Lord: Starting with Biological Modification Chapter 45 - 41: Vultures’ Feast

Cold raindrops battered the stained-glass windows of the Golden Sail Comrce Association’s headquarters, like countless vultures feasting on a dying body.

The once orderly bustle within the association had vanished, replaced by a panic bordering on chaos.

Couriers in oilskin raincoats rushed in from outside, tossing letters hastily sealed with wax onto the reception desk before disappearing back into the downpour without a second glance. Their faces were expressionless, numb.

Caroline sat in her spacious office.

Her desk, carved from a single piece of Black Ebony Wood, had once been adorned with exquisite model ships and a silver inkwell representing her family’s honor.

Now, these items were buried under mountains of reports and ledgers.

Caroline’s fingertips gently traced over an intelligence summary that clearly outlined the full scope of the storm.

In the few short days she had been working to repair her fleet, a dozen or so comrce associations, led by the "Blackstone Hand," had pounced like vultures that had scented blood, launching a textbook joint strangulation.

BANG!

The office door was thrown open. Freeman, a senior deacon, scrambled in, his face ashen. He clutched a freshly opened letter, the paper crumpled and soaked with rain.

"Vice President... the lumber mills on the Amber Coast... they’ve all broken their contracts!" He lunged toward the desk, his voice cracking with fear. "The Blackstone Hand! They offered thirty percent more than us and bought out the entire supply of ’Sea Monster-grade’ Dragonbone Wood for the next three years! Our shipyard just sent word—the raw materials supply has been cut off. All repair plans are on hold!"

Caroline remained seated behind her desk, not looking at him. Her gaze was still fixed on a contract termination letter from the "Anvil" Shipyard.

"It’s not just the raw materials," she said, her voice terrifyingly calm. Her fingertip traced the "Blackstone Hand" seal on the letter. "Our chief designer, Gregor, and his entire team accepted a triple salary offer from Hector Este last night. He didn’t even bother to submit a resignation. He just handed over the core structural designs for our next-generation ’Sea Serpent-class’ rchant ship as a pledge of allegiance."

The two pieces of news struck everyone in the office like a pair of heavy blows to the chest. First, they cut off your limbs, then they severed your supply lines.

The enemy wasn’t even bothering with subterfuge. They wanted you to watch your own fleet rot away in an endless wait, unable to find even a single plank for repairs.

Just then, a commotion erupted outside. A booming voice, amplified by so kind of Magic, pierced the downpour and echoed throughout the entire port district.

"An announcent from the Blackstone Hand Comrce Association! Effective imdiately, we will be taking over the ’Erald Bay’ spice route! All forr clients of the Golden Sail Comrce Association will receive a special discount by presenting their old contracts! We guarantee capacity and mission completion!"

The third blow, and the most arrogant one yet, had arrived in the most humiliating way possible. It was a resounding slap across the face of the teetering Golden Sail Comrce Association.

In the dead silence that followed, a figure stepped forward.

It was a weathered captain—the very sa one-ard old captain, Kevin, who had slamd his fist on the table in the eting room a few days ago, declaring his ship was his ho.

"Captain Kevin!" Freeman shrieked, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "What do you think you’re doing, stepping up at a ti like this?! I recall your ship was no bigger than a bed when Her Excellency the Vice President first arrived, wasn’t it? The association is the one that promoted you!"

Kevin ignored him, his weathered face etched with struggle and pain.

He turned to Caroline and bowed deeply, his head nearly touching his knees.

"Your Excellency, the Vice President," he said, his voice hoarse and heavy. "I have thirty-seven sailors on my ship who are waiting for their wages to feed their families. I, Kevin, will never forget the kindness the Golden Sail has shown . But to ask to watch thirty-seven families go to a watery grave with a ship that’s dood to sink... I... I can’t do it."

The end of his sentence was barely a whisper, sinking as low as his bowed head, which nearly touched the floor.

"Hmph, I bet you’ve been wanting to jump ship for a while now, you traitor!" Freeman pointed at him, fuming. "Anyone else? Let’s see, who else wants to abandon the Golden Sail today? Have you all forgotten that the Vice President’s surna is Channing? The Channing Clan!"

At the ntion of the Channing Clan, the expressions on the faces of the crowd instantly grew complicated.

Count Channing—a powerful nobleman in Silver Bay Province who could turn tides with a flip of his hand.

If the old Count were to say the word, he could not only resolve a crisis of this magnitude but could easily afford to rebuild the Golden Sail Comrce Association from scratch.

But... would that great lord really mobilize his family’s power for a "bloodless" daughter?

Kevin slowly raised his head, a strange sorrow in his tone. "Your Excellency, you are still the woman I admire most. But... your esteed father has also suggested more than once that you give up your mariti ventures. The Golden Sail may sink for a ti in this small harbor, but I believe that one day in the future, its flag will fly high above so castle."

"Pah!" Freeman spat on the floor near Kevin’s feet. "You’re a clever one, aren’t you? You were the one puffing out your chest and making grand pronouncents on deck two years ago, and now you’re the first to retreat during the storm, shalessly professing loyalty even as you run! You truly have no respect for the Channing Clan!"

Kevin didn’t respond. He simply looked up at Freeman, all traces of humility gone from his eyes, replaced by a fierce gaze, churning like a dark tide.

A sudden chill ran down Freeman’s spine. He shivered and imdiately redirected his anger at the others, barking, "What about the rest of you! Do you all think the sa way?!"

The atmosphere in the room instantly beca tense, thick with the sll of gunpowder.

"Enough! Have you all made enough of a scene?!"

With a sharp cry, Caroline finally spoke.

Everyone turned to look at her, their heads bowed.

Caroline didn’t look back at anyone in the room. Instead, she gazed out the window toward Valerius’s alchemy lab, where Velin was working tirelessly day and night.

’That gentleman said he has a plan, but we can’t pin all our hopes on him alone.’ She seed to continue, as if speaking to herself, "I’ve already written to my father about what’s happening here. Whether he helps or not is his decision. Freeman, go and tally up the wages for all the workers. If we don’t make it through this, give everyone a severance of three extra Silver Coins."

She paused, then her voice rose, laced with defiance.

"If we pull through, everyone who chooses to stay will be rewarded with thirty Silver Coins!"

"Thirty coins!" soone gasped.

But the faces of most people remained grim. ’Pull through? With what? Based on so mysterious man who’s locked himself in a lab?’

’Pinning their hopes on him was less realistic than waiting for a letter from the Channing Clan.’

That was what any normal person would think.

At that very mont, the voice of a house servant, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps, ca from outside the door. He was running so fast he nearly stumbled at the entrance.

"Good news! Good news! His Lordship... a letter has co from His Lordship!"

Those words made the frozen air in the room begin to flow again. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. At this critical juncture, whether the verdict was life or death, an earlier judgnt was a relief in itself.

And there was only one person who could pass judgnt on everything here.

There could only be that one person.

The Silver Lion Count.