100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 472 - Death

In truth—

Lucien had etched the array under the battlefield with Imprint Manifestation.

This happened prior to activating Abyss Mode.

Yet foes of this caliber would spot it without delay.

Thus, Lucien resorted to something far more extreme.

He activated the power of his title.

The Unwritten One.

Once every cycle, it allowed him to order the world's law to erase memory of one event.

Right here, he deployed it.

The world was forced to forget the placement of the altered Execution Circle.

The battlefield had lost all recollection of it too.

The pattern lingered in the ground. Concealed channels persisted. The impending fuel retained its destination.

However, every causal link to the circle was unwritten. Consequently, anything linked grew elusive to predict, detect, or resolve accurately.

Convergence himself missed it entirely.

That's why the fallen Luciens' divine energy sank into the soil undisturbed. That's why each demise fueled growth rather than dissipation. His Essence served as the ultimate component.

Lucien supplied it moments ago.

And now—

the world recalled far too late.

The remaining Luciens surged into action simultaneously.

Before Convergence or Severance could respond in time, Lucien drew forth yet another fused solution from the Crown of Creation.

Manacle Crown — A hovering chain-ring capable of restraining a single target's mobility briefly, growing stronger with the user's aura.

In that precise moment, Lucien executed another move.

He unleashed his complete Aura of the Unyielding Sovereign.

Not solely his personal one.

Every leftover Lucien followed suit.

Countless sovereign auras merged into a devastating surge of dominance.

The atmosphere quivered. The earth rumbled. Reality appeared to recoil.

Any regular cultivator nearby would not merely collapse unconscious.

They would shatter.

This surpassed simple suppression.

It proclaimed existence with such ferocity that the pair of Primordial Incarnations sensed it acutely.

Convergence's features hardened. Severance adjusted his stance.

For a single breath, they both confronted the identical reality.

The auras confronting them matched their incarnated forms in potency.

That sufficed.

The Crown of Creation morphed.

Black-gold chains in a floating ring burst from it, streaking over the battlefield.

They targeted the closer Incarnation.

Severance.

The Manacle Crown encircled him like a preordained verdict.

Severance attempted motion instantly.

Or at least tried.

The chains gripped firm.

His scythe swung. Severing power erupted. He sought to slice the restraint at its foundational law, yet the Manacle Crown drew from the unified sovereign might of Lucien and his time-clones. Each resistance merely tightened the chains' shriek for an agonizing extra instant.

That instant proved sufficient for Lucien.

Convergence charged at Severance to shatter the ring.

The final Luciens blocked their path.

The ultimate defiance from clones aware of their destined role.

They clung to both Primordial Incarnations and triggered the identical ability together.

Bear Hug.

Its power was ridiculous.

Draconic frames infused with sovereignty clamped them in place.

Claws on limbs. Arms around torsos. Shoulders against shoulders.

One final unified stand.

Lucien struck then.

He finalized the Execution Circle.

Beneath, radiance swelled until the terrain seemed to recall its weaponized nature.

Next, drawing from the dregs of his motion, Lucien replicated a familiar ploy once witnessed from Condoriano.

His fractured lips parted.

"Switch."

Space warped.

Lucien disappeared from the circle's heart, materializing where his last time-cluster had stood seconds prior.

They swapped into his former spot.

The swap hurled Lucien skyward. His battered form could no longer balance.

Motion eluded him now.

He plummeted solely.

Down below—

Severance remained ensnared.

The Manacle Crown endured.

Though Severance cleaved the chains, freeing himself proved too slow. The effect intensified wildly, stretching its dominion into a decisive duration.

Convergence reacted swifter.

Through raw savagery, he burst from the Bear Hug mass, dismantling time-clones with bare hands, extricating from the draconic tangle and sovereign crush.

He broke loose.

Yet missed the critical window.

The Execution Circle demanded no stillness.

Merely presence in the marked zone upon verdict's descent.

Verdict descended.

The earth quaked.

Then cracked with brilliance.

A full death-protocol stirred under the battlefield.

The enhanced Gargoyle array didn't explode like a bomb.

It judged and ended.

All concealed paths, reconstructed by Lucien and Seran from pilfered Gargoyle codes and ancient execution designs, ignited together. Timeless clauses, nurtured quietly by Lucien’s time-selves' demises, erupted in sequence.

Flames struck first. Lightning followed. Then whirling blade-circles. Then compressive force-spires. Then void-gravity. Then verdicts honed to concepts.

All lethal means.

All conclusive forces.

All that could render lingering harm absolute.

Infused with inexorable laws to slay the slayers.

Luciens surviving perished initially.

Their forms exploded into divine energy returns before screams escaped. Each fueled the circle anew as the array ascended to prime marks.

It struck Severance next.

And for the initial occasion—

Severance wailed.

In agony.

Genuine torment.

His form spasmed beneath myriad death-forms converging. The Manacle Crown detained him sufficiently for the array's phases to secure, layer, and finish prior to his severing power locating the precise sever-point.

Lucien heard his cry distinctly for once.

It grated horrifically.

And echoed unmistakable mortality.

That noise alone drew Lucien's bloodied, wrecked grin.

For it signaled no mere wound.

It heralded doom's tone.

Convergence got ensnared as well.

Though fortune favored him.

Or speed did.

He had partially freed himself before the circle's core phases locked. Thus, as executions surged, he no longer occupied the judgment's epicenter like Severance.

Nevertheless—

the escapee wasn't triumphant.

What lurched from the Execution Circle's fringe resembled less a Primordial Incarnation and more a spitefully unburied cadaver.

An arm vanished.

Half his visage peeled to devastation.

Bone pierced the crimson slurry where flesh lagged.

His shell lacked entire segments. Organs peeked exposed. One leg trailed haltingly, doubting its host frame.

Initially, pity stirred.

Then motion erased it.

For anything ambulatory post-that—

embodied monstrosity.

He pivoted toward the circle.

Spotted Severance.

Realization dawned within.

Eyes bulged.

"This can’t be," he rasped, voice gravelly from wounds. "Why did I see this too late?"

Within the circle, Severance howled anew.

His shell suffered not just harm.

Dismantlement proceeded stepwise.

Tailored for this, the array exceeded standard destruction against Primordial Incarnations. Lucien and Seran crafted no ordinary trap.

It even stalled regeneration, ensuring sealed injuries resisted dismissal.

Scars, cleaved routes, rerouted damages, partial mends, stresses... All converged into unified resolution.

The shell unraveled.

Layer upon layer. Power upon power. As if each fragment learned its cohesion license revoked.

Severance’s wail faded.

Then fractured.

Then silenced.

As circle-light waned—

Severance vanished.

Not completely. Not eternally.

But the shell perished.

In his place, a rainbow drop floated amid haze.

Lucien raised his head barely to glimpse it.

Then chuckled.

Chuckles escalated to tears.

He achieved it.

Slain the impossible.

No—

precisely—

terminated an incarnation.

In Celestial Realm.

Versus entities meant to nullify him eons past.

Laughter ripped forth like fresh blood from rent flesh.

Madness tinged it.

Ugliness marred it.

Triumph defined it.

Then came the sound.

Scraping drag.

A form hauling across terrain.

Convergence.

Approaching him.

Sight of him intensified Lucien's mirth.

Convergence halted briefly.

One second only.

Resumed advance.

"I still don’t know," he uttered, voice wrecked yet clear, "how you delayed my sight of inevitability there."

Sole hand clenched.

"But laugh while you can. This is your last laugh."

Drew nearer.

"You are very expensive to kill. More expensive than I expected. But losing one incarnation to remove a future threat like you..."

Mangled lips curled.

"...is absolutely worth it."

Lucien grinned back.

Shook head once.

"Aren’t I amazing?" he queried plainly.

Laughed anew.

Convergence stiffened.

Momentarily.

Pressed on.

"I am sorry," he murmured near-gently, "but you need to die."

Reached Lucien.

Loomed above.

With surviving hand—

commenced pummeling.

Lucien sensed the initial strike instantly.

Not its peak brutality.

No unpainful spot lingered.

Fist cratered his features. Skull tolled. Head whipped aside. Vision flared white.

Followed by second.

Nose shattered.

Third.

Eye ruptured.

Fourth.

Teeth spewed, painting soil crimson.

Convergence hammered relentlessly.

His hand-shell crumbled too. Blows split skin further. Bone displaced. Flesh rent. Regeneration faltered.

Undeterred, he struck.

Yet Lucien—

grinned on.

No counter came.

Not surrender.

Incapacity.

Body screamed everywhere. Internals fractured repeatedly. Muscles scarcely heeded. Nerves blazed.

Crown of Creation stirred feebly, proposing new form.

Samsara Crown.

Usable.

Years of lifespan could thwart demise once more.

Lucien grasped instantly.

Discarded notion.

Pointless.

Merely prolonged agony before inevitability respelled.

Convergence noted absent fight.

"You’ve finally given up," he observed.

Paused blows, eyed the demolished visage below.

"You would have made a magnificent shell."

Added softly, "But I need to kill you here."

Silence lingered.

Then, maybe remnant human reflex persisted in shell, or battle's oddity scarred him, Convergence offered:

"You can say your final words."

Lucien's ravaged countenance retained grin-form.

Laboriously, with near-useless hands, he delved inventory.

Convergence observed, intrigued against intent.

Lucien withdrew final drop.

Ashleaf Cigarette Pack — A bundle of pale, dried leaves rolled in thin black paper. When burned, it steadies the mind and reduces fear-response for a short period.

Extracted one cigarette.

Methodically.

Deliberately.

As if defying time's tyranny via audacious leisure.

Ignited with scant divine spark remaining.

Placed to lips.

Inhaled deeply.

Lucien smoked amid death throes.

Convergence gaped.

Then fury ignited.

Punches renewed. Relentless.

Until face dissolved beyond recognition.

Lucien's retort?

Exhaled smoke into Convergence’s wrecked visage.

Grinning still.

Finally, Convergence ceased.

Rose ponderously.

Toll of conflict immense.

Gazed down lastly.

Lucien expired soon.

Breaths shallowed. Heart faltered. Frame beneath ruin neared cessation.

Convergence comprehended.

Mere seconds more.

Precisely.

His state forbade further exertion waste.

Thus, he lingered.

Post-full death, claim the artifacts.

Those anomalous treasures...

Convergence’s gaze fixed upon them.

Vision altered.

Detected inbound rush.

Swift.

Numerous auras.

Convergence’s scarred countenance set rigidly.

Current form barred another clash.

Not versus such numbers.

Tongue clicked.

"Human," he murmured low, "even in death, you are still resisting."

Then departed.

Sans pride.

But departed.

Lucien remained solitary.

Unidentifiable.

Form scarcely corporeal.

Yet hand stirred.

Laboriously.

Delved inventory lastly, retrieved seed.

Hoisted feebly skyward.

Grinned.

Drew final breath.

Ere heart ceased utterly—

Lucien Lootwell perished.

Arrivals lagged.

Seran foremost.

Ancient beasts trailed.

Ladies next.

Luke and Cienna after.

...

Traversed field to discover departed soul.

Initial silence reigned.

Words failed.

Grounded remains scarce recognizable.

Features obliterated. Blood pooled. Battle's embers scorched ambient air.

Yet—

eerie grin lingered on remnants.

As though death denied world fear's spectacle.

•••

Distant, within modest realm—

Lootwell Territory's grand tree commenced withering.

Foliage shed massively.

Vital pulse visibly ebbed.

Trunk, once radiant with steadfast vigor, dulled as vital pact abruptly revoked.

Vivian nearby sensed dread surge.

Lucien planted that tree.

Its decline spurred her dash.

Cielius materialized adjacent instantly.

Palm to bark.

Stilled.

"This..." he breathed. "This cannot be."

Vivian faced him, dread mounting.

"Grandpa Ciel... what happened?"

Cielius quivered entirely.

"This tree..." he stated. "This was planted from a Soulgrain Seed bound to its owner. Like my Worldroot Staff. It does not fail unless—"

Halted.

Unneeded completion.

Vivian shuddered.

Comprehension dawned.

Tree's demise signified singular truth.

Lucien Lootwell—

was dead.