Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 217: Chapter 212: First Contact

The recruitment at Flower Hall was over.

But the ripples it created were only just beginning to spread beneath the surface of the Royal Capital.

In three days, the name Velin Klein went from being a laughingstock in noble salons to a topic of hushed discussion in the taverns of the artisan district—an enlightened lord.

Merit points. Contribution determines status. Meritocracy. A bloodline is just one type of ability.

These ideas, spread by the hundred-plus artisans and apprentices packing their bags and preparing to head south, were sown like seeds in every corner of the Royal Capital.

They were taking root.

In an alley across from Golden Cross Avenue, Tristan leaned against a damp wall, the shadow of his hood completely obscuring his face.

He had been here, silently observing, for three days.

In those three days, he had used every connection he had to thoroughly investigate the past and present of that southern Baron.

The results were even more astonishing than he had imagined.

’The world Velin described—one that didn’t rely on bloodlines, one that valued only ability.’

To him, this wasn’t just a slogan. It was the reality of what was happening in the Grey Marsh Territory.

Tristan began to wonder if the Grey Marsh Territory was even still part of the Duchy—or the human world, for that matter.

In the human world, "bloodline is everything" had become an ironclad rule.

He was the second son of Marquis Lorenzo. This status should have been an honor, but to him, it was the heaviest of shackles.

Because he was "Bloodless."

He was trapped in the gilded cage of the Marquis’s mansion, brimming with knowledge he had no way to use.

A lord like Velin was the very ladder to freedom he had been searching for.

Tristan turned and disappeared into the crowd.

’Now, the question isn’t whether to go, but how.’

’Show up at his door and reveal my identity as a marquis’s son?’

’No, that would make me look like a desperate fool seeking asylum. It would only make the pragmatic Baron wary of me.’

’I need a smarter approach. An opportunity to properly demonstrate my worth, to get close to Velin, to test his attitude, to see if he would truly accept a "useless" Bloodless noble.’

He needed the right opportunity.

The study in Count Leman’s mansion.

Caroline pushed open the door and walked in, her steps light and an irrepressible smile on her face.

"Velin," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "the man you’ve been keeping an eye on has shown up. He’s a perfect match for the portrait."

Velin looked up from a mountain of paperwork.

"He’s much more discreet in person than the portrait suggests," Caroline reported. "During the last two days of the recruitment fair, he stayed outside, asking the artisans who weren’t selected about conditions in the Grey Marsh Territory."

Velin took the report, his interest piqued as he read the questions listed: taxes, land tenure systems, even the road layout for Newly Town.

’Excellent.’

’The fish has noticed the bait.’

’And it’s smarter and more cautious than I thought.’

"Have someone put the word out."

"Just say that I’ve recently been researching the evolutionary history of ancient bloodlines, and that I’ll be at the Royal Library every afternoon to consult materials."

The Royal Library.

Beneath a towering dome, rows of ceiling-high black oak shelves exuded the dry scent of old parchment mixed with moth-repelling herbs.

The library was silent.

Tristan entered, his footsteps light.

He made his way down the corridors of the history section, moving through the shadows cast by the bookshelves.

In the reading area at the end of the aisle, he saw him.

Velin Klein.

He was sitting at a long oak table, a few heavy tomes spread out before him, seemingly completely immersed in his work, oblivious to the outside world.

Tristan hid behind a bookshelf and observed calmly.

He recognized the books open at Velin’s side: *An Examination of the Evolution of the Duchy’s Tax Code* and *The Transformation of the Royal Capital’s Workshops: A Centennial History*. He had read both of them, and more than once.

Just then, Velin stopped writing, flipped to a page in *An Examination of the Evolution of the Duchy’s Tax Code*, and let out an audible scoff.

It was undisguised disdain.

That struck a chord with Tristan. He had also been infuriated by the book’s arguments—apologetics for tax laws that were full of loopholes and designed to paper over problems.

This shared intellectual ground gave him the courage to step forward.

He straightened his collar, emerged from the shadows, and approached the table.

"Baron Klein."

Tristan spoke, his voice a little hoarse.

Velin looked up, his wine-red, amber eyes turning to him. There was no arrogance in his gaze, only the probing curiosity of someone who had been interrupted.

"And you are?"

"A reader." Tristan pointed to the open book. "This Chapter you’re reading—the one on the origin of the ’tithe’—is a complete fabrication, a lie concocted to protect the interests of the church and the old aristocracy."

A wry smile slowly formed on Velin’s lips.

"So you think it’s garbage, too."

"It conflates the ’one-in-ten’ tax rate with the legal principle of the ’tithe’," Tristan said, his words coming faster. "The former is a fiscal act; the latter is a symbol of theocracy. The author lumps them together for the sole purpose of arguing that a noble collecting taxes from his subjects is as righteous and proper as the church collecting taxes for God."

The curiosity in Velin’s eyes turned to admiration.

He invited Tristan to sit down and posed a question.

"Then, what do you believe is the essence of taxation?"

"The price of order," Tristan replied without a moment’s hesitation. "Subjects pay taxes in exchange for their lord’s protection and the maintenance of public works. It is a transaction."

"Well said." Velin nodded, then his tone shifted. "But that’s a static exchange. If a territory is a body, then taxes are its blood. If the blood only flows out and never in, or only in and never out, the body will grow necrotic and die."

"True taxation should be cyclical. It is collected from the people, and by building roads, digging canals, and establishing schools, it is returned to the people. This makes the entire territory more dynamic, allowing it to create more wealth and generate more tax revenue. That is a virtuous cycle."

Tristan was stunned.

’Blood, circulation...’ The words were like a key, unlocking a new door in his mind.

He had spent all his time thinking about how to optimize the existing tax system, but he had never thought beyond the framework of "collection and distribution."

Meanwhile, the man before him had already constructed an entirely new, dynamic economic model.

"Your theory... it’s brilliant," Tristan said, his voice laced with irrepressible excitement. "But putting it into practice would face enormous resistance. Building a canal, for example, would threaten the interests of the overland transport guilds. Behind them are horse breeders and tack manufacturers—a tangled network that even has ties to military procurement."

In a single breath, he laid out the three main obstacles the theory would face in reality, and named the five noble families tied to them.

Now, it was Velin’s turn to be surprised.

What he had proposed was a macroeconomic theory based on modern economics.

Yet in less than a minute, the young man before him had contextualized it within the realities of the Duchy and pinpointed every key point of resistance.

’My original goal was just to win him over to get closer to his father. I never expected he’d be a natural talent for domestic policy!’

’Ever since I transmigrated, I’ve been struggling with managing my territory, desperate for someone who could adapt my knowledge of management to this world.’

’Isn’t this exactly the kind of administrator I need—someone who can turn theory into practice?’

Velin was suddenly eager to continue the conversation.

As his own initial nervousness faded, Tristan felt it replaced by the excitement of meeting his match.

They discussed everything from tax law to guilds, from grain prices to military spending.

Time slipped away in their clash of intellects. It wasn’t until a librarian coughed discreetly while walking past to remind them of the approaching closing time that the two realized the sky outside had long since grown dark.

"This has been the most enjoyable afternoon I’ve had in a long time," Velin said, looking at the young man across from him, his tone sincere. "Your knowledge and insight are truly impressive."

He stood. "Let’s have a proper introduction. I am Velin Klein, Baron of the Grey Marsh Territory. And I’m afraid I haven’t gotten your name?"

"Tristan."

Tristan also stood up, giving only his first name.

"Tristan," Velin repeated, nodding. He didn’t seem to mind the hidden surname. "I hope we have the chance to meet again. I’ll be here every afternoon until next Wednesday."

"Good," Tristan replied. "I’ll be here."

As he watched Velin’s departing figure, Tristan remained standing, a fire he hadn’t felt in years igniting in his heart.

He knew that a change had begun.

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