Lord: Starting with Biological Modification

Chapter 300: Chapter 295: A Grand Gift

The rain fell without end.

South of Light City, at the Drunken Bear tavern.

The wooden door creaked open, and a cold, rain-laced wind gusted in, making the patrons at the bar shrink their necks.

"Damn this weather." Knight Blake unfastened his soaked cloak and tossed it to his attendant.

He strode to an empty table and sat, the mud from his boots leaving two prints on the floor.

Across from him, a thin, tall Baron was cleaning his nails with a small knife, not bothering to look up.

"Blake, were you out at the barracks again today? See our dear Countess still tormenting those greenhorns?"

Blake took the ale the tavern keeper handed him and downed half the mug.

"Where else would she be? She’s there every day. Looks possessed, tsk tsk. Anyone who didn’t know better would think she got dumped by that swamp boy and wants to take it out on the soldiers."

The surrounding tables erupted in a roar of laughter.

"What do you mean, ’think’? She *was* dumped!" The thin, tall Baron stabbed his knife into the tabletop with a THUD, the blade quivering.

"My wife’s cousin is a kitchen maid in the castle. She said that guy, Velin, fled in the middle of the night!"

"For real?"

"Would I lie? It’s the talk of the whole castle! They’ve even given Velin a nickname: the ’Swamp Deserter’!"

The laughter grew louder.

A nouveau riche noble who’d made his fortune trading lumber leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Tell me, do you think our Countess has lost her mind? For a con man, she offended Count Philippe and Viscount Valerius, and now she’s gone and displeased the Sun Clan. And she’s still drilling the soldiers every day. Does she really want to drag us all to our deaths for that pretty boy?"

"Who knows? It’s a woman for you." Blake wiped the foam from his lips, his expression disdainful. "She thinks if she puts a sword to our necks, we’ll follow her to fight the Sea Race to the death? In her dreams! My soldiers aren’t here to be funeral sacrifices for her pretty-boy lover."

"Well said!"

"His Lordship the Count may have left, but he always has his friends in Light City in his thoughts." Roger produced a coin purse from his coat and placed it on the table with a soft thud.

The mouth of the bag fell open, and a few Golden Suns rolled out, glinting in the candlelight.

"A small token from His Lordship. He says that true allies never let their friends shiver in the cold rain."

The light of the Golden Suns reflected on Blake’s face and that of the thin, tall Baron, but they exchanged a look and saw the hesitation in each other’s eyes.

The Golden Suns were certainly tempting, but it hadn’t even been a week since Count Philippe had abandoned his allies and fled Light City in a panic. How much was his "kindness" really worth?

Blake’s gaze drifted unconsciously to the window. Through the curtain of rain, a troop of cavalry was heading up the street toward the castle, led by none other than the cloaked figure of Countess Diana.

Her face was grim, as if she had just returned from the barracks.

His heart skipped a beat, and he hastily pushed the coin purse away.

"Steward Roger, this... we couldn’t possibly." The thin, tall Baron had followed his gaze. His face went pale, and he stood up awkwardly, hissing, "It’s the Countess! She’s back from the barracks!"

The two said no more, made a flimsy excuse, and hurried away from the table. The bag of Golden Suns had become a hot potato.

Roger watched them beat a hasty retreat, the smile slowly fading from his face.

He picked up the coin purse and cursed inwardly, ’A bunch of fence-sitters.’

He understood. Until a true victor emerged between Count Philippe and that Velin fellow, these opportunistic minor nobles would never choose a side.

’Looks like I’ll just have to report back to His Lordship,’ he thought.

He raised his cup, took a sip, and gazed grimly out the window at the cavalry troop receding into the distance.

At the very front of the troop, Diana urged her mount forward, cold rainwater sliding down the high brim of her rain hat.

The cold wind whipped the rain around, making her cloak snap and flutter. A few strands of golden hair stuck to her cheeks, making her look somewhat disheveled.

It had been three days.

The day Velin left, he had said he would bring back a "gift that no noble could refuse."

But since he left, there had been no word.

Rumors had spread throughout the entire city.

He had become a laughingstock, a "Swamp Deserter."

And she, a gullible fool who had been deceived.

She never doubted that Velin would return. He was absolutely not the type of person to desert his post.

But she didn’t know how much longer she would have to wait, how much longer she would have to endure the ridicule.

’Abandoned...’ A pang of bitterness welled up inside her.

Because she was the one who had abandoned him; Velin was the one who had been cast aside.

And this time, she would not make the same mistake again.

Wait.

Prepare for the expedition.

That was the only thing she could do for him right now.

...

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in Minas Tirith, the alchemy laboratory was brightly lit.

The laboratory door was pushed open, and a gust of cool air dispersed some of the heat, jolting several drowsy apprentices awake.

Velin walked in.

He looked at the crowd. Everyone had been awake for two straight days and nights, and nearly everyone had a pile of empty stimulant potion vials at their feet.

"My Lord!"

Elvin was the first to see Velin.

He had been staring blankly at a sample in a crystal vessel. Upon seeing the newcomer, he practically shot to his feet, but his legs, numb from sitting for so long, gave way, and he nearly fell.

Hearing the cry, Valerius, who was on a high platform, turned around stiffly.

The moment he saw Velin, the old alchemist’s shoulders visibly slumped.

"My lord... we’re ready." The old alchemist’s voice was hoarse, his eyes sunken and bloodshot.

He pointed to the experiment table.

There, a single small beaker held a viscous, deep-blue gel.

"The final formula is complete," Valerius said, his voice laced with extreme exhaustion. "Exactly according to your design, not a single detail off. We’ve prepared a sample, but, my lord... its final effect must be verified by you personally."

Velin said nothing more and walked straight to the experiment table.

On the table was a prepared glass tank filled with high-salinity seawater.

Velin took a small cloth bag from his coat and poured out a dark red seed, the seed of a [Fast-Growing Red Leaf Tree].

He coated the seed in the gel, then dropped it into the seawater tank. The seed wobbled its way to the bottom.

Velin extended his right hand and held it just above the glass tank.

[Spring Messenger]

Everyone in the lab held their breath, their days of fatigue replaced by immense curiosity and tension.

An invisible pulse of life began to spread.

The next second, a change occurred.

From the seed at the bottom of the tank, a fleshy, red sprout suddenly burst forth!

It grew at a visible speed, breaking through the seed coat and taking root in the sand and gravel at the bottom.

Immediately after, the main trunk shot upward, branching out, and one by one, dark red leaves unfurled.

In the space of just a dozen breaths, a half-meter-tall sapling had appeared before everyone’s eyes out of thin air!

Its bark was a stony gray-white and hard in texture, having inherited the traits of the Stone Skin Soft Vine. Its sprawling branches and leaves, meanwhile, had inherited the Red Leaf Tree’s powerful adaptation to high-salinity seawater.

"It really worked..." an apprentice murmured, then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

Valerius stumbled forward a step, bracing his hands on the experiment table, his face practically pressed against the glass tank.

He stared at the vibrant sapling, an unprecedented light erupting in his cloudy eyes. His lips trembled, unable to form a single word.

’It worked!’

Velin withdrew his hand and turned to the old alchemist, who was trembling with excitement.

"Master Valerius." His voice was calm and powerful. "Activate all alchemy arrays and begin mass production with this formula. I need one hundred finished jars, as quickly as possible."

"Yes, my lord!" Valerius seemed to have aged ten years younger in an instant, his exhaustion replaced by fervent zeal.

He turned and roared at all the apprentices and Mages, "Did you hear that?! Empty all reaction cauldrons and prepare the raw materials! Move it! Move it!"

The entire laboratory immediately roared back to life.

「A few hours later, in the underground docks of Minas Tirith.」

"...be sure to record the growth process carefully," the old alchemist repeatedly instructed the few apprentices who would be departing with Velin.

Sack after sack of seeds wrapped in oilcloth, along with a hundred jars of blue gel still warm to the touch, were carried by the Worker Ants into the chambers of Leviathan Three.

The living submarine lurked silently in the water, its massive eyelids slightly closed, only a few of its tentacles swaying gently beneath the surface.

[Father~ Father~!]

[Important~ Mission~!]

A thought echoed in Velin’s mind.

Velin reassured it in his thoughts.

[Yes, the most important mission. It’s all up to you.]

The "little one," having received this affirmation, seemed very happy, its underwater tentacles waving more cheerfully.

Velin walked up the gangway and stopped before the entrance hatch.

He glanced back toward the brightly lit alchemy laboratory, still bustling with activity, then turned and entered the command chamber.

The hatch sealed silently behind him.

The water’s surface merely rippled as the behemoth slid silently into the dark waterway, heading for the Dawn Territory at full speed.

Before the command console on the bridge, Velin looked at the sea chart on the honeycomb matrix. His thoughts spread out, his voice echoing directly in the minds of every crew member and the behemoth itself.

[Target: the waters off Light City.]

[Depart.]

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