and the jewelry my mother left me. We’ll find a way to survive together."

Tim looked into her clear, resolute eyes, and all his worries and anxieties melted into a searing, warm current flowing through him.

He squeezed her hand tightly in his and nodded firmly.

They finally reached Flower Hall.

The hall’s doors stood open, revealing a vast, empty interior with only a few long tables. A manager from the Golden Sail Commerce Association sat behind one, acting as a clerk.

Just as Hog was about to climb the steps, Guild President Bolin appeared, leaning on a silver-inlaid mahogany cane and flanked by the last of the guild elders.

"Hog." Bolin’s voice was old but imperious. "Are you truly going to betray the guild that raised you, all for those ridiculous blueprints of yours?"

Hog didn’t answer. Instead, he raised the enormous iron hammer he had been carrying in his right hand.

Its head was forged from wrought iron, its white ash handle stained a deep brown by thirty years of sweat.

He slammed the wooden handle of the hammer onto the ground.

THUD!

"Guild President Bolin, look at this hammer!"

Hog’s voice boomed like a great bell.

"With this hammer, I built your high towers and paved your great avenues! With the money I earned from it, I fed my wife and son!"

"But do you remember? That late autumn, when my wife was gravely ill, you forced me to rush work on some damned project! When I dragged my exhausted body home late at night, I wasn’t greeted by hot soup, but by my wife and son—dead! Suffocated because our boy hadn’t managed the charcoal stove properly while I was gone!"

He stretched out his other, calloused hand, pointing directly at Bolin, his voice trembling with absolute fury.

"You took everything from me!"

"You talk about rules and tradition! Your rules just make us build using the most time-consuming, material-wasting methods so that your quarries and lumberyards can rake in profits!"

Hog turned to face the craftsmen who had stopped on the bridge to watch, not daring to come closer.

"From Wind Shield City to Candle Flame Castle... wherever there’s a quarry, one of your relatives or friends is in charge!"

"I’m not leaving the Royal Capital Stonemason Guild today for my own sake!"

"I’m leaving to show you all that for us craftsmen, the guild isn’t the only path! We shouldn’t be tethered like livestock for our entire lives!"

"We can have a second choice!"

"Maybe life in the Grey Marsh Territory won’t be any better. Maybe in a few years, another guild will pop up there, too. But I have to say this: your lives have become too comfortable! You’ve forgotten the entire reason the guild was founded!"

Guild President Bolin’s face turned a furious, mottled red.

Hog ignored him and, with Tim and the other two in tow, ascended the steps of Flower Hall.

He walked to the long table and placed the hammer that had been with him for thirty years down on its surface with a heavy thud.

"I, Hog Iron Hammer, and my apprentices, offer our services to the Grey Marsh Territory."

Just then, two figures descended slowly from the second floor of the hall.

The one in the lead was a young nobleman in a black coat, with refined features and a calm gaze.

Beside him was Caroline of the Golden Sail Commerce Association.

He walked to the long table, his gaze sweeping over Hog and the three apprentices behind him, finally settling on Guild President Bolin, whose face was ashen at the entrance.

"I heard," Velin began, his voice quiet yet carrying clearly to everyone, "that someone has been using the jobs and livelihoods of families to threaten my craftsmen?"

He glanced at Caroline.

Caroline stepped forward and announced clearly to the crowd at the entrance.

"From this day forward, for all craftsmen who join the Grey Marsh Territory, and for their families, we make the following three promises."

"First, your wages will be double what you earned in the Royal Capital, paid monthly, and never in arrears."

"Second, the Grey Marsh Territory will provide comparable jobs for the immediate relatives of all craftsmen. For fathers who work in the quarries, we have mines. For mothers who run bakeries, the Grey Marsh Territory has enough grain to spare for brewing wine."

"Third," Caroline’s gaze swept over Tim, and she smiled, "all children of the craftsmen, regardless of gender, will be able to attend the Grey Marsh Territory’s schools to be taught literacy and mathematics, free of charge!"

A dead silence fell over the area, both inside and outside Flower Hall.

The color drained completely from the faces of Guild President Bolin and the elders.

As for Tim and the two others behind Hog, their eyes shone with a light brighter than ever before.