Lord: Starting with Biological Modification Chapter 57 - 53: A Loophole and a Bait

In the plaza, a wave of clamor and heat threatened to overturn the makeshift platform.

The assembly was over.

Everyone surged madly toward the other side of the plaza, toward the shack of the "Cooperative Guild Exchange Post."

They pushed and shoved, each wanting to be the first to the front to see how many rit Points the good items cost.

A literate artisan was pushed to the very front. He strained his throat to read out the list, his voice trembling slightly with excitent.

"Iron sickle, thirty rit Points!"

"One hundred beeswax candles, thirty rit Points!"

The crowd’s breathing grew heavy. This price was just within reach if they stretched themselves. ’Reclaim three *mu* of land or hunt five wild boars...’ The quicker-witted ones had already begun to calculate.

The artisan swallowed, his gaze moving down the list. His voice rose unconsciously.

"Thick wool coat, eighty rit Points!"

"A bag of refined sea salt, five pounds... one hundred rit Points!"

"Steel plowshare, one hundred and twenty rit Points!"

Suppressed gasps and a stir went through the crowd.

One hundred rit Points. That ant reclaiming ten *mu* of hard, saline land—nearly half a year’s work for a grown man.

The fiery fervor cooled slightly.

The artisan ignored the roaring crowd. His finger slid to the last and most tempting item. His voice ca out high and strained.

"A... a jar of sugar cubes, twelve pounds... two... two hundred rit Points."

The plaza, so boisterous a mont ago, fell terrifyingly silent.

The insignificant flicker of hope that had just risen in their hearts was extinguished again by the cold reality.

Two hundred rit Points.

It was a number large enough to crush any fantasy.

In their eyes, the jar of sugar cubes, glittering translucently in the morning light, was no longer a symbol of sweetness. It was a colossal joke, mocking them for overestimating themselves.

A hoarse voice broke the silence. "Forget it. That stuff was never ant for us mud-legs anyway."

The person next to him imdiately agreed, his voice full of deflated bitterness. "Yeah. We thought we could finally have a good life. In the end, it was all just a dream."

"Stop dreaming. Just reclaim a few plots of land, get a wool sweater for the winter. That’s our lot in life."

Disappointnt spread quickly. The fervor on most people’s faces faded, replaced by the familiar, comforting numbness of resignation.

They dispersed in silence, as if the grand dream from monts ago had never happened.

The number of people reclaiming land increased, but it was a far cry from the fiery scene that had been anticipated.

At dinner, Barrett couldn’t help but look at Velin, his face filled with confusion and worry.

"My lord, this pricing... aren’t we taking too much of a loss?"

"Even if they work themselves to death to exchange for those things, our Lord’s Mansion won’t make much money!"

Velin wiped his mouth with a napkin and calmly asked the Captain of the Guard, "How much money do you think we can make from reclaiming and farming land?"

"Er..." Barrett was at a loss for words.

Velin’s gaze drifted toward the dark expanse of Newly Town. "My goal in incentivizing them to reclaim land was never to make money. The grain is to fill their stomachs. It’s the foundation that will allow us to support a larger population in the future. And that population..."

Velin pictured the scene in his mind: rows of massive, ecosphere-like buildings.

"...is the future industrial workforce in our workshops, capable of creating a hundred, even a thousand tis more value for us."

Barrett was stunned. He had never heard such a theory before.

Velin smiled slightly, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Selling potatoes earns you Copper Leaves. But I intend to use the Origin Association to earn Golden Suns from the pockets of those noble lords."

He raised his wine glass, swirling the liquid inside, and concluded, "The bait has been laid. And it’s the most succulent bait they have ever seen. Now, all we have to do is wait patiently for the hungriest, and smartest, fish to bite the hook."

...

In Tumo’s ho, located in the residential district built under Velin’s direction.

He didn’t complain or curse like the others.

He was squatting on the floor, using the bright moonlight to arrange and rearrange twigs of varying lengths, calculating sothing.

His wife, Anna, was nding old clothes nearby and couldn’t help but mutter.

"Stop calculating, Tumo. That sugar jar is just for show. The lord is just making monkeys out of us. We’d be better off figuring out how to reclaim another couple of *mu* and get the child a thick set of clothes before winter."

Tumo ignored her, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Staring at the twigs he was arranging, he calculated inwardly.

’One twig per *mu* of land, so the wool coat is... eight twigs.’

’If I worked for soone else, it’d probably pay about the sa.’

’What about the salt? Nine twigs... pretty good deal. A little more than what I’d make as a hired hand.’

Suddenly, his brow tightened. ’Sothing’s not right...’

A dusty mory suddenly surfaced—a ti in his youth when he had gone with his father to Shiyan Town to sell their ga.

In Shiyan Town’s largest general store, the greasy rchant’s son was being led by the hand by his father, carefully licking a piece of hard candy the size of his palm.

That single small piece had cost the rchant one Silver Moon.

One Silver Moon! That was twelve Copper Leaves! Enough to buy twelve pounds of rye bread!

And the look on the son’s face, that smug expression as if he owned the entire world—Tumo would never forget it as long as he lived.

’Palm-sized... one Silver Moon...’

’And now, in that giant glass jar in the plaza, how many "palms" did it hold?’

Tumo’s body began to tremble uncontrollably. He shot to his feet and paced back and forth in the tiny room, his breathing ragged like a bellows.

Anna was startled. "Are... are you going crazy?"

Tumo stopped pacing, his eyes frighteningly bright.

"I’m not crazy!" He stared intently at his wife. "The lord... he miscalculated!"

Tumo’s voice was pressed to a whisper, yet it carried an uncontrollable tremor.

"This high and mighty lord... he... he doesn’t understand! He’s mistaken a mountain of gold for a pile of copper ingots and just tossed it to us!"

Tumo’s fists clenched tightly. "This is a massive loophole!"

That night, the oil lamp in Tumo’s ho burned until midnight.

He summoned his two brothers and his two closest friends.

The five of them crowded into the dim room, forming a circle and staring intently at the rough diagram Tumo had drawn on the floor.

Tumo laid out his discovery for all of them.

The air froze.

"Brother, are you crazy? Two hundred rit Points..." his brother said, his face a mask of disbelief. "That’ll work us to death!"

"Work us to death? This is a chance to change our lives!" Tumo said, each word deliberate and bewitching. "Our five families, working together! No sleep! No rest! We’ll squeeze out every last drop of strength! We won’t exchange for those sickles, or those wool sweaters. We focus only on that jar of sugar!"

He looked around at their stunned faces and lowered his voice.

"Before the lord realizes his mistake, we exchange for it!"

"We trade the sugar for money, use the money to buy salt, and finally use the salt to hire people to keep reclaiming land for us!"

In the darkness, after a mont’s hesitation, the other four pairs of eyes began to glow.

Burning within them was an ambition so vast it was terrifying—an ambition that had been suppressed by centuries of poverty and had finally found an outlet.