Lord: Starting with Biological Modification Chapter 29 - 25: The Wound

Cohen’s smile froze on his face.

"Lord Klein, three thousand Golden Suns... that price is simply too high. While the vines’ effects are astonishing, it is ultimately a new product untested by the market. The risk is enormous. Besides, that much money could buy a small town with a port in the southern territories."

Velin, holding his water cup, glanced at him impassively. "Risk? Steward Cohen, you only see the risk, but you don’t see the profits behind it, profits sufficient to overturn the entire construction industry?"

"My lord, I represent the Golden Sail Comrce Association and must be responsible for the association’s interests. A flat price of three thousand Golden Suns... I can’t justify that to my superiors."

’These rchants,’ Velin sneered inwardly. ’They never act without seeing a reward.’

He set down his cup. "It seems the Golden Sail Comrce Association lacks sincerity. Fine. The Haidi Duchy doesn’t have just one comrce association. The Blackrock Hand Comrce Association specializes in ore, and the Azure Gold Comrce Association focuses on stonemasons. I imagine they would be more interested in my technology."

He had thought these words would make the other man nervous and create a bidding war.

To his surprise, Cohen was stunned. He looked at Velin with a bewildered expression. "Lord Klein, why would you say such a thing? In the Haidi Duchy, every major comrce association has a great noble backing it; they carved up the market long ago. Stone Heart only deals in ore and transport, and Azure Gold only deals with the stonemason’s guild. They only want to protect their monopoly profits and wouldn’t risk a single coin on an innovative product!"

"Lord Klein, only our Golden Sail Comrce Association, only our President Caroline, is keen on such things! You ca to us for this deal not because we are the best choice, but because we are your *only* choice!"

’A miscalculation.’ Velin admitted to himself that he had underestimated the comrcial barriers of this world and overestimated the boldness of these old powers.

The bidding advantage he had tried to create was effortlessly dismantled by the other man’s words.

No emotion showed on Velin’s face, but his mind was racing. "Then... what about the Casson Alliance? They’re a comrce association that deals in timber, aren’t they?"

The expression on Cohen’s face froze.

Velin pressed his advantage. "What I’m selling has never been just vines, but an opportunity. An opportunity for you, a re steward of a small branch, to leap into prominence as an honored guest at the Golden Sail Comrce Association headquarters. Three thousand Golden Suns. That price is non-negotiable. Take it back and show it to soone who can make the decision."

Cohen suddenly felt the blood rush to his head. His eyes beca bloodshot, and his heart pounded wildly. He understood. Velin was right. This wasn’t just an opportunity for the association; it was a chance for him, Cohen, to soar! This was a win-win!

"I... I understand! I’ll get on it at once!"

Cohen left, filled with ambition. The three-thousand-Golden-Sun offer, like a divine decree, would burn in the steward’s heart until the mont he reached the headquarters of the Golden Sail Comrce Association.

Velin, however, couldn’t be bothered to give him a second glance.

Business was a minor matter. There was a more important problem now.

He walked toward the building being used as a warehouse. Barrett and old Walker were already waiting there. The forr looked grim, the latter a bit nervous—Velin had taken an interest in cultivating the hunter who had perford so well in the defensive battle.

"My lord."

Velin nodded to them and led the two n straight into the depths of the warehouse.

The thick, mixed sll of blood and coarse salt assaulted their nostrils. In the center of the warehouse, the skinned corpse of a Gray Swamp Giant Crocodile lay on an oilcloth, its pale white fat and dark red muscle starkly contrasted as they wrapped around the skeleton.

"My lord, why did you call us here?" old Walker asked, confused by the bloody scene.

Velin circled the corpse, finally stopping at the crocodile’s back. "Don’t speak of today’s matter to anyone." He extended a finger, pointing to an inconspicuous spot.

"Barrett, co here."

The experienced guard captain imdiately stepped forward, and his signature thick brows furrowed.

It was a grueso wound—a circular hole nearly the width of a bowl that had cleanly pierced straight through the crocodile’s thick back muscles from top to bottom.

"We didn’t do this." His voice was a bit hoarse. "Our heavy crossbows couldn’t possibly inflict this kind of injury... unless so lunatic jumped off the wall holding a lance, which is obviously impossible."

"Could it have been the horn of a Rock-Breaking Rhinoceros?" Barrett subconsciously suggested.

"No." Velin imdiately dismissed the idea, as calm as if he were delivering a lab report. "A rhinoceros attacks by charging and goring. The wound would have tearing marks, and the angle would be from the bottom up, or straight through horizontally. But this one,"

He traced the edge of the wound with his finger, not quite touching it. "Look, the edges are perfectly smooth, as if it were pierced by so enormous spike, without any excess tissue damage."

Old Walker leaned in closer. He reached out to touch it, but his fingers jerked back when they were still inches from the wound.

"And the angle..." Velin’s gaze sharpened. "Straight down. More importantly, look at this piercing wound. It luckily missed the spinal column and also happened to avoid any vital organs. That’s how it was able to continue attacking our camp with an injury like this."

Barrett, a veteran who had lived on the knife’s edge for years, instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, only to grasp at empty air. He then rembered he had unequipped his weapons upon entering the warehouse. His large, calloused hand clenched awkwardly at his empty hip.

"Then the most likely possibility is that it was already injured."

Velin paced as he thought.

"And with an open wound like this, even if it didn’t hit any internal organs, it wouldn’t have survived for long. Infection would only be a matter of ti..."

Having been a hunter for many years, old Walker’s head snapped up, his gaze eting Velin’s.

"They were attacked in their own lair?" He trembled. "So... they were... driven out?"

A Level 3 Magical Beast, driven out of its own territory by sothing.

"Based on the current deductions, that is the most likely possibility," Velin’s voice remained calm.

His gaze swept over the two n as he asked, word by word, "Barrett, you’ve participated in large-scale wars. What is the highest-level Magical Beast you’ve ever seen?"

Barrett took a deep breath, his one eye aching faintly. "Level 4... It was a tyrannical Earth-Shaking Bear. We had a hundred-man heavy infantry unit, and just being grazed by the shockwave of its charge resulted in over thirty of our brothers dead or wounded. That thing... we couldn’t even get within a hundred paces of it."

"Could that Earth-Shaking Bear do this?" Velin asked, pointing at the hole in the corpse.

Barrett’s head shook like a rattle drum, his face pale. "Impossible. Although an Earth-Shaking Bear is stronger than a Gray Swamp Giant Crocodile, it couldn’t win with a single, decisive blow. The crocodile might be smashed to a pulp, but it wouldn’t be left with a clean wound like this."

The air in the warehouse grew heavy.

Old Walker’s lips trembled. He tried to speak but no sound ca out, his eyebrows twisting into a knot.

Barrett’s chestplate rose and fell sharply. As a veteran rcenary, he knew better than anyone what this implied.

He struggled to raise his head and look at Velin. His gaze no longer held the reverence one shows a lord, but was instead like that of a drowning man looking at his only straw.

"My lord..." His voice was incredibly strained, as if each word was being forced through clenched teeth. "If... if a Magical Beast did this, then its level... is most likely..."

"Level 5," Velin finished for his subordinate, his voice calm.

Level 5.

It was as if the words had taken physical form, hanging in the air between the three of them—sothing none of them wanted to look at, yet couldn’t look away from.

Old Walker muttered to himself, "Level 5... a Magical Beast on the sa level as a young dragon..."

Barrett stared at Velin—the lord to whom he had sworn fealty, the man who had just worked a miracle.

But in that mont, all the joy of their victory, all their hopes for the future, were devoured by the unknown terror brought by this single piercing wound.

He struggled to ask a single question.

"My lord... maybe we should just run."