Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 238: Chapter 233: A Move Off the Board

Bread!

Free bread!!

Free white bread!!!

They didn’t know if this Priest was crazy, but they knew one thing for sure: this couldn’t last forever.

And so, based on the simple principle that only a fool passes up a freebie, a peculiar craze was spreading through Minas Tirith.

In the early morning, the fog over the harbor had yet to dissipate.

Normally at this time, the construction site would be filled with the sound of hammering stone, but today, most areas were conspicuously empty.

The flow of people was headed in another direction.

A long, winding line had formed in front of the unfinished church foundation, a line even longer than the one for exchanging winter supplies back in Newly Town.

People stood in line, their faces a mixture of doubt and desire.

They craned their necks, staring at the newly erected wooden platform and the burlap sacks piled up like a small mountain behind it.

A rich, baked-wheat aroma cut through the sea mist, wafting into everyone’s nostrils and stirring their most primal appetites.

"It really is white bread! I can smell it! It’s exactly the same as the ones sold in the Merit Point Shop!" A young worker sniffed the air greedily, practically drooling.

The slightly older man next to him curled his lip and chided him in a low voice, "Keep it down! Don’t let people think we’re a couple of country bumpkins who’ve never seen anything."

Despite his words, his own Adam’s apple bobbed.

Fabian stood on the wooden platform, his face still wearing that same compassionate and gentle expression.

He didn’t deliver any long-winded sermons. After a simple prayer, he had his assistants begin the distribution.

"Every brother who comes to hear the Lord’s teachings shall receive this blessing."

When the first worker, with trembling hands, took a still-warm, sweet-smelling white loaf from an assistant, a huge commotion erupted from the crowd.

It was real!

They were really giving it away for free!

People at the back of the line began to push forward violently, afraid this manna from heaven would disappear in the next moment.

"Don’t push! There’s enough for everyone!"

"Let me go first! I was here helping out yesterday!"

A few Priests and Holy Knights responsible for maintaining order were shoved around by the frenzied mob. Their shouts were drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd, sounding pale and feeble.

...

In stark contrast to the lively scene before the church, Quarry Number Three, just a few hundred paces away, was eerily quiet.

The construction team captain, Drake—a "Merit Point nouveau riche" promoted from the rank of veteran for his military achievements and excellent management skills—was roaring at the dozen or so workers he had left.

"Where is everyone? The rest of them! Are they all dead?! Today’s stone quota is only half-met!"

A worker ducked his head and mumbled softly, "Captain Drake... they... they all went to line up at the church... I heard there’s free bread."

Drake’s weather-beaten face instantly flushed red.

He grabbed the worker by the collar, spraying spittle in his face.

"Bread? You’re skipping work for a loaf of bread? You don’t want your Merit Points anymore? You don’t want this month’s bonus?"

"But... but it’s free..." The worker was so scared he was about to cry.

Drake let go, his chest heaving violently.

He looked at the more than half-empty quarry, at the hammers and crowbars carelessly discarded, and a nameless fury surged through him.

「Nightfall.」

The "Brothers, Boars, and Ale" tavern in Newly Town.

The wooden tabletops were covered in rings from spilled drinks.

A young artisan, freshly rotated back from Mi Port, was loudly boasting about his "haul" for the day.

"You should have seen it! I got in line twice and got two loaves of white bread! I ate one myself and brought the other one back for my kid. He was ecstatic!"

At the next table, a veteran in worn leather armor slammed his wooden mug down on the table.

A loud SLAM silenced the surrounding chatter.

"Does begged food taste that good?" the veteran’s voice dripped with disdain.

The young artisan’s face flushed. "Master Hawke, what’s that supposed to mean?! That’s called... that’s called the Lord’s grace! It’s a gift from the Priest to his followers!"

Hawke, one of the original members of the Gray Wolf Mercenaries, shot the artisan a cold glare.

"All I know is that Lord Velin gave us the chance to use our own two hands to earn a house with a yard, to earn the Merit Points to feed and clothe our families. That’s dignity!"

He stood up, his tall frame exuding an intimidating pressure.

"Running to the church door, waiting for someone to toss you a bone like a dog—that’s not grace. That’s turning back into the very thing we despise most: beggars wagging our tails for the powerful!"

"You!" The artisan, red-faced, slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. "You’re just jealous! We get to eat our fill without working, while you fools are still busting your asses on the construction site!"

"Who are you calling a fool!" Next to Barrett, another veteran also stood up.

The atmosphere in the tavern instantly became tense enough to cut with a knife.

Those who sided with Barrett were mostly the old-timers who had followed Velin out of the Gray Marsh, along with the skilled craftsmen who had improved their lives through the Merit Point system.

And those who agreed with the young artisan were mostly the newer immigrants who had arrived later.

Two different sets of values were gradually clashing.

...

The study of the Lord’s Mansion in Minas Tirith.

Flames danced quietly in the fireplace, filling the room with the distinct aroma of oak charcoal.

Tristan stood before the desk, pushing an open ledger in front of Velin.

"My lord, this is the work attendance record for the Mi Port construction site over the past three days. The overall attendance rate has dropped by fifteen percent. For Quarry Teams Three and Five, which are responsible for high-intensity labor, the drop exceeds twenty percent."

"Logistics also reports that in the Merit Point Shop, the redemption of basic supplies like black bread and salted fish has decreased by twenty percent. It’s not a huge drop, but it’s a dangerous start."

Tristan’s voice was strained.

"I had someone run the numbers. Priest Fabian is distributing about two thousand loaves a day. Based on the market price of flour, his daily expenditure is at least two Golden Suns."

"My lord, our entire administrative budget for a month is only thirty Golden Suns."

"Compared to the Grey Marsh Territory, the Church’s wealth is infinite. He can keep this up for a year, even ten years. But our Merit Point system will be completely corroded in as little as a month."

A deep sense of helplessness permeated Tristan’s tone.

For the first time, he felt utterly powerless in the face of governing a city.

’This is just cheating. A thuggish form of proselytizing, backed by absolute financial power.’

After finishing his report, he watched Velin nervously, waiting for his reaction.

’Anger? Worry?’

However, Velin just listened quietly, not even glancing at the ledger filled with disastrous data.

He lightly touched his temple, as if adjusting a pair of glasses that wasn’t there.

"We can’t blame Fabian for using such tactics. After all, we are both guiding the desires of the populace. Neither of our methods is inherently superior to the other."

’What Lord Velin said made sense.’

’But the problem is...’

"My lord," Tristan’s voice was filled with confusion, "what do we do? Punish the people who went to get bread? That would just escalate the conflict and play right into Fabian’s hands. But if we do nothing..."

Velin stood up.

"If he likes to play outside the rules, then so can we."

"If you can’t solve the problem, you can solve the person who created it."

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