Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Tumo had been feeling like something was off lately.

Business at "Brother, Boar & Brew" had, for some inexplicable reason, exploded.

His tavern, which wasn’t spacious to begin with, was packed with people from noon until late into the night.

Customers were everywhere—by the wooden tables, in front of the bar, even standing in the corners holding mugs of ale.

The air was always thick with the aroma of roasted meat, the tart sweetness of ale, and the clamor of conversation, creating a sweltering warmth that kept the winter chill at bay.

This should have been a good thing.

But the people who came were a bit odd.

"Boss, another plate of roasted sausage!" shouted a clerk from the Lord’s Mansion. Several of his colleagues were seated beside him.

Tumo recognized them. They used to come in for a drink occasionally, but never like this—showing up almost every day. They hardly drank, ordering full meals instead, which they devoured with great relish.

The strangest part was their eyes.

They would, at unguarded moments, look at him with an expression Tumo couldn’t quite place.

It was a look of relief, of approval, and even a hint of being deeply moved.

It made Tumo’s skin crawl. He couldn’t help but touch his face several times, just to make sure he hadn’t gotten any sauce on it.

"What are you looking at? You see a Golden Sun on my face or something?" he finally snapped at a young man who was staring at him blankly.

The young man flushed and quickly lowered his head, mumbling, "Nothing, nothing..."

Tumo’s business partner, the old friend who had once reclaimed the saline flats with him, was busy refilling wooden mugs. He sidled over and nudged Tumo with his elbow. "Don’t mind them, as long as we’re earning points. What we’ve made these last few days is almost half of what we made all of last month."

That was true, but Tumo still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of unease.

In the past couple of days, a new notice had been posted on the board in the town center. It said the Lord’s Mansion had formed a theater troupe and was going to put on a play.

Tumo had wanted to go see what the fuss was about; he’d never seen a play in his life.

But when he went to ask, the tickets were long gone—not a single one was left. He had no choice but to give up and throw himself into work at his suddenly packed tavern, where he was run off his feet.

"Where’s Little Stone? Boss, where’s your boy Little Stone?" a half-drunk craftsman shouted.

Tumo had already heard that question at least twenty times today.

"He’s in the backyard with his mother, learning to feed the chickens!" Tumo roared back. "Are you here to drink or to see my son?"

"Hahaha, we all want to see the ’little bear cub’!" The crowd erupted in good-natured laughter.

’Bear cub?’ Tumo was completely bewildered.

It wasn’t until closing time, after he’d seen out the last customer, that a drunk regular grabbed him and explained the whole story.

"Tumo, you’re famous! The Lord... he turned your story... your story into a play!"

"A play?" Tumo froze, the hand he was using to wipe the bar stopping in midair.

"Yeah! It’s called *When Sugar Comes Knocking*! It’s about you—how you cleared the wasteland, how you starved, how you tricked Little Stone by telling him you were playing a game of ’bear hibernation,’ and how you finally traded for that jar of sugar!" The man was practically glowing with excitement, as if he’d seen it all himself. "You should’ve seen it! At the end, when the actor playing you was kneeling on the floor, crying and clutching that jar of sugar, the whole ’theater’ was a mess of tears! Even that tough-as-nails captain of the town guard was wiping his eyes!"

Tumo was dumbfounded.

His mind was buzzing.

Those memories he had buried so deep he’d almost forgotten them were violently dragged back to the surface by the man’s words.

’The despair of an empty stomach, the heartache of holding his son, the torrent of emotions he felt when he saw that jar of sugar... All the hardship he thought he alone had known... The Lord wrote it into a story and performed it for the entire town to see?’

’What was there about a coarse man like him, grubbing for food in the mud, that was worth putting in a play?’

「A few days later」

The moment the tavern doors opened, a crowd was already waiting outside.

They weren’t there to drink; it was more like they were visiting a museum to see some rare artifact.

Tumo and Little Stone had become Newly Town’s most famous "tourist attraction."

People looked at him with eyes full of admiration. They watched Little Stone chasing chickens in the yard with gazes full of affection.

"Look, that’s Tumo. What a fine man."

"His son looks so strong and healthy. You can’t even tell he ever went hungry."

Moved by the story, many people began to emulate Tumo, whether they realized it or not.

In the tavern, there was less idle boasting and more talk of how to improve tools or earn more points. Even the town’s few notorious loafers started wondering if they ought to find some work.

「Late one night, long after the tavern had closed.」

Tumo was tidying up by himself, straightening the tables and chairs and carefully wiping down the bar.

The door creaked open, but he didn’t look up. Figuring it was a drunk who’d forgotten something, he kept wiping a mug and said, "Sorry, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow."

But the person at the door didn’t leave. They came inside.

Tumo looked up, puzzled. When he got a clear look at the visitor’s face, the rag in his hand dropped to the floor. SPLAT.

"My... my Lord!" Tumo was instantly flustered. He bowed hastily. "My apologies, I didn’t realize it was you..."

"It’s fine." Velin waved a hand, signaling for him to relax, and walked straight to the bar to sit on a high stool. "I’m the one who’s a bit late."

Tumo was even more flustered. He wiped his hands, unsure of what to say.

"I’ll have a mug of ale," Velin said. "It looks like business is good."

"That’s only because Your Lordship is looking out for me," Tumo said, his tone complex as he hurriedly poured the ale.

"It’s not me," Velin said after a sip, looking at him. "It’s you. The people like your story."

"My Lord, I... I don’t understand. I’m just a simple man. I only did what I had to do. What’s there to talk about?"

"It’s precisely *because* you’re a simple man that your story is so powerful." Velin put down his mug. "They see hope in you. They see that someone just like them, someone who started with nothing, can build a life with his own two hands."

Velin paused. "I want you to talk to them."

"Talk? About what? I’m no good with words, I can’t give a speech," Tumo said, waving his hands dismissively.

"You don’t need to preach any grand philosophy. Just go to the town square and tell them what you thought and what you did, exactly as it happened. Just satisfy their curiosity."

「A few days later, a simple wooden stage had been erected in the center of Newly Town’s main square.」

Tumo was half-pushed, half-coaxed onto it. Below him, the square was a sea of faces. He looked out at all the expectant eyes and his palms began to sweat.

He began to speak, his voice halting, telling his plain, unvarnished story. He talked about how he’d been backed into a corner, with no choice but to tackle that impossible piece of land. He talked about being too hungry to sleep at night, his mind consumed with how to feed his wife and child.

His words weren’t elegant, but they were more moving than any flowery prose.

At the end of his speech, he brought Little Stone up onto the stage with him.

"There’s one more thing, something the play didn’t show, that I want to tell you all."

"I’ve been thinking about it these past few days. Hardship? Toiling away? Who in this town doesn’t face hardship? Who doesn’t toil? So why was it me?"

"I used to think farming was just scattering seeds and waiting. But the teacher at the night school said that’s not right. When to till the soil, when to fertilize, how to irrigate, how to handle pests—there’s a science to it all. If you’re doing the same work, but you know what you’re doing, your harvest can be thirty percent bigger than the next person’s."

"The Lord didn’t have you watch that play just to see me go hungry."

Tumo raised his head, his gaze blazing as he looked out at the crowd.

"He wants to tell everyone that strength and guts aren’t enough! Now that we have full bellies and warm clothes, we can’t let our minds sit empty! We have to learn! We have to think! He wants us to understand that we can be more than just farmers scratching a living from the dirt. We can be blacksmiths, we can be business owners... we can live completely different lives!"

"As long as you’re willing to work hard and willing to learn, here, anything is possible."

Thunderous applause erupted from the crowd.

Those words were more effective than a hundred notices from the Lord’s Mansion.

Seizing the opportunity, Velin struck while the iron was hot.

The scribes at the Lord’s Mansion worked overtime, using woodblock printing to rush out a batch of pamphlets. The title was *When Sugar Comes Knocking*, and it told Tumo’s story in the simplest terms and the largest font. To cater to his enthusiastic new "readers," Velin even had the scribes work through the night to create a sequel: *When Sugar Comes Knocking 2: The Tavern Owner’s Happy Life*.

Rumor had it that the scribe responsible for simplifying the text and the craftsmen who carved the printing blocks were so exhausted they were losing their hair by the handful, and they spent their days in a listless stupor.

During the winter lull, the townspeople had surplus points and time on their hands.

The pamphlet became the most fashionable new thing.

Those who could read would proudly find a crowded place, like the tavern entrance or the steps of the square, and read it aloud.

Even if they stumbled over the words and had to sound things out, they would still draw envious stares.

Those who couldn’t read, swept up in the craze, started to get ideas.

The literacy classes, once considered a "needless extravagance," were suddenly mobbed. Overnight, the registration desk was packed solid.

People scrambled to sign up, terrified of being left behind.

A passion for learning, on this land so recently freed from starvation, had quietly taken root in a way no one could have ever predicted.