100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 481 - Return

One month had gone by since the Echo Bloom took root.

The spot encircling it no longer resembled a simple patch of dirt.

It transformed into a sacred watch.

Visitors arrived because Lucien had grown too vital in their hearts to abandon in that delicate limbo between revival and oblivion.

His former followers kept showing up.

Silvermine folks had been visiting too, along with Copperrock's group, now under Maxim and Ellen's lead.

During the Black Mass's initial emergence, they guarded the frontiers, ready to contain any further corruption spread. Thus, they missed the real events.

Without seeking out King Midas for details themselves, they would have stayed ignorant far longer.

From that point, their visits grew frequent.

All through this month, they came back repeatedly, facing Lucien’s echo as if rejecting its fate as just a tomb.

Edric shed tears openly every visit.

Maxim stayed mostly silent, yet his quietude held equal gravity. The rest mirrored this.

They bowed before the grave, clinging to their conviction with fierce, unbreakable devotion.

Faith in his return never wavered.

Lucien’s companions returned frequently as well.

Skittles leaped wildly around the planting area with eager bounds, orbiting the echo like sheer love could hasten its awakening. The others mirrored this in their styles, prodding the field's borders, resting near the sprout, or dozing close by as if protecting a treasure beyond mere animal drive.

Those who had crossed paths with Lucien across the years appeared too.

Midas. Augustus. Ducal family members. Local lords. Kael’s kin. Past comrades.

With each sincere recollection, the echo shifted.

Initially, this change alarmed certain visitors.

For no two recalled Lucien identically.

To some, he was a youth. To others, a ruler. To more, a cunning intellect's terror. Or a sibling, mentor, pupil, savior, foe's nightmare, or a lad who skipped rest amid deep thoughts.

Yet this variety didn't warp the echo.

The Echo Bloom drew not from views.

It sprouted from reality.

Diverse true memories didn't harm Lucien’s reforming shape. One evoked his mercy. Another his ferocity. One his tolerance. Another the iron will hidden below. These didn't clash. They enriched each other.

No one faced the task of capturing his entirety solo.

They merely needed to shun lies.

As long as recollections rang true, Lucien’s presence stayed sharp.

It intensified.

That's why the ritual succeeded.

They weren't fabricating Lucien. They shielded him from fading away.

As the month wore on, the echo's inner form sharpened progressively.

The central tiny sprout had stretched into a slender black stalk laced with subtle golden glows. A see-through, oval echo-husk lingered above, and within, Lucien’s tiny figure started solidifying.

A petite coiled silhouette suspended in radiance.

Like a soul poised to emerge from a memory-forged egg.

Marie gave more than most.

She'd stood by Lucien since his Big World debut.

Thus, when her moment arrived, the echo surged wildly.

Marie settled cross-legged in front, arms crossed initially, appearing as one vowed against tears yet sensing defeat.

"You always pushed too hard too soon. You always simplified the complex. You always plunged into hopeless crises like escape routes were pre-planned."

She chuckled briefly.

Then the mirth faded.

"And without an exit, you still pretended we'd relax since you'd sort it eventually."

Her voice cracked there.

The echo blazed.

Brilliantly enough that everyone rose instantly.

Its clear shell quaked fiercely. The inner tiny shape uncurled, recoiled, glowed anew, and for a fleeting instant, Lucien's face nearly fully appeared.

Then the shell cracked.

The memory-light orb fragmented into floating strands, leaving at the core no longer just a silhouette.

Lucien’s spirit had emerged.

Still minuscule. Still unfinished. Delicate enough that those nearby held breaths on reflex.

But truly spirit now, beyond doubt.

"Oh, naturally," Marie grumbled. "Even rebirth demands drama from you."

Yet it fell short.

The spirit had broken free, indeed.

But as the husk parted, all sensed the peril.

Lucien’s spirit remained unsteady.

It quivered when remembrance faltered. It faded if neglected briefly. Once, with mass withdrawal, the wee spirit's borders frayed, paling Cienna.

Realization struck fast.

This phase proved even more vulnerable.

They'd freed the spirit from erasure, but halting prematurely risked total breakdown.

Thus, they persisted.

•••

The next month unfolded with rigor.

No longer raw mourning bleeding into recall. It turned organized, protected, upheld with near-academic gravity.

They enforced sequence. They timed turns where feasible. They cycled those with deepest, oldest ties. They observed spirit responses to voices, feelings, facts, tones.

By the second month's close, Lucien’s spirit steadied.

It hovered firm over the Echo Bloom's dark stalk, resembling a shrunken, holy slumbering Lucien.

That ought to mark victory.

Instead, it exposed the fresh hurdle.

His soul stayed absent.

The chamber by the planting site hushed that evening. Luke, Cienna, Vivian, Cielius, Sebas, elemental ladies, Eirene’s familiar gathered as Cienna voiced the shared dread.

"The identity exists," she stated. "The spirit persists."

Her face shadowed.

"But the soul hasn't responded."

They'd restored Lucien’s thread.

But the core essence, the soul that endured it all and claimed those realities, hadn't rejoined.

Absent that—

This wouldn't revive as Lucien.

It'd end as a exquisite flop.

Debate erupted on options.

Yet none felt whole.

Then Eirene’s familiar, quiet till now, spoke in Eirene’s timbre.

"I might manage something," she offered.

All heads swiveled.

"But I require solitude with him."

No objections rose.

Her tone rendered debate immature.

They departed.

Eirene’s familiar lingered solo before Lucien’s spirit.

Long she observed.

As one recollecting.

For Eirene grasped what others missed.

They knew Lucien as Lootwell.

Not even Luke, Cienna fathomed his soul's prior, deeper evolutions.

The small familiar rose to match the spirit's gaze.

Then commenced.

She recalled his first sight of her.

His gaze, never deeming her a bother or puzzle to plunder. He'd met an enigma with gentleness over avarice.

She recalled bodies he crafted for her kin, granting form and honor amid prior vagueness.

She recalled his compassion.

Then his inner load.

It lingered always.

Even smiling. Even reassuring others. Even serene.

One soul fragment always detached slightly, bearing an unsettable burden.

"I saw it," Eirene breathed via familiar. "Even unspoken, I saw it."

The spirit edged nearer.

Eirene pressed on.

She evoked tougher realities.

His spawned incarnations. Splintered selves turned independent. Identity shards on divergent trails yet tied to his soul's epic.

Their demises too.

Gradually, her musings turned confessional.

"Death hasn't held you first," she murmured.

Tiny palms clasped over heart.

"Maybe not second either."

A wistful smile formed.

"Yet each time, we meet anew."

The spirit's aura shifted.

Not lightening initially.

It profounded.

As if the dormant form caught not just recall, but a unique verity.

Eirene’s cheeks flushed unseen.

She held firm.

"I once saw fate as happenings to folks," she said softly. "Now, sometimes it's what persists between them."

Eyes fixed on spirit.

"That's us."

Familiar’s tone gentled more.

Fragile, true smile bloomed.

"Return, for I'm waiting."

The spirit bloomed.

Only term fitting.

Radiance coursed the wee form. Edges honed. Chest lifted once. Borders filled with exquisite finesse.

At core—

response came.

The soul.

A filament. A tug. A homecoming heft.

Enough to shake Eirene’s familiar.

So she endured.

Not one night, but nights aplenty.

•••

Thus a whole month transpired.

And at its end—

Lucien’s soul rejoined.

And then...

Spirit, soul united.

The Echo Bloom's tiny form perfected.

That instant, the territory sensed it.

Splendor bloomed skyward.

Golden rays swept the firmament, dawn-tender yet anciently commanding. Ambient divine force rushed the site in greeting. Air quivered with flawless allure, halting territory folk who turned toward it.

They raced over.

Every soul.

Arrival found early arrivals speechless.

Lucien’s spirit detached from plant.

It drifted whole, mini-sized, sheathed in gentle gold.

Vivian wept instantly. Cielius chortled through tears. Sebas knelt. Luke, Cienna surged pre-thought.

Instinct united them.

Elemental women fetched the ready void container. Luke, Cienna ushered the perfect spirit with utmost tenderness. Others stabilized the area.

This followed Lucien’s directives.

His old corpse wouldn't serve.

Reentering it would blare to cosmos Lucien Lootwell's precise resumption, luring eyes, reknitting causality fractures rashly.

But fresh vessel—

would baffle the weave.

Cosmos would pause.

Causality would mistake him newborn before deceit dawned.

In this small world, such pause purchasable.

So spirit entered vessel.

Body hovered...

Then eased down.

Toes met earth.

One breath, motionless.

No stir. No noise. No assurance.

Eyes snapped open.

With grin so iconic half there shattered anew, he eyed them, declaring...

"I’m back."

Lucien Lootwell returns.