Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

The celebratory bonfires burned out, their last embers of warmth scattered by the cold wind before dawn.

Minas Tirith, that giant construction site, reawakened as the first gray-white rays of daylight pierced the clouds.

The brief fervor brought on by cheers and ale was washed away by the biting cold and the reality of work in the winter morning.

Workers bundled up in their clothes, their breaths fogging in the air, emerged from rows of half-finished barrel-like buildings.

Their faces still bore the exhaustion of a hangover, but the chill had clearly dispelled yesterday’s atmosphere, leaving only reality in its wake.

After all, the glory belonged to the Lord. They, on the other hand, had to keep swinging their hammers and pushing their carts to earn their winter rations and merit points.

Tristan was up early. He stood on the third floor of the town hall, gazing down at the bustling stream of people below, who looked like a swarm of ants.

His brows were slightly furrowed.

The city’s population had already surpassed ten thousand, over ninety percent of whom were refugees and bankrupt farmers who had flooded in over the last two months. They came from all over the Duchy, with mixed accents and different customs. Their only understanding of the Grey Marsh Territory was that it offered food and work.

Loyalty was a luxury, one that required time, order, and a shared history to cultivate.

And right now, time was the one thing Minas Tirith lacked most.

Just then, Tristan’s gaze fell upon a detached, two-story building on the other side of the town hall square.

That was the temporary residence the Lord’s Mansion had assigned to the Church of the Ever-Brilliant Lord.

Priest Fabian hadn’t chosen to station himself in the more orderly and better-equipped Newly Town. Instead, he had insisted on coming to this chaotic, noisy port construction site, a place filled with sweat and dust.

’This Priest has his own ideas.’

A moment later, the door to the small building opened.

Fabian walked out with two assistants. A gentle smile on his face, he carried a simple medicine box and walked unhurriedly toward the busiest area of the construction site.

The guards at the entrance to the site stepped forward and politely stopped him.

Fabian wasn’t surprised. He simply smiled, presented an edict issued by the Royal Capital, and explained that he was there to provide free medical aid and spiritual comfort to the workers.

The guard captain was in a difficult position. These people were backed by an official edict, and their reason was noble-sounding. As a mere captain, he had no authority to refuse them. He could only send someone to report to Centurion Laine.

Soon, Laine hurried over.

After hearing Fabian’s request, he too found it a tricky situation. ’Establishing a mission in Mi Port?’ His instincts told him it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t articulate why. The edict was there in black and white; he couldn’t just openly defy it.

"Priest Fabian," Laine said, choosing his words carefully, "Mi Port is still a construction site at the moment. It’s dangerous and chaotic everywhere. I’m afraid there isn’t a suitable place..."

"No matter," Fabian interrupted, his demeanor as gentle and refined as ever. "We only need an empty plot of land to pitch a tent. The Lord’s temple is not built of magnificent bricks and stone, but of devout faith."

With him putting it that way, Laine could no longer refuse.

He could only designate a relatively flat, empty plot for them on the edge of the construction site, near the fourth residential area.

The ground there was low-lying and a bit damp; it was where discarded stone materials had previously been piled up.

Fabian had no complaints about this and thanked Laine sincerely.

Soon, a simple white tent was erected on the empty plot. Compared to the roaring construction site around it, this small area was as quiet as another world.

At first, the workers just watched curiously from a distance. No one approached. They held a natural sense of awe and detachment toward these clean-looking clergymen.

Until the afternoon, when an accident—the kind that often happens on a construction site—occurred.

A worker hauling stones on some high scaffolding lost his footing on a wet spot and fell. He was lucky. He didn’t land on hard rock but fell into a pile of sand, which saved his life.

But his left leg had been sliced open by a gash so deep the bone was visible, and blood was pouring out.

His fellow workers scrambled to carry him down. The site’s provisional physician rushed over, administered emergency treatment, and then left to request a higher-grade healing potion from his superiors.

While the worker was waiting for treatment, Fabian and his two assistants made their way through the crowd and stood before the injured man.

"Let me try," he said, his voice calm and steady.

The crowd automatically parted to make way. Fabian knelt down, used no medicine or tools, simply unwrapped the bandage, and gently placed his hand over the man’s wound.

He closed his eyes and began to chant in a low voice.

It was an ancient language that none of them could understand, but its syllables seemed to hold a power that soothed the heart.

A soft white light emanated from his palm, covering the bleeding wound like a ripple of water.

Under the gazes of dozens of pairs of eyes, the ceaseless flow of blood solidified at a visible rate. The muscle tissue at the wound’s edges began to slowly writhe and knit itself back together.

In no more than a quarter of an hour, when Fabian removed his hand, the wound that had been deep enough to expose bone had become a faint pink scar.

The injured worker awoke from unconsciousness. He moved his left leg and, aside from some weakness, felt not a trace of pain.

He sat up abruptly, looked at his leg, then at Fabian. His gaze shifted from confusion to fanaticism.

He struggled to his knees and kowtowed heavily to Fabian.

"A Divine Art! Is that a Divine Art? This is the first time I’ve ever seen one!"

"Oh, Lord! Thank you for your grace!"

The crowd erupted.

Most of them had never left the villages they were born in. When had they ever witnessed such a scene? This wasn’t some profound Magic, but it was the most direct and shocking miracle they could possibly comprehend.

The news spread through the entire Mi Port construction site as if it had grown wings.

That evening, a long line formed outside Fabian’s small building.

It was filled with workers who had suffered all sorts of injuries on the site.

Fabian turned no one away. Whether it was a cut, a bruise from being hit, or a sprain, he healed each of them with that miraculous "Holy Light."

He never asked for payment. After each treatment, he would simply say gently to each person, "This is the Lord’s grace, not my own merit. If you are grateful, please join me in prayer to the Lord."

And so, every night, more and more people gathered outside the small building.

They knelt on the muddy ground, following Fabian’s lead, chanting the holy name of the "Ever-Brilliant Lord" over and over in their various, clumsy accents.

Three days later, Fabian announced to the assembled believers that he would build a true Holy Temple here for the great Lord.

He had no money and no materials, but he had the Lord’s grace and devout followers.

He called upon the crowd to come voluntarily during their work breaks and contribute their strength to the construction of the Holy Temple.

"Every stone you carry, every handful of mortar you mix, will be witnessed by the Lord. You are not building a cold structure; you are constructing your own stairway to the Celestial Kingdom!"

His voice was filled with a bewitching power. The workers, who had just received this "divine grace," were fired up with emotion. They had nothing to begin with, but now they were being told they could exchange their labor for salvation after death. By any calculation, it was an incredibly good deal.

...

「Newly Town. The Lord’s Mansion.」

Inside the study, the fire in the hearth burned quietly, letting out a soft crackle.

Kael Shadow Song appeared silently at the study’s doorway, like a Ghost that had materialized from the shadows.

"My Lord."

Velin merely grunted in acknowledgment.

Kael gave a succinct report of everything that had happened in Mi Port.

From Fabian’s choice of location to how he used a "miracle" to heal the workers, and then to how he incited his followers to build a Holy Temple for the church voluntarily.

Throughout the entire report, Velin remained silent, just listening quietly.

A long silence fell over the study, broken only by the sound of wood crackling in the fireplace.

After a long while, Kael’s report concluded.

He stood motionless in the shadows, awaiting his orders.

"I see."

"Let them build."

"The real struggle is just beginning."

"I’d like to see whose stones and whose foundation they use to build the Lord’s temple."