Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 294: Chapter 289: The Circuit Tribunal

In the banquet hall, the Knight’s wife was dragged out, her arms held by two servants. The hem of her dress left a disgraceful mark on the floor.

This small disturbance, however, allowed the stagnant air to flow once more.

In the corner, the band conductor glanced at the butler. After receiving a nod of approval, he raised his hand, signaling the musicians to switch to a light and cheerful piece.

The sound of the lute rose once more. This time, the melody was lively and skipping, like birds in the woods.

Velin scanned his surroundings, met by gazes of either jealousy or awe.

Velin wiped his hands with his napkin and raised his glass to Diana.

"Alright, alright, it’s just a gift. Let’s continue with the banquet."

His tone was light, but the indigo glow of the "Sea Tide Sage" on the table made his words seem more like a boast.

The atmosphere at the long table turned awkward.

The nobles stopped whispering among themselves. Many simply cut the food on their plates in silence, their minds clearly elsewhere.

Philippe and Valerius were left hanging.

In the face of such undeniable power, their previous words and posturing seemed like a shoddy clown show.

Now, everyone’s eyes were glued to Velin, filled with curiosity and awe.

’A man whose pet can get its paws on a treasure like this... Just how wealthy is he, and the Grey Marsh Territory behind him?’

Diana looked at the pearl, then at the man beside her.

From the three thousand Golden Sun during the day to this oceanic wonder now, she felt as if she were in a dream.

’In less than a year, he’s already come this far.’

She suddenly remembered the marriage contract she had torn up with her own hands, and her heart filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

Just as Diana was lost in her reverie, Velin spoke.

"On my way here, I saw a plot of land with limestone soil to the west of the Dawn Territory. The soil itself looked decent, but the grapevines on it weren’t growing well."

Seated at the far end of the table, an old Baron named Ansel, dressed in a dated formal suit with graying hair, shot up from his chair with a speed that belied his age.

"Lord Baron! That is my land!"

The old Baron Ansel stood up excitedly, his sudden movement knocking his wig askew.

Velin nodded to him in acknowledgment.

"You... How did you know? My vines get root rot every year. I’m about to lose the entire crop! I..."

"You could try grafting," Velin said, setting down his knife and fork.

"Grafting?" Ansel was dumbfounded.

"Use the wild mountain grapes from the northern foothills of the Dragon’s Tooth Mountain Range for rootstock. Their root systems are extensive and resistant to waterlogging. Graft your good variety onto it, making sure to align the inner bark. Tie it tightly with hemp rope and seal it with beeswax. In three years, your yield will double."

Velin’s confident tone and detailed explanation caused the furrows on Ansel’s brow to relax.

’Could this young Baron have built his fortune on agriculture?!’

A nearby Knight who managed livestock stood up curiously.

"Lord Baron! Do you also know about husbandry? My pastures! There’s never enough fodder in the winter, and I’m forced to buy overpriced dry feed from Count Philippe. Do you have a solution?" As he spoke, he shot a resentful glance at Philippe, whose face was grim.

"The three-field system," Velin said without even looking at Philippe. "Divide your pastureland into three parts. Rotate between planting oats and alfalfa, and let one part lie fallow. Alfalfa roots enrich the soil, and when harvested, it makes for the best fodder. Your cattle and sheep will be able to eat all year long."

"Good heavens!" the Knight cried out. "That means I’ll even have a surplus to sell to others!"

BUZZ—!

The banquet hall erupted in gasps of amazement and a flurry of commotion.

In this era, the primary income of nearly every noble came from their estates and the taxes they collected.

To win at agriculture was to win the hearts of the people.

The vassal nobles on both sides of the long table, regardless of whether they had previously sided with Valerius or Philippe, could no longer remain in their seats.

They rose one after another, leaning forward, eagerly raising their hands or their goblets to attract Velin’s attention.

The banquet hall, which had previously been filled with only whispers, was now drowned in a rising tide of questions.

"Lord Baron, please, you must hear me out!"

"My domain has problems too! With wheat rotation!"

Chairs scraped piercingly against the floor as people moved around the long table, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum but unable to hide their eagerness as they converged on Velin.

While the scene had not descended into chaos, the noble banquet had transformed into a lively salon on the topic of estate management.

Those Knights and nobles, who on any other day only knew how to wield a sword, now looked like eager students. They stared at Velin, their faces etched with a thirst for knowledge.

Diana watched this chaotic scene, a glimmer in her lake-blue eyes.

She had expected a vicious battle tonight, but with just a few words, Velin had dismantled her opponents’ entire faction.

She quietly reached out under the table and touched Velin.

Velin took the hint, cleared his throat, and stood up.

"Everyone, everyone!"

His voice wasn’t loud, but the feverish crowd fell silent in an instant.

"We can discuss the technical details later. For now, the Count and I have important matters to discuss."

It was a dismissal, yet no one took offense.

The nobles exchanged glances, their faces filled with admiration and anticipation, and quickly backed away to clear a path.

"Of course." Diana rose to her feet, her posture poised and graceful.

The two walked side by side toward an archway on the side of the hall that led to a terrace.

The light there was dim, and it was quiet, far from the band.

But this spot was situated diagonally in front of Philippe and Valerius.

The last few followers at their side had long since grown distracted. They stopped their conversation, their attention now fixed on that corner.

Velin stood with his back to the hall, facing Diana. He lowered his voice, but kept it just loud enough for the two men not far away to overhear.

"Diana, I came this time for more than just the alliance. There is an urgent matter."

His tone was grave.

Diana immediately played along, furrowing her brow.

"What is it?"

"I have a friend in the Papal Scriptorium. He just sent a secret message by carrier pigeon." Velin paused, catching sight of the two men tensing up out of the corner of his eye, their ears pricked up.

"A traveling tribunal has secretly made its way south. Their destination is somewhere near the Dawn Territory."

Diana’s fingers curled.

"A traveling tribunal? What are they doing here on the frontier?"

"To root out heretics, and... the impious scum." Velin’s voice dropped lower, as if sharing a deadly secret. "This time it was jointly initiated by the Archbishops of the three southern dioceses of the Duchy: Woyuan, Golden Thread, and Silver Fish. Their authority is immense, and their targets are... certain nobles."

He deliberately emphasized the word "nobles."

"Nobles? Why would the Church provoke us?" Diana’s response was a bit wooden, her pretty eyebrows knitted together.

"That’s hard to say. Perhaps they’re short on funds again." After saying this, Velin gave her a ’you-know-what-I-mean’ smile.

"Especially since the Church has heard that the recent conduct of certain nobles... has been less than respectable. It gives them a pretext to act."

Velin spoke deliberately, each word a hammer blow to the hearts of the two men.

"Cardinal Archbishop Edmond’s stance is one of ’zero tolerance.’ The tribunal is even empowered to encourage the common folk to proactively expose the unlawful deeds of their lords."

Having said his piece, Velin fell silent, merely watching Diana quietly as if waiting for her to digest the news.

In the banquet hall, the boisterous music continued to play, but to the ears of Philippe and Valerius, it had faded into distant background noise.

SLOSH.

The sound of liquid hitting the floor.

At some point, the silver cup in Philippe’s hand had tilted too far, and the red wine inside spilled out.

The deep red liquid stained his hand and bloomed into a patch on his magnificent purple silk tunic, like a pool of blood.

Philippe stared down at the wine stain on his tunic. He wanted to wipe it with a napkin, but the hand he reached out with was trembling slightly.

He looked up at Valerius.

Valerius wasn’t looking at him. This man, who was accustomed to thinking with his muscles, now had one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The cold touch of the hilt, however, could do nothing to calm his chaotic thoughts.

’A traveling tribunal!?’

In this day and age, especially in the freedom-loving Haiti Duchy, almost every noble was guilty of some "blasphemous" act or another.

And this wasn’t the first time the Church had launched a "traveling tribunal."

The hearts of the two men grew heavier.

Once targeted by the tribunal, wealth and military merits would be worthless.

A single charge of "blasphemy" was enough to doom an entire family to ruin.

And as for whether the two of them had committed any "sins"?

They knew perfectly well. Their current behavior—acting like they half-owned the Dawn Territory and ordering people about—was a "sin" in itself.

"What a coincidence... He’s... bluffing," Valerius squeezed out through clenched teeth, his voice dry.

Philippe didn’t answer.

He stared at the slender back on the terrace. The man was murmuring to Diana as if he had just shared some irrelevant, amusing anecdote.

After a long moment, Philippe finally responded in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"But what if... he isn’t?"

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