Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 236: Chapter 231: Dock Worker Rocky

Dawn in Minas Tirith was veiled in a rolling sea fog.

Fabian stood on the foundation of the unfinished church, the wooden planks beneath his feet damp with dew.

Hundreds of workers had already gathered before him. They removed their hats and bowed their heads in the morning light.

"The Lord will bless the diligent. Your sweat will build His temple in the mortal realm."

His voice, gentle yet powerful, echoed across the construction site.

The prayer ended. The crowd dispersed, picking up their tools.

Fabian recognized most of their faces. Over the past two weeks, more and more people had volunteered to help build the church.

They used their break time to carry stones and mix mortar, seeking not merit points, but inner peace.

More than a third of them had developed the habit of coming for morning prayers.

’This is a good start. The Lord’s gospel is taking root like a seed in this barren land.’

Fabian was about to return to his residence when he overheard the workers talking.

"Hey, you think that kid Rocky can win in the end?" a man pushing a wheelbarrow asked.

"Hard to say. His opponent is Gray ’Bone Breaker’. But I like Rocky’s spirit! Even if he loses, he’s gotta lose on his feet!"

"You said it! It’s way better than that ’When Sweetness Knocks’ play in town. A story about a farmer can’t hold a candle to a story about one of us dockworkers!"

Fabian stopped in his tracks.

’Rocky? A play?’

The words struck him as bizarre.

’How could there be a play in this port, a place with nothing but mud, sweat, and cheap ale? That’s an amusement for the nobles in the Royal Capital.’

He approached the workers, his face wearing its usual gentle expression.

"Brothers, are you discussing an interesting story?"

Seeing who it was, the workers immediately stopped and showed their respect.

"Priest! We’re talking about the play from last night. It’s a new thing from the Lord’s Mansion. They set up a stage in the square for anyone to watch."

"Yeah, it was great! It’s about a dockworker named Rocky, just like us, who goes on to challenge a Gladiator!"

Fabian’s expression remained unchanged, but his heart sank.

He decided to go and see for himself.

As dusk fell, the workers put away their tools.

But instead of returning to their camps or flooding the taverns as usual, the crowd flowed in a single direction: toward the Central Square in front of the town hall.

Fabian, wrapped in a cloak, blended into the crowd.

The square was packed. Thousands of people were crammed together, a dense sea of bodies. Men, women, even children perched on their fathers’ shoulders. Their faces were filled with anticipation as they discussed the upcoming performance. The fervent atmosphere far surpassed the piety of his morning prayer meetings.

A crude, raised wooden stage had been set up. A few windproof lanterns swayed around its edges, casting a dim, yellow light.

There was no curtain, no announcer.

When a man in artisan’s clothes rang a brass bell in his hand, the noisy square fell silent.

The play began.

The story was simple. A dockworker named Rocky, who scraped by on odd jobs and collecting debts for others, was seen as a good-for-nothing. By a chance opportunity, he was chosen to fight in an exhibition match against an undefeated Gladiator.

Fabian had expected a vulgar farce.

But he was wrong.

The actors on stage wore the same tattered linen clothes seen everywhere on the construction site. Their movements were clumsy, and their lines were delivered with thick accents. But their performance possessed a stunning realism.

Especially the man playing Rocky. He wasn’t acting as a man of the lower class; he *was* one.

The confusion in his eyes, the awkwardness when he was looked down upon, and the fierce determination when he decided to accept the challenge—running along the docks at dawn, practicing his punches on suspended stones—all of it resonated deeply with the workers in the audience.

The focus of the plot was not on him learning superb fighting techniques.

It was about the process of him getting knocked down by heavy stone sacks, again and again, only to get back up each time.

It was his struggle, roaring at his reflection in the mirror, "I’m not a bum!"

Accompanying the plot, a few musicians played a simple melody on flutes and hand drums. The tune was simple yet full of power. Every time it played, it was like a heart beating like a war drum.

Fabian looked at the people around him.

A burly, stubble-faced man was wiping the corner of his eye with the back of his rough hand.

A young worker’s fists were clenched, his body trembling slightly with excitement.

They saw themselves in this play.

Fabian’s heart sank, bit by bit.

’This is no ordinary play.’

’The narrative skill, the precise grasp of the deepest human desires, the masterful layering of emotions... This is top-tier work, not just for the remote Grey Marsh Territory, but even in Ludes, the capital of the Evergreen Council and a city of arts.’

’What kind of playwright is hidden in this swamp?’

The play stopped abruptly at its climax.

Rocky was about to enter the gladiator arena to face his impossible opponent.

The actors retreated, and a man dressed as a bard stepped forward to announce, "What will be Rocky’s fate? Can he stay on his feet for the whole match? To find out what happens next, read the latest issue of the Gray Swamp Weekly!"

A massive, frustrated groan erupted from the crowd.

"That’s it?"

"My god, we have to wait again! This is unbearable!"

"What the hell is the Gray Swamp Weekly? Where can I buy it?"

Complaints rose and fell as the people, filled with an agonizing, clawing suspense, slowly dispersed.

Fabian stood rooted to the spot, motionless.

He finally understood what the Lord’s Mansion was doing.

A few days later, a strange phenomenon appeared in Minas Tirith and Newly Town.

The cheap pamphlet called the Gray Swamp Weekly had become the most sought-after item.

But the townsfolk soon discovered an even more painful truth.

They couldn’t read.

At first, those who were literate became the most popular celebrities.

On the construction site, during breaks, a literate artisan would be surrounded by small groups of his peers, begging him to read the contents of the pamphlet aloud. Every word, every sentence, captivated the listeners’ hearts.

But this sharing couldn’t satisfy everyone.

Just as someone was hearing about Rocky getting beaten bloody and starting to stagger, the reader would have to stop to go back to work. The feeling was worse than taking a punch yourself.

"This won’t do! I have to learn to read myself!"

The first worker, after suffering this torment several times, finally snapped.

He rushed to the literacy class registration desk at the town hall.

This act was like a spark landing in a barrel of oil.

More and more people flocked to the literacy classes.

Evening in Minas Tirith presented an unprecedented sight. The Lord’s Mansion had to hastily open more than a dozen extra literacy classes. The classrooms were packed, with people even craning their necks in through the windows. Even more people gathered in small groups around campfires, holding the small pamphlet, deciphering it letter by letter.

Literacy, once a tedious chore, had overnight become the most fashionable recreational activity in the land.

「In the study of the Lord’s Mansion.」

Tristan stood before Velin. Even though he had witnessed it himself, he found the astonishing ripple effect hard to believe.

"My Lord, the literacy classes in Mi Port are completely full. All our scribes have been sent to act as temporary teachers, and it’s still not enough. Many workers have even started using their merit points to hire literate people to teach them. It’s... it’s insane."

Velin was unhurriedly stirring the black tea in his cup with a small silver spoon.

The steam curled up, obscuring his expression.

He didn’t look at Tristan, merely gazing calmly at the swirling vortex in his cup.

"As expected."

Velin set down his teacup and looked up.

"Many people simply don’t know what to do with themselves. It’s not that they truly wish to be degenerate."

Tristan looked at Velin. This young lord always had so many ideas that were completely different from the rules of this world. ’The man I follow is someone who can change the world.’

「At that same moment, atop the bell tower of the now-nascent church.」

Fabian silently gazed at the scattered points of light in the distance.

The cold wind whipped at his priest’s robes.

He could hear that the sounds carried on the wind were no longer prayers, but the noisy chatter of people excitedly discussing the plot of the play.

He realized that no matter how devout his sermons, no matter how convincing his displays of healing powers, none of it could compete with the appeal of "What will happen to Rocky in the next installment?"

He offered people the Celestial Kingdom after death.

But Velin, with a single fictional story, had captured their every waking thought.

He knew he had to take more radical action.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!