Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

The Royal Capital, Zelheim.

It was a city built upon canals and a harbor, its vast and complex skeleton formed by countless bridges and artificial islets.

Harnessing the tides and Magic, its people operated a massive system of water locks that worked day and night, maintaining the city’s very breath.

Velin rode on horseback, leading a team of guards down the most prosperous thoroughfare, Golden Radiance Avenue.

On the edges of the avenue, recently arrived farmers shuffled about timidly, their rough linen shirts reeking of soil and livestock.

The townsfolk and merchants were far more respectable, dressed in dyed woolen sweaters, their steps hurried.

Only those who dared to travel down the center of the road were the nobles and Priests in their magnificent carriages, their robes woven from brightly colored silk or velvet.

Velin silently observed it all: the well-thought-out city planning, the efficient transport system, the massive class of citizens.

’The prosperity here is a glimpse of an era on the cusp of Blue Star’s industrial revolution.’

Before long, Velin found Count Leman’s residence in the Royal Capital.

Compared to the manor in Green Vein City, this place seemed much smaller, but to own such a courtyard in the core district of the Royal Capital, where every inch of land was gold, was already a symbol of power and influence.

Velin and his men dismounted and entered the mansion.

Separated from this scene of prosperity by a single wall, Count Leman’s mansion was shrouded in a gloomy atmosphere.

The servants tiptoed about, their faces tense, subconsciously lowering their voices when they spoke.

Inside the study, heavy curtains blocked out most of the light, leaving only a long, narrow strip that fell diagonally across the carpet. Dust motes could be seen dancing in the beam of light.

Count Leman sat behind his desk, his expression grim.

Velin sat opposite him, his own expression calm.

’Velin could tell his uncle was not happy.’

For the Count, the Church’s seizure was not just a financial loss, but a political blow.

It meant the Church now considered the Klein Clan an example that needed to be made.

Count Leman finally looked up, his gaze falling upon Velin, scrutinizing him.

"You don’t seem nervous at all."

Velin pushed a black box to the center of the table.

"Uncle, being nervous won’t solve anything."

He opened the wooden box. Inside lay over a hundred densely packed vials of extraction fluid. The deep red liquid swirled with a strange luster in the dim light.

Leman’s pupils contracted slightly.

"Go head-to-head with the Church? Velin, I must remind you, the power of the Judicial Court far exceeds your imagination! They have the authority to arrest any noble they deem a ’heretic’ without the permission of the Duchy’s Noble Law court!"

"Although they wouldn’t dare use capital punishment on a high-ranking noble without conclusive evidence, it’s also absolutely impossible to walk out of that place completely unscathed!"

Velin shook his head.

’Of course he knew the terror of the Judicial Court.’

’In his memory fragments, this organization was the source of countless tragedies, a sword hanging over the heads of all who sought the truth.’

A direct confrontation would be no different from throwing an egg against a rock.

But desire is a more stubborn thing than faith, especially when it’s tied to the most primitive instinct of all: continuing one’s bloodline.

The Church’s ban, while choking off a public sales channel, also gave this Magic Potion a new kind of value—the thrill of breaking taboos and challenging authority.

"We don’t need to confront them."

"We’re going to turn this into a secret auction that only a select few are qualified to attend."

He took a card made of black cardstock from his coat and handed it to Count Leman.

The card bore no signature, only a time and a place written in elegant floral script, bordered by a decorative circle of silver dots.

"The Last Masquerade Auction," Count Leman read from the card, his eyebrows raising slightly.

"You mean..."

"The Church seized ’The Golden Acorn,’ using their authority to declare to the entire Royal Capital that this Magic Potion is ’contraband.’ In doing so, they’ve actually screened our customers for us."

"All the timid, the hesitant, and the blindly loyal to the Church will be filtered out."

"And what’s left are precisely the ones who desire it most—the influential figures who have the means to keep a secret and even dare to defy the Church’s authority."

Count Leman’s breathing grew a little ragged. He stared at Velin, a look of surprise in his eyes.

’This nephew of his, whom he had always thought was just a little clever with Alchemy, had such a cunning way of handling a crisis.’

"I need a list, Uncle."

"A list of nobles who are most anxious about the issue of heirs, and who also harbor latent dissatisfaction with the Church’s greed and tyranny."

"Lilia will casually let some rumors slip during the noble ladies’ afternoon tea parties to pique their curiosity."

"And as for these formal invitations, I’ll need you to use the family’s secret intelligence channels to deliver them precisely into the hands of each of those people."

Count Leman was silent for a long time.

He stood up and paced back and forth in the study.

Finally, he stopped in front of the window and violently yanked open the heavy curtains.

Blinding sunlight flooded in, making him squint instinctively.

"I agree."

He turned around, the gloom on his face swept away, replaced by rekindled ambition.

"The Klein Clan’s intelligence network will start working for you, effective immediately."

...

Soon, a rumor began to spread like an undercurrent through the social circles of the Royal Capital.

It was said that the last batch of "The Last" would be sold at a mysterious masked auction, flowing to those who were truly worthy of possessing it.

That unsigned black card quickly became a symbol for flaunting one’s status and courage in certain circles.

「One midnight.」

Inside an abandoned opera house in the Violet District of the Royal Capital.

The enormous crystal chandelier was covered in dust and could not be lit.

In its place were hundreds of tallow candles as thick as a man’s arm. They were placed in every corner, their flickering flames stretching everyone’s shadows long and distorted.

The musty air mingled with the smell of expensive perfume.

All the attendees wore black veils or ornate masks; no one could see another’s true face.

They sat in the audience seats, waiting in silence.

The seats were all spaced far apart—a deliberate arrangement by the host to ensure these important figures had enough privacy and a sense of security.

Velin stood in the center of the empty stage.

He too wore a simple, unadorned silver mask. His voice had been slightly altered with Magic Power, making it sound hoarse and mysterious.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

His gaze swept over the blurred figures below the stage.

"Welcome to this evening’s gathering. I imagine that all of you, having taken such a great risk to be here, did not come to listen to me ramble."

He dispensed with any further pleasantries and directly signaled a servant behind him to present the night’s only auction item.

It was a tray lined with black velvet.

In the center of the tray lay a single "Final Knight Tournament."

The deep red pill refracted an unearthly light under the flickering candlelight, like a powerfully beating heart.