100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 479 - Truth

The small worlds remained untouched by Oblivion’s erasure.

Nobody could pinpoint whether this stemmed from the Primordial Slime’s foresight, the intricate safeguards embedded in each small world’s framework, or a profound rule connected to their creation method.

Yet the outcome was unmistakable.

All here still recalled Lucien vividly.

This reality weighed down their trip deeper into the land.

Airships carried them through the heavens, while Marie dominated the rail lines. Hours that should have dragged were slashed brutally under her command.

The craft soared above woodlands, waterways, fortified towns, and roads Luke and Cienna hadn’t glimpsed in ages.

When Lootwell Territory at last appeared on the horizon, silence gripped both of them.

It differed from their memories.

Though tiny beside the vast domain Lucien claimed in the Big World—not even a fraction of its size—what lay ahead felt no smaller. It pulsed with focused purpose and density.

Key figures remained, fulfilling their vital roles. Defending the land. Stabilizing it. Transforming it into a bastion that could withstand its lord’s absence.

Most frontline warriors had marched south after the Black Mass emerged. Those staying handled local safeguards, triggered defensive artifacts, upheld internal barriers, readied retreat points, and watched for any wider spread of the blight.

Thus, the airship’s rapid approach sparked no warm reception.

It drew a fierce challenge.

Warning beacons blazed. Ballista batteries swiveled. Array patterns glowed around the outer dock edges.

Those on the ground showed no fear.

They readied themselves to destroy the intruder.

Only Cielius’s step to the comm panel, broadcasting his words over the dock channels, shattered the standoff.

"It is us," he declared. "Stand down."

Reply came swiftly.

Lock-on systems faded. Dock shields eased. Guards below relaxed, bewilderment replacing readiness.

Marie lowered the airship and secured it to the primary rail.

As doors slid open, a crowd waited.

Vivian led them.

Cielius emerged first, and queries flew at once.

"Grandpa Ciel, what happened?" Vivian pressed, hurrying forward. "Why are you back so soon? Do you need reinforcements? We were almost finished with the second preparation line and—"

Then her gaze slipped beyond him.

Luke.

Cienna.

She froze solid.

In that instant, she seemed far younger than years should allow. The poise of a proxy leader melted away, leaving just a daughter beholding the unbelievable approach.

"Mother... Father?"

Her voice cracked on each syllable.

Luke and Cienna weren’t her blood parents, yet life didn’t always heed origins of bonds.

Cienna’s features gentled instantly. Arms spread wide.

Vivian dashed into them.

Caught tight, Vivian melted into the hug, sobbing freely. Cienna cradled her, fingers combing through her hair repeatedly, eyes aglow.

Luke lingered nearby, hand masking his mouth briefly, as if stifling the emotion surging forth.

At last Vivian peered up, cheeks wet, hope surging wildly in her tone.

"If you’re here," she said, "then Lulu must be here too. Where is he?"

That marked the instant.

The one they’d all dreaded.

Luke and Cienna held back their words.

No words proved necessary.

Hope crumbled in Vivian’s eyes before any sound escaped.

Her lips quivered.

Comprehension hit her swift and deep.

The fading tree. The unease gnawing at her. The void.

Tears flowed fiercer.

Cienna drew her in once more, though now truth pierced through.

Luke dropped his eyes for a heartbeat.

Then softly he uttered, "We are here to bring your brother back."

Vivian’s head snapped up.

Grief and incredulity warred across her face.

"That means..."

Luke dipped his chin.

"Although he is not with us now, he still exists where it matters. In truth. In memory. In what he left behind."

Cienna continued tenderly, "And this time, we are not too late."

Such resolve anchored Vivian beyond mere solace.

Lips firmed, face cleared, posture straightened by will.

Sorrow lingered.

Duty simply shoved it aside.

Behind her, listeners to the words stirred.

Hands clamped mouths. Eyes fell. Breaths escaped ragged at Lucien’s confirmed death—yet possible revival.

Vivian drew a deep breath, then wheeled to nearby commanders.

"The southern threat is gone," she commanded. "Stand down emergency lines. Keep the outer defenses active until the second confirmation is complete. Rotate the exhausted personnel. No one spreads panic. No one spreads rumors. We return to order now."

Composure reclaimed her voice.

Vivian had grown, as had they all.

Pride shone in Cielius’s gaze upon her.

Sebas issued crisp directives, seamlessly extending her lead.

Moments later, Cielius proposed shifting talks to city hall.

None resisted.

Seated together, the full tale unfolded.

Luke started, Cienna clarifying magic or world-laws as needed. Elemental women chimed in with specifics. Eirene’s flower-fairy filled key blanks. Layer by layer, reality unspooled for the small world’s chiefs.

Lucien ventured to the Big World. Built a domain. Gained comrades. Battled horrors defying logic. Got erased from the world. Fought regardless. Slain an inconceivable foe. Perished in victory. Yet plotted revival beforehand.

Silence blanketed the chamber by tale’s end; a page’s rustle would offend.

Midas gaped, words lost midway, barraged by revelations.

"That..." he murmured deliberately. "That sounds less like a life and more like several stitched together."

Pope Augustus appeared reborn.

Eyes grown wide, grip iron on chair arms. Pallor bared his age’s toll, but fresh fire kindled.

Hope.

Hope forged in proof.

"If he truly found a way back for the dead," Augustus declared, "then perhaps heaven has not yet closed all its doors."

Midas eyed him, then faced Luke and Cienna with a sigh.

"I always wanted to see the Big World myself," he grumbled. "And the Marquis went there, built a territory, fought impossible creatures, died, planned around death, and still arranged his own return."

A brief chuckle escaped him.

"He really is Lucien Lootwell."

Vivian and Cielius reeled no less.

They alone had long guessed Lucien’s end from the dying tree. Borne that secret amid the Black Mass’s resurgence, grief stifled, explanations barred, motion ceaseless.

Now, at last since horror dawned, breaths came free of guilt.

Cielius dabbed an eye, dignity slipping.

"That grandson of mine," he whispered. "Even death cannot make him act normally."

Vivian’s laugh pierced new tears.

Smile flickered back, frail yet genuine.

"I knew it," she affirmed. "I knew Lulu wouldn’t just leave us with nothing."

Not all laughed.

Heads bowed in eased relief.

Eyes shut.

Even Big World women, versed in the scheme’s outline, found firmer ground voicing it here—Lucien’s origin soil.

Next query arose.

Plan real—what followed?

Vivian seized it ere doubt stirred.

"We begin immediately," she stated.

Her resolve drew Luke’s grin.

"Good," he replied. "Because that’s exactly what he expected."

Vivian rose, strode to the territory’s wall-map.

Brief scan, then finger stabbed a plot near core lands—distant from bustle, subtle shifts.

"There," she decided. "Good soil. Close enough to guard. Far enough to keep interference low. We prepare the ground there."

Cienna agreed promptly.

"That should work."

Luke appended, "It needs protection, privacy, and people who truly knew him."

Vivian glanced over.

"Then we’ll give it all three."

Four nations’ leaders departed soon.

They grasped the path ahead lay beyond politics—personal, perilous, uncharted. Their duty: shield the rite’s perimeter.

Midas stood first.

"I’ll suppress unnecessary spread of the news," he vowed. "The truth of the Marquis’ death will not leave this chamber through my side."

Augustus inclined gravely.

"If people hear only that he died, despair will spread. If they hear only that he may return, chaos will spread. Better they hear neither until there is something solid to stand on."

Consensus followed.

Exiting, Midas eyed Luke anew.

"When he returns," he requested, "please tell him I want to hear his story someday."

Luke grinned.

"You can tell him yourself."

Delight warmed Midas beyond his mask.

The chamber emptied gradually.

Only essentials stayed.

Doors sealed, preparations launched, one certainty deepened.

Lucien’s death hadn’t closed his tale.

It merely plunged it further.