Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 242: Chapter 237: The Lost Lamb

As the new year approached, Minas Tirith grew colder and colder.

Fabian stood on the second floor of a temporary wooden bell tower, looking down upon his "masterpiece."

A serpentine line of people snaked from the soup kitchen in front of the church construction site, stretching to the end of his vision. It was like a great python, devouring the grace he bestowed.

The same workers who had been toiling and sweating on the construction site just yesterday were now craning their necks, their faces a mixture of humility and desire.

All for a loaf of bread.

A warm smile graced Fabian’s lips.

He savored the memory of his clash with the young lord the day before.

A pioneer full of arrogance and naivety.

’He thinks he can conjure order and loyalty out of thin air with some "point system"?’

’How amusing.’

Velin wasn’t the first lord to try and reform the traditions of rule, but they all compromised with the church in the end.

Human desire has never been as simple as just filling one’s stomach.

It needs to be guided, shaped, and given a higher purpose.

And that is precisely the domain the church has managed for a thousand years.

Velin was furious, yet powerless.

This brought Fabian a pleasure that welled up from the depths of his soul.

It wasn’t because of a doctrinal victory, but because he, Fabian, had personally dragged a lofty ruler onto a chessboard of his own design and was now watching him struggle.

That feeling was more intoxicating to him than any growth in his Divine Arts.

He pulled his thoughts back to the present, preparing to begin the morning’s prayers.

Just then, his gaze was drawn to a small, slender figure.

On the outskirts of the boisterous crowd, near a pile of discarded stone, stood a child.

A girl.

She looked no older than eleven or twelve, filthy from head to toe, her hair like a clump of dried grass.

She wasn’t standing in line.

She just stood in the distance, hugging her arms, huddled in a corner like a feral cat.

Her gaze wasn’t on the fragrant loaves of bread, but... on the main structure of the unfinished church.

In those eyes, there was timidity, longing, and a hint of curiosity.

Fabian’s brow arched slightly.

’Interesting.’

’While everyone else is going mad for bread, this child is gazing up at our Lord’s sanctuary.’

’She’s different from the common masses, driven by carnal appetites.’

’She’s a blank slate.’

’A pure, blank slate, waiting to be painted.’

An idea took root in Fabian’s mind.

’This is a revelation from our Lord.’

’A living example, a lesson to show the masses what true "salvation" is.’

He straightened his pristine white robes and descended from the wooden tower.

The crowd parted for him automatically, their eyes filled with awe.

Wearing a gentle, compassionate smile, Fabian walked through the crowd toward the corner.

Mia was about to lose her mind.

Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run.

The Priest in the white robes was walking toward her.

Not far from her, a fully armed Holy Knight was vigilantly scanning the surroundings.

The hilt of the Longsword at his hip was engraved with the sun-cross emblem that made her physically uncomfortable.

The light reflecting off the emblem in the morning sun stung her eyes.

’For the happy water...’

Mia chanted silently to herself.

She forced herself to curl up tighter, burying her face in her knees and leaving only her eyes visible, mimicking a "timid yet longing" gaze.

’This is too hard.’

’This is harder than sneaking into a Count’s treasury guarded by two whole squads of guards.’

The footsteps stopped in front of her.

A pair of fine leather shoes appeared in her line of sight.

They were a stark contrast to her own mud-caked, bare feet.

"Child, why are you here all alone?"

A gentle voice came from above.

Mia flinched, shrinking back abruptly like a startled rabbit.

She looked up and saw his face.

Compassionate, gentle, with a condescending sort of affection.

’Exactly as Master described.’

She didn’t dare to speak, only glancing quickly at the distant bread stall before lowering her head again.

Fabian caught the gesture.

"Are you hungry?" he continued, his voice leading.

Mia nodded, then quickly shook her head.

"Th-There are too many people..." she said in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, perfectly playing the part of a timid orphan.

Fabian’s smile deepened.

’Look, what a pure soul.’

’Even the instinct to fight for food is suppressed by shyness.’

"The bread is our Lord’s grace, and it belongs to everyone who needs it. But you seem to be more interested in something else?"

He coaxed her, his gaze pointing toward the tall church foundation.

Mia followed his line of sight.

Massive stones were piled into walls, and workers bustled about on the scaffolding.

Sunlight pierced through the mist, illuminating the enormous sun cross at the top of the church and plating it with a golden edge.

"That... house..." Mia pointed with a dirty finger. "It’s so big..."

She paused, then her gaze shifted back to Fabian.

"Your robes... are so white too."

She said in a tone of almost perfect innocence.

"Whiter... whiter than the clouds in the sky."

Those words struck the softest spot in Fabian’s heart.

His vanity was immensely satisfied.

He had grown accustomed to the greedy and numb faces of the common folk, and he was tired of the nobles’ insincere flattery.

He loved the words spoken by pure children.

Innocent, direct, without any impurity.

’This is the most devout praise of all.’

"This is not a house, child." Fabian squatted down to be at eye level with Mia, a gesture that made him feel as if he were radiating divine light.

"This is our Lord’s sanctuary, a home that shelters every lost soul."

He asked gently, "What is your name? Where are you from?"

"M... Lina," Mia gave the fake name she had prepared. "I came from... from far away... My family... they’re dead..."

She fabricated a simple backstory.

It was the kind of story you heard everywhere, the hardest to get wrong.

As she spoke, she squeezed out a few tears, her face a perfect picture of fear and helplessness.

Fabian listened patiently, the look of compassion on his face deepening.

He reached out, intending to stroke the top of her head.

Mia’s body went rigid in an instant.

She could feel the "holy" aura emanating from that hand, an aura that nauseated her.

She could barely control the primal instinct to jump up and run away.

’Happy water!’

The image of condensation beading on a chilled glass bottle flashed through her mind.

Mia forcibly suppressed all her discomfort and didn’t pull away.

Fabian’s hand rested on her messy hair.

He was pleased to feel the girl’s body tremble slightly.

’It’s awe for a man of the cloth.’

’Such a wonderful quality.’

"Don’t be afraid, Lina." Fabian tried to soothe the girl. "From this day on, you are no longer an orphan. Our Lord is your father, and the church is your home."

He stood up.

"Are you willing to stay and serve our Lord? You’ll wipe the floors and clean the candlesticks, and in return, you will receive food and shelter."

Mia looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, and nodded vigorously.

Her expression was one of relief after a disaster, of ecstatic joy at having found a pillar of support.

’Perfect.’

Mia gave herself a score in her head.

"Sir!"

The Holy Knight, Connor, frowned and stepped forward.

"Her origins are unknown. Bringing a beggar of unknown background into the church..."

"Connor," Fabian interrupted him.

"Would you turn a lost lamb away from the flock?"

There was a note of reproach in his voice.

"Her soul is cleaner than any of ours. Our Lord’s sanctuary is meant to baptize such purity, not to house sinners like us, stained with the dust of the mortal world."

"I was being narrow-minded."

"But caution is never a mistake. Find an opportunity to test her."

The Holy Knight Connor froze for a moment, then lowered his head.

"Yes, Sir."

Fabian paid him no more mind, taking Mia’s hand.

The small hand was cold, rough, and caked with mud.

But to Fabian, he was taking hold of a weighty responsibility, a specimen of faith that he would personally mold.

He would make Velin see with his own eyes.

See what a holy flower could bloom from the "charity" he so despised.

See how fragile his point system was in the face of true faith.

"Come, child."

Fabian led Mia toward the church that symbolized his victory.

The crowd parted automatically, watching this lucky girl who had ascended to the heavens in a single step with gazes of envy, jealousy, or confusion.

Mia kept her head down, allowing him to lead her.

The moment her foot stepped into the shadow of the church construction site, her heart began to pound uncontrollably.

A mixture of fear and excitement made her feel almost faint.

’I did it.’

’Step one, complete.’

’Next... is to find that Priest Fabian’s weakness.’

’And then, use the "weapon" Master gave me to give him a big "surprise."’

She licked her dry lips, savoring the memory of that cold, sweet, and bubbly taste.

’For the happy water, it’s all worth it.’

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