Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 221: Chapter 216: The Meeting, Part 2

The oak logs in the fireplace were burning brightly, crackling softly as they drove the chill from the study.

Alistair stood in the corner, feeling like he was wasting his time.

’Is Father thinking a bit too highly of that fellow, Velin?’

’He’s just some minor noble hawking a Secret Technique. Even if it were Leman Klein himself, he’d have to be completely respectful before my father.’

He subconsciously glanced at his younger brother.

Tristan was standing by the fireplace. The light from the hearth reflected off the side of his face, enveloping him in a soft halo.

’My brother has changed.’

’He still has that same thin frame and that same expressionless face, yet he gives off a completely different feeling now.’

’It seems that even though my brother won’t admit it, bloodline really does change a person.’

Alistair snorted inwardly. ’Perhaps that’s why Father is being so serious about this.’

There was a knock at the door.

"My Lord Marquis, Baron Klein has arrived," the old butler’s voice came from outside the door.

"Let him in."

The Marquis rose to his feet.

Alistair’s gaze shifted to the door.

He had imagined many possibilities—perhaps a gaunt-faced opportunist with sharp eyes, or a well-dressed, arrogant upstart noble.

The door opened.

A young man walked in.

He wore a simple linen research robe, had short black hair, and looked a few years younger than Alistair himself.

He wore no ornate accessories and looked like a librarian from the Royal Library.

’This is the person who cured Tristan and made Father act so formally?’

Alistair felt a pang of disappointment.

Velin entered the study and gave the Marquis a slight bow.

It was a bow between scholars, not the bow of a subordinate noble to a superior.

Marquis Lorenzo nodded in acknowledgment and pointed to the chair opposite him.

"Sit."

Velin sat down.

"You helped my son," the Marquis began, getting straight to the point. "For that, you have my gratitude."

He paused, scrutinizing the young man before him.

"Now, tell me what you want. Wealth, status, or the friendship of the Lorenzo family?"

Alistair’s spirits lifted.

’This is the rhythm I’m used to.’

’Father has already taken control of the situation, putting the other party in the position of a petitioner.’

’Next comes the bargaining—getting the bloodline activation for Tristan at the lowest possible cost.’

However, Velin did not answer.

He stood up and walked straight to the map of the Duchy that took up an entire wall.

This action made Alistair very uncomfortable.

’To walk around freely without permission in front of the Marquis—it’s a grave breach of etiquette.’

"Your Lordship," Velin’s voice was calm, "before we discuss what I want, perhaps we should first look at what you—and indeed, the Duchy—are about to lose."

Marquis Lorenzo said nothing, but the atmosphere in the study grew tense.

Velin’s finger tapped the southern end of the map.

"The Southern Archipelago."

"In the minds of most nobles in the Royal Capital, this is a den of pirates, a prison for exiles, a barren land of no value."

Alistair found this baffling. ’And what else is it? Besides rocks and salted fish, who would give that place a second glance?’

Velin’s finger traced a smooth arc on the map, starting from Mid Port in the south of the Duchy.

The arc ran along the outer edge of the Southern Archipelago, extending into the vast azure sea.

"But this route is the Duchy’s most important maritime trade line. Over seventy percent of our goods—the potions and textiles we export, the spices, iron ore, and grain we import—must pass through here."

"I call it the Duchy’s maritime lifeline."

Alistair frowned.

’A lifeline? The term was new, but he immediately understood its meaning.’

"The pirates entrenched here are indeed a nuisance," Marquis Lorenzo spoke.

"A nuisance?" Velin corrected him.

"No. They are being forged into a weapon."

His finger moved from the archipelago and pressed down heavily on the southeast of the map, on the vast territory representing the Holy Second Empire.

"The Empire is funding them."

"Funding them to build bigger ships, buy better weapons, and recruit more men. This isn’t mere harassment. This is the cultivation of a naval force that, while not officially part of the Empire, serves its interests."

"This is preparation for a ’proxy’ war."

The study fell silent.

Not because Velin had proposed some shocking theory—but because no one present understood what he meant.

"A ’proxy’... What does that mean?" Alistair couldn’t help but ask.

Velin smiled faintly, a smile that made Alistair feel like he was facing a pedantic professor.

"It means the Empire can choke us without deploying a single one of its own soldiers. They need only provide Gold Coins and weapons, and let the pirates bleed for them, to achieve their war aims for them."

From that moment on, the conversation slid from a "discussion" into a "lecture."

Pointing at the map, Velin spoke eloquently, moving from "economic blockade" to "strategic encirclement," from "cultural invasion" to "puppet regime." Ultimately, he even deduced the Empire’s final goal of annexing the Duchy—unification.

Alistair felt as if he were back at the Royal Capital Mage Academy, facing a lecturing Great Mage—and one of those Great Mages who specialized in the most obscure, difficult theories and assumed you understood everything.

With every new term Velin threw out, Alistair’s brain short-circuited.

He felt his mind was like a jar full of bees, buzzing furiously, but he couldn’t grasp a single one.

He even had the urge to call for the butler to quickly bring him a pen and notebook, so he could jot down the things he didn’t understand and digest them later.

He subconsciously glanced at his father and brother, hoping to find a hint of "so you don’t get it either" on their faces for comfort.

However, on Tristan’s icy face, a rare trace of excitement now showed. He was listening with intense focus, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table, filled with the joy of acquiring new knowledge.

As for his father, he had initially kept pace with Velin’s thinking with only a moment’s reflection, even nodding slightly from time to time. But as Velin brought up "cultural invasion" and "puppet regime," the Marquis’s brow gradually furrowed into a knot. Those eyes, which had weathered countless storms, were now fixed on the map, his initial composure replaced by intense concentration. It was clear he was also beginning to struggle.

Alistair suddenly felt a keen sense of embarrassment and alarm.

’Damn it, they’re taking this so seriously.’

’In the end, I’m the only dunce in this family.’

At that moment, when Alistair looked at Velin again, his initial disdain was gone, replaced only by a sense of awe in the face of knowledge.

Velin turned around, his calm gaze falling upon the Marquis.

"...In short, I need the council to grant me the right to develop the Southern Archipelago."

"It’s not for resources or titles. I need legal permission to go there, build a port, forge a fleet, and turn this knife at the Duchy’s throat into a shield of our own."

He paused, then added.

"Of course, a new port that controls the main shipping lane will also have considerable commercial benefits. I trust, Your Lordship, that you will be interested in that portion of the profits."

Marquis Lorenzo was silent for a long time, finally processing the massive amount of information he had just heard.

’This young man has perfectly packaged his personal request within the framework of national strategy.’

’What he presented was not a request, but a solution that could not be refused.’

"The development rights will be approved by the council," the Marquis said, his voice deep and firm. "I will see to it."

"However, you will have to do your part as well."

The Marquis’s gaze turned to Velin, filled with deep meaning.

"In the noble council, there are many more ’bloodless ones’ like Tristan."

"You need to turn them... into your key votes."

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