Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Marchmont Marquis’s Mansion, Royal Capital.

Though it was late autumn, a Magic Array buried underground continuously channeled heat into the ballroom, keeping it as warm as the height of summer.

The light from the crystal chandeliers shone mercilessly upon every inch of the polished marble floor, and upon the ladies’ glistening necks and sparkling jewels.

The ladies’ gowns boldly embraced the heatwave.

Silk and light gauze, as thin as a cicada’s wing, clung to their elegant figures, while plunging necklines revealed vast expanses of alabaster skin.

The clinking of silver goblets and the string music of the band wove together, creating the background sounds of the high-society salon.

Lilia followed behind Marchioness Audrey, the hem of her dress swaying gently with her steps.

As a proper lady-in-waiting, her duty was to handle all the trivial matters for her mistress during social gatherings, such as presenting a glass of fruit wine at the perfect temperature at just the right moment, or steering the conversation away with a tactful phrase should it reach an impasse.

She quietly performed her duties, while her mind was simultaneously on another task.

She needed to find a truly valuable piece of information here, in this ocean of jewels, perfume, and false smiles.

"Oh, isn’t that the new lady-in-waiting with Lady Audrey?"

A woman’s voice rang out as several young noblewomen gathered around.

The leader was a Viscount’s daughter named Isabelle, who half-hid her face with a feathered fan.

"I hear you’re from Green Vein City? From a branch of a Count’s family, and your brother was granted a title in the Grey Marsh Territory?"

Another young lady, her dress studded with tiny pearls, chimed in.

"My father says pioneering a new territory is incredibly difficult. You have to deal with that rabble every day. Don’t you pick up a smell of dirt that you just can’t wash off?"

The words were cloaked in curiosity, but every syllable was a reminder of the social chasm between Lilia and them.

Lilia gave a slight curtsy, a gentle smile fixed on her face.

"Yes, my ladies."

"My brother believes that establishing order and prosperity in a barren land only brings more glory to one’s bloodline. As for the smell of dirt, it’s better to get one’s hands dirty than to squander family resources and tarnish the family crest."

Her reply was well-reasoned, neither servile nor overbearing.

Her answer left the young ladies, who had been expecting to see her squirm, feeling as if they’d punched a bale of cotton.

Isabelle’s fan stopped its fluttering for a moment.

"Baron Klein? You mean the Pioneer Baron who embarrassed the Church in court? My father says he’s reckless and will sooner or later land himself in huge trouble."

Just then, Marchioness Audrey walked over.

"Isabelle!"

Isabelle immediately fell silent. She gave the Marchioness an apologetic curtsy and led her little clique away, looking disgruntled.

"Pay them no mind," the Marchioness said to Lilia. "Sparrows that can’t hold their tongues don’t fly very high."

Lilia nodded, though she thought to herself, ’Isabelle’s words are a form of information in their own right.’

It represented how a segment of the Royal Capital’s nobility viewed Velin—as an arrogant, overconfident troublemaker.

The Marchioness was going to "rest" for a bit, which meant Lilia was free to act on her own.

She moved through the ballroom with a tray, picking up useful snippets of information.

In the men’s circles, the topics were more practical.

"That new administrator from the Empire is arrogance itself. He’s demanding that all goods our Duchy sells to the Empire be subject to a ten percent ’special tariff.’"

"How is that any different from robbery? And the Noble Council just agreed to it?"

"What else could they do? That bunch of spineless fools in the council are terrified the trade routes will be cut off and their coffers will shrink."

Lilia walked past them carrying her tray, committing the conversation to memory.

’This is the predicament my brother is facing.’

The Empire’s oppression was a tangible threat, a problem plain for all to see.

’But this isn’t the opportunity I’m looking for. This is just the problem itself, not the key to solving it.’

Halfway through the banquet, Lilia noticed that several of the highest-ranking ladies, including the hostess, Marchioness Monfort, had gathered on the terrace leading to the garden.

The light there was softer, and it was far from the clamor of the main hall.

This was a more exclusive, inner circle.

She picked up a platter of freshly sliced melon soaked in chilled mead and glided over.

"My ladies, please have some fruit to refresh yourselves."

Her appearance was so natural that it aroused no suspicion.

The ladies’ conversation did not falter at her approach.

"My good-for-nothing son has taken up Alchemy recently. Last month he blew up half the manor’s stables. He’s such a headache," a Countess complained.

"That’s nothing," sighed the hostess, Marchioness Monfort. "At least you don’t have to worry about inheritance. My cousin, Marquis Lorenzo, is the one who’s truly at his wit’s end these days."

Hearing the words "Marquis" and "troubles," Lilia’s movements didn’t change in the slightest, but her focus sharpened completely.

Lady Audrey asked casually, "Marquis Lorenzo? I remember his eldest son is quite promising, isn’t he? Already a Level 4 Mage at such a young age."

"The problem is his second son."

Marchioness Monfort lowered her voice as the topic reached its core.

"His second son is named Tristan. You know, the Lorenzo family has been pure-blooded Mages for generations, but as it happens, this Tristan is ’bloodless.’"

The moment the word "bloodless" was uttered, the air on the terrace grew quiet.

In this world, for a noble magical family with a long and storied history, to produce a descendant with no magical talent whatsoever was a source of immense shame.

"It would be better if he were just mediocre," Marchioness Monfort went on, her tone half helpless complaint, half boast. "But wouldn’t you know it, besides being unable to cast spells, the child is frighteningly intelligent in every other way."

"He holes himself up in the study all day, researching economics, geography, military strategy—he knows it all. He’s always trying to prove himself, looking everywhere for an opportunity to make a name for himself."

"Not long ago, he actually proposed to Lorenzo that he should form his own trade caravan and go do business in the Ten Thousand Beasts Court to the southeast. Isn’t that just absurd? Lorenzo is about at his wit’s end with him, terrified he’s going to get himself killed out there one of these days."

Another lady added, "Children like that are certainly difficult to manage. So ambitious, yet without the ability to back it up."

Lilia’s fingers, holding the tray, tightened silently.

’A Marquis’s son, capable and high-born, yet shackled by his own bloodline and desperate to prove himself.’

’This... Isn’t this the perfect "opportunity" my brother described?’

’A partner Velin is capable of helping, and one who would absolutely be willing to seize the opportunity.’

She forced herself to remain calm, placed the last serving of fruit on the table, and then gave the ladies a curtsy.

"Please enjoy, my ladies."

She turned and retreated, her steps as steady as when she had arrived.

After finding one of Marquis Audrey’s servants, Lilia clutched her forehead, feigning a pale complexion.

"Please inform Her Ladyship that I am feeling unwell. I may have caught a chill from the draft earlier."

In the eyes of some of the onlooking young noblewomen, this lady-in-waiting from a backwater territory was clearly unable to handle the intensity of a Royal Capital banquet and was making an early exit.

This only served to heighten their sense of superiority.

Lilia climbed into the carriage to return.

The wheels rumbled rhythmically over the cobblestone road.

Returning to the room assigned to her in the marquis’s mansion, she immediately shut the door.

A moment later, she sat at her desk, took out a clean sheet of parchment, dipped a quill in ink, and began to write a letter.