Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 222: Chapter 217: Marquis Iron Wall Charges Forward

「A few days later, at the Noble Council.」

The hall’s domed ceiling depicted the heroic epics from the founding of the Duchy.

Sunlight streamed through the enormous stained-glass windows on either side, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow on the crimson carpet.

The great nobles of the Duchy were seated in an amphitheater-style arrangement, their positions determined by their hereditary titles and the importance of their fiefdoms.

This was the heart of power in the Duchy; the ink of every resolution passed here would decide the fates of countless people.

Velin sat alone in the second-floor gallery.

His seat, separated from the council floor below by a carved wooden railing, offered a commanding view of the entire chamber but also signified his inability to participate.

The council had not yet officially begun, and the hall echoed with the nobles’ hushed conversations.

The focus of their talk was the rumor that had already spread—that Baron Velin had repeatedly visited Marquis Lorenzo’s estate and reached an agreement with the Marquis’s "bloodless" second son.

Several nobles seated around Marquis Lorenzo occasionally glanced up at the gallery, their gazes sizing Velin up.

Those gazes held both scrutiny and greed.

The hall fell silent as the council’s chief scribe rang a Silver Bell on the table.

"The first item on today’s agenda."

The scribe’s voice was full and flat.

"To review the application for development rights to the Southern Archipelago, submitted by His Excellency Velin Klein, Pioneer Baron of the Grey Marsh Territory."

Having made the announcement, he sat back down, his expression impassive.

A burly, elderly man stood up.

He wore a perfectly tailored, dark blue formal military uniform. Its brass buttons were polished to a gleam, and the noble crest on his chest shone brilliantly.

The Ironwall Marquis, leader of the military aristocracy and the staunchest standard-bearer of the pro-Empire faction.

"Gentlemen."

His voice was deep and resonant, lacking the elegance of a typical nobleman. Instead, it carried the piercing quality of a seasoned commander, silencing the murmurs in the hall.

"The Southern Archipelago is a place familiar to all present. It is a breeding ground for pirates, a paradise for smugglers. And now, a threat has emerged there, one great enough to shake the very foundations of our Duchy."

He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping across the chamber, ensuring he had everyone’s undivided attention.

"A great pirate calling himself ’Black Sails’ Barbossa has, in a very short time, united all the desperados in that stretch of sea. According to the latest reports, his fleet has grown to over thirty ships, including three-masted warships armed with heavy alchemical cannons."

"They burn, kill, and plunder, stopping at no evil. Just last month, they massacred everyone at Dorne Cape. It was a village of over three hundred fishermen. There were no survivors; they didn’t even spare the women and children."

A wave of suppressed gasps swept through the hall.

Many of the nobles who lived far inland, with little knowledge of maritime affairs, had looks of terror on their faces.

"Barbossa’s ambition doesn’t stop there," the Ironwall Marquis continued. "His goal is to plunder all our shipping lanes in Gray Bay, turning our maritime lifeline into his personal treasury! When that happens, the grain, ore, and cloth we ship out will all become his spoils, and the vital supplies we need will never arrive safely!"

"Faced with such a savage enemy, our Duchy’s navy, if I may be blunt, is no longer capable of eliminating them."

The Marquis’s words struck a chord in the heart of every noble present.

It was an undeniable fact that the Duchy’s navy had been steadily weakening due to budget cuts.

"However, we are not without aid."

The Ironwall Marquis’s tone shifted.

"The Holy Second Empire, our powerful neighbor, is willing to extend a helping hand. The Empire does not wish to see the Duchy’s shipping routes severed by pirates, which would impact the trade environment of the entire continent."

"To that end, the lords of the Southern Archipelago and some of the coastal territories who have suffered greatly have already jointly petitioned the council for aid, asking that we accept the Empire’s goodwill."

He handed a scroll of parchment to the scribe.

The scribe unrolled the parchment and began to read aloud in a mournful tone.

"...Our people live in constant fear. We implore you, my lords of the council, to accept the Empire’s protection. Allow their fleet to enter the Southern Archipelago, eliminate the pirates, and restore peace to our seas..."

The letter was long, its words earnest, and it sounded utterly desperate.

More and more of the neutral nobles began to nod. They whispered amongst themselves, concluding that security was paramount. Since their own navy couldn’t be relied upon, accepting help from the more powerful Empire seemed the only logical choice.

The situation began to tilt against Velin.

The Ironwall Marquis watched this unfold with satisfaction. He spoke again, this time aiming his attack directly at Velin in the gallery.

"As for this Baron Klein from the swamp."

He gestured toward Velin with a slight lift of his chin, the movement steeped in contempt.

"We thank him for his courage. A young man willing to share the Duchy’s burdens—that is a commendable quality."

"However, governing a small pioneer territory and commanding a fleet in battle on the tempestuous seas are two entirely different matters. We cannot gamble the Duchy’s maritime security to indulge a young man’s heroic fantasies."

A buzz of agreement rose from the hall.

The nobles on good terms with the Ironwall Marquis were already smiling as if victory was in their grasp.

The few supporters of Velin, like Viscount Brian, looked grim. They opened their mouths to speak but found themselves unable to form a rebuttal. In the face of the enormous threat painted by the Marquis, any argument in support of Velin seemed as pale and feeble as a child’s babbling.

Everyone’s gaze turned, as if by unspoken agreement, to Marquis Lorenzo in the front row.

He was the only one with both the standing and the power to contend with the Ironwall Marquis.

This standing did not come from his title as a Marquis, but from the intangible authority he wielded—an authority sufficient to rival the Ironwall Marquis’s monumental military achievements.

If the Ironwall Marquis represented the Duchy’s sharpest sword and sturdiest shield, its undisputed military pillar, then the Lorenzo family was the source and the brain of the Duchy’s magical power.

As the oldest and most prosperous Caster family in the land, the Lorenzo family’s relationship with the Royal Capital Mage Academy was deeply entrenched and inseparable. Their family had even produced several deans who led the Academy, giving them a near-monopolistic authority in the Extraordinary domain.

On one side was the pinnacle of secular military power; on the other, the uncrowned king of the arcane arts. This was the power that made even the military aristocracy wary, and it was the source of Marquis Lorenzo’s confidence to face the Ironwall Marquis.

However, the Marquis had his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair.

His fingers tapped a gentle, steady rhythm on the armrest, as if he had fallen asleep, utterly indifferent to the proceedings around him.

Seeing the other Marquis’s reaction, the Ironwall Marquis grew even more smug.

He believed Lorenzo had backed down on this issue.

After all, confronting the Empire required immense courage and capital. As powerful as the Lorenzo family was, there was no need for them to take such a risk for a low-ranking noble.

"Since there are no objections."

The Ironwall Marquis raised his voice, attempting to settle the matter once and for all.

"I move that we vote on the proposal ’to accept the Empire’s stewardship over the Southern Archipelago’!"

Velin’s side was completely overwhelmed in terms of public opinion and momentum.

In the gallery, Velin remained calm.

He watched everything unfolding below—the nobles who had been incited and intimidated, the Ironwall Marquis’s triumphant face.

’This play is proceeding exactly according to the script I rehearsed.’

The council scribe stood, picked up a fresh quill, dipped it in ink, and prepared to record the Marquis’s motion to vote.

Just as the tip of the quill was about to touch the parchment.

TAP.

The tapping of Marquis Lorenzo’s fingers on the armrest stopped.

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