100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 474 - Remember Me

First, the eyes of Luke and Cienna shifted.

The sorrow lingered within them.

It grew keener.

The powerless sadness from moments ago turned inward, transforming into something more compact, more resolute, and far tougher to dislodge. They exchanged a quick glance, and in that instant, mutual understanding dawned on both.

Lucien had set something in motion.

That earlier glow hadn't just revived recollections. It bore purpose as well. A subtle directive planted by one who anticipated death wouldn't halt his efforts.

The skill's name by itself revealed it all.

Luke inhaled deeply and steadily.

"We need to bring him back to Lootwell," he said.

His voice held gentleness, yet carried such gravity that nobody saw it as mere advice.

Cienna nodded.

"Whatever he prepared, it should not be disturbed by the wrong place, the wrong eyes, or the wrong handling."

That sufficed.

No objections arose.

The battlefield ceased to feel like a spot to leave mourning bare. Lingering traces of hostility and unresolved threats from retreating forces still tainted it.

Luke stooped and tenderly raised Lucien’s damaged form.

He handled it with exquisite caution, as though any haste would constitute an unforgivable betrayal.

That scene forced several to avert their gazes.

Eirene went forward first and silently formed a floral resting place within the Verdant Ark for Lucien.

The rest boarded after her.

Even Seran, Shadow, and the ancient beasts abandoned thoughts of the cure and the campaign without pause.

The Western conquest could be postponed.

The cure's distribution could wait.

All else could wait.

With memories restored, self-deception was impossible now.

Lucien took precedence.

Marie seized the controls once the body was safe.

She clutched the Ark’s controls and propelled it toward Lootwell with fierce concentration.

•••

The return journey began in hush.

Such quiet only descends when shared pain fills the space and voices fear cracking under strain.

Lilith stayed nearest Lucien’s remains. Marie stared straight ahead. Kaia pressed against the wall, arms locked too firm. Marina kept dabbing her cheeks, but fresh tears flowed relentlessly. Sylra sat rigidly beside her, jaw clenched.

The ancient beasts filled the area in their own way. Their age precluded restless mourning. Their grief manifested as quiet, immobility, and a palpable oppressive weight. They too sensed that a misplaced word would cheapen the fallen instead of paying tribute.

Luke shattered the quiet at last.

"Do not drown in despair yet," he said.

Heads swiveled toward him.

He glanced at Lucien before going on.

"My son is not ordinary. Even if he is dead, do you really think he would simply accept that as the end?"

Those words pierced the heavy sorrow like a faint fracture.

Cienna picked up from there, her tone gentler yet equally firm.

"The light from earlier was not only for memory. It carried a message too."

Marie whipped her head around.

Seran’s eyes narrowed keenly.

The ancient beasts stirred subtly.

Luke continued, "The name of that skill was..."

He hesitated briefly.

Cienna completed it.

"Remember Me."

Silence gripped them anew.

Luke then added, "My boy wouldn’t name a skill like that without reason. He was sending us a message, and we need to decipher it."

Seran gaped.

He'd witnessed the battlefield's devastation. He grasped the immense destruction left behind. He understood the caliber of foes Lucien had battled.

And from recovered fragments, he grasped something graver.

Lucien hadn't just clashed with Convergence.

He had battled Convergence and Severance simultaneously.

In the Celestial Realm.

One incarnation had perished.

That defied normal logic alone.

But Luke and Cienna claimed that amid such chaos... forgotten by all, pursued by Primordial Incarnations, trapped hopelessly, bracing for death... Lucien had crafted a skill to restore memory and impart will posthumously.

For others, Seran would deem it unthinkable.

For Lucien—

the deeper he pondered, the more credible it rang.

Paradoxically, that intensified the grief while easing it.

Worse, as it confirmed Lucien foresaw this fate.

Better, since he faced it with foresight.

Astraea dropped her eyes.

"Little brother," she whispered, "even at the edge of death, you were still thinking ahead."

Marie broke into laughter first.

A fragile, fractured sound.

"Hahaha," she said, scrubbing her face with her palm. "That sounds exactly like Luc."

Several turned to her.

Marie’s lips quivered.

She pressed on, "If you told me he prepared something to cheat death while getting beaten half to death by monsters from outside reason, I’d believe it."

The chamber froze.

Not from ridicule.

From collective yearning for its truth.

What if?

The notion struck them simultaneously, rooting fast and achingly.

What if Lucien had one final contingency? What if the corpse aboard wasn't finality, but a phase? What if this fit his intricate design?

It could be naive.

Desperate hope against void.

No matter.

For the first time since discovery, the quiet evolved.

Sorrow persisted. Overwhelming, profound, visceral.

Yet a new element wove in.

A strand of defiance.

Right then...

Seran spotted it.

Lucien’s right fist was gripped tight.

As if he'd perished clutching it with final determination.

Seran’s brows furrowed.

"What is Brother Luc holding?" he asked softly.

Everyone peered instantly.

He approached the floral bier, kneeling with utmost delicacy despite his power, like one dreading to add to the toll on a battered frame.

He attempted to pry Lucien’s fingers open.

Tenderly.

Yet failed.

Seran scowled and tried anew, applying a touch more pressure, careful not to profane the remains.

The digits stayed shut.

That halted him.

An Eternal unable to unclench a deceased youth's hand?

Utterly ridiculous.

Luke eyed him, then the fist, his features easing.

"Let me try," he said.

Seran stepped back immediately.

Luke knelt, laying his palm atop the closed fingers.

Resistance melted away.

Effortlessly.

He unfurled the hand as if Lucien willed it so.

That tiny act rattled them beyond expectation.

In demise, Lucien’s form still acknowledged kin.

Or his contingency yielded to the rightful one.

Outcome unchanged.

A seed rested in Lucien’s palm.

Plain upon inspection.

Yet sighting it sharpened the Ark’s awareness around it.

Recognition eluded them at first.

Not Seran. Not beasts. Not women.

Marie craned from controls for a peek.

"A seed?"

Luke held back response.

He swiftly invoked multiple safeguards: layered barriers, stabilizing envelopes, perception veils, guarding against any mishap to the precious item.

His caution spoke volumes.

Cienna spoke hushedly.

"It might mean something," she said. "We do not know everything yet. But my boy would not die holding something meaningless."

That sealed it.

The seed anchored a fresh hush.

Guesses surged within each.

A catalyst? A key? Rebirth vessel? Soul tether? Latent directive for activation?

Unknown.

But hope, once grief's guest, clung tenaciously.

Then Eirene perceived it.

Her tear-streaked eyes flared wide.

The seed’s aura rang familiar.

For a perilous instant, thrill surged, nearly reshaping her face.

She quelled it swiftly.

Said nothing.

False hope forbidden until confirmed, not wished.

Still, her fist clenched briefly.

She grasped its import.

Beyond others' current ken.

•••

The Verdant Ark sliced skyward to Lootwell.

Beneath, terrain blurred in swaths of deep green, gold, brown.

Within, mourning endured.

But transformed from prior.

Breathing ached. Gazing at Lucien’s shattered form stung. Recalling the battlefield scene and their tardiness wounded.

Still, a notion circulated, passing soul to soul like dawn's initial thaw:

Lucien had foreseen.

Lucien had arranged.

And if he'd braced for demise—

Death might not fathom the trail it trod.