Lord: Starting with Biological Modification Chapter 58 - 54: The First Person to Eat Sugar

The next day, the horizon had yet to pale with the light of dawn.

Tumo’s figure had already shattered the last vestiges of predawn silence, with four dark silhouettes following close behind.

The five n, like a pack of wolves that had caught the scent of blood, charged toward the salt-crusted wasteland.

There were no shouts, no conversation—only the dull thud of shovels biting into the hard earth, one after another.

The sun rose, stretching their shadows long. A few early-rising pioneers, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, saw the bizarre scene and couldn’t help but stop in their tracks.

"Look, isn’t that Tumo? Has he gone mad?"

"Who knows. What are they in such a rush to trade for? It can’t possibly be the sugar, can it? HAHAHAHA!"

A man leaned against a wall, picking his teeth with a look of utter disdain.

"See that? I told you that Tumo kid isn’t right in the head. Why do we break our backs tilling this land? To fill our bellies! To have warm clothes for the winter! But him? He’s about to work himself to death for a bit of candy. Stupid. He’s stupid down to his bones!"

"We should just focus on earning enough for a woolen sweater. Now *that’s* practical."

The others nearby nodded in agreent, their words dripping with the smug superiority of n who thought they were the only sober ones in a town of fools.

The sounds of mockery and derision drifted on the morning breeze, carrying over to the wasteland.

Tumo’s shovel didn’t pause for a second. Sweat traced lines down his cheeks, hit the dust at his feet, and evaporated instantly.

His brothers and friends all kept their heads down, shutting out the noise from the outside world.

They had a clear division of labor. Two n dug, two moved stones, and one rested, drinking water from a crude earthenware bowl before they imdiately rotated.

There were no complaints, no doubts about the future.

On the walls of Newly Town, one of Barrett’s n scrambled down and ran straight for Velin’s office.

"Sir, Tumo and four other n have been working in the eastern wasteland since before dawn. They’re like madn."

Velin was bent over a massive blueprint, sketching sothing with a charcoal pencil. He didn’t even look up.

"And the others?"

"The others? They’re all laughing at him, Sir."

The corner of Velin’s mouth curved into a smile.

’The fish has taken the bait.’

Ti flowed on. A day passed, then two, then three. The number of people mocking Tumo dwindled, replaced by a sense of indescribable, astonished doubt.

Because those five n truly never stopped.

Every day at noon, Anna and a few of the other wives would arrive with earthenware pots to deliver their als.

The wives would take on so of the farming chores while their husbands rested, because Tumo and his n were working so incredibly hard.

The five n looked no different from mummified corpses dug up from the earth. Their lips were cracked, their eye sockets were sunken, and only the light in their eyes had yet to be extinguished.

Anna handed Tumo so water. He took it, his hands shaking so violently that half of it sloshed over the side.

He said nothing, just tilted his head back and gulped it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

The children, mimicking the adults, would pick up stones nearby. They weren’t much help, but seeing their clumsy efforts made the n grip their shovels a little tighter every ti they felt ready to collapse.

At dusk on the fifth day, five figures shuffled back from the wasteland, practically holding each other up.

Each of them had grown visibly thinner, their bodies caked in a mixture of dried mud and sweat.

Tumo was at the front, his body swaying on the verge of collapse. He walked up to the wooden board that recorded work points, where the clerk in charge of registration—a young man from the Golden Sail Comrce Association—was yawning out of sheer boredom.

Tumo held out a trembling hand, passing over a small wooden tally board covered in scratches.

The clerk took the wooden tally, glanced at it casually, and then froze.

Twenty plots of newly reclaid wasteland, one wild boar caught in a trap, for a total of two hundred and six work points.

The clerk was stunned. He checked the marks on the tally board again and again.

’He knew what two hundred work points represented. It’s only been a few days... How is this possible?’

"We... want to exchange for... that jar of sugar!"

A deathly silence fell over the crowd.

Then, it was broken by an uncontrollable roar of laughter.

"HAHAHAHA! He’s really doing it! What an idiot!"

"My God, they nearly killed themselves, and all for a jar of sugar to satisfy a sweet tooth? They’ve lost their minds!"

Amid the chatter, Velin erged from the back of the crowd. He was once again wearing his durable, dark blue work clothes.

The way he looked at Tumo was like a ntor seeing his most brilliant student complete a thesis that exceeded all expectations.

It was a look of approval, surprise, and admiration.

He gave Barrett a slight nod. "Give the sugar to our ’pioneer.’"

Barrett strode over to the shelves at the exchange post and, with a great heave, lifted down the enormous glass jar.

THUD!

The heavy glass jar was slamd down on the wooden table in front of Tumo, the sound so loud it made everyone’s heart jump.

The roar of laughter died abruptly.

Everyone held their breath.

Tumo reached out with his trembling, bloodied hands, which had been worn raw, and painstakingly broke the beeswax seal on the jar’s lid.

An intensely rich, sweet aroma instantly exploded outward!

The jar was filled to the brim with snow-white, crystalline, perfectly-ford sugar cubes that glittered with a dreamlike sheen in the twilight.

Tumo stared at the jar of sugar as two muddy tears rolled from his eyes.

He had gambled right!

He had won!

While the crowd was still caught in a complex mix of shock and scorn, Tumo and his four companions shouldered the heavy jar of sugar and, step by step, walked out of Newly Town.

Velin whispered to Barrett, "Follow them. Don’t let them get picked off by the wolves in the forest, and don’t let them get picked off by the ’wolves’ on the road."

「Three days later.」

When Tumo returned, the entire town fell silent.

He was no longer the stooped, hunched-over farr. He was riding on the back of a powerful plow ox!

Tumo’s back was ramrod straight, as if he were a different person. Behind him were twenty more freen, their eyes filled with reverence for him.

As he neared the town, Tumo jumped down from the ox’s back and casually handed the reins to one of his brothers.

His gaze didn’t linger for a second on the dumbstruck faces of his neighbors. He walked before the group of freen and gave an order in a commanding tone the townspeople had never heard from him before—the tone of a superior.

"See that wasteland over there? Go and reclaim it for ! For every plot of land, I’ll give you ten pounds of rye bread and a spoonful of this."

He pulled a small cloth pouch from his shirt and opened it. Inside was coarse salt—a treasure that would drive the freen wild.

No one was truly a fool. Soon, the quicker-witted among them understood what had happened.

Tumo and his n had taken the sugar to Shiyan Town and sold it. With the money, they had bought cheaper labor and a plow ox that could do the work of ten n.

"Fuck!"

The man who had mocked Tumo earlier was the first to react. He threw down whatever he was holding and bolted for his ho like a madman, roaring as he ran.

"Woman! Get everyone in the house who can walk! We’re clearing land!"