100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 486 - Future

On that day, construction across all of Lootwell ground to a halt.

Lucien had come back.

This alone was sufficient to pause every effort throughout the domain, akin to a command uttered by the ground beneath their feet.

The streets rapidly overflowed with people. The vibe wasn't exactly frenzied, but it shimmered with relief, wonder, and a delight bottled up far too long to stay neat upon unleashing.

Positioned at the heart of the throng, Lucien commenced an action that appeared minor against the trials he had endured, though it ended up holding far greater weight than he imagined.

He linked his companions together.

Nothing else sealed the sense of his return quite like that.

Seran and the ancient beasts had also come back from the western expedition that day. The instant Seran laid eyes on him once more, his face shifted so blatantly that Lucien nearly retreated a step from bewilderment.

The man's gladness showed no bounds.

Lucien could merely blink in response.

He still couldn't grasp fully why Seran felt so deeply about him.

Familiarity existed there, indeed. Like a fragment of him knew Seran from a realm his thoughts hadn't touched yet. Yet whenever he grasped for that link, it evaded him.

Thus, he set it aside temporarily.

Far too many beings surrounded him to waste the day pursuing half-formed urges.

Nevertheless, scanning the assembled visages, another sensation pulled at him.

Disappointment.

Lilith was nowhere in sight.

Eirene spotted it before he voiced it.

"She left," Eirene said. "To train in their conquered world in the void. She felt she had done nothing when you needed her most."

Lucien exhaled gradually.

Beloved Bastion had aided him immensely in that clash, beyond simple words. He yearned to express proper gratitude.

Yet he managed only a nod.

Soon, another idea emerged.

Alanthuriel’s earlier words.

Lilith was destined to rise as a kind of hero.

Lucien’s gaze grew keener.

The term had forever seemed too pristine for their harsh reality. Heroes typically arose from catastrophe, honed by despair, and forged through irreplaceable loss.

Should the prior timeline have truly seen Starforge’s ruin, and Lilith forced into seclusion in that seized realm afterward, then maybe that spot offered more than just shelter.

Maybe an chance had always lurked there.

Excitement flickered under the persistent sorrow within Lucien.

Should his hunch prove true, Lilith would emerge transformed.

A subtle smile crossed his face at the notion.

•••

The ensuing days brimmed with activity.

Lucien devoted much of it to traversing Lootwell, mentally pairing individuals with potential paths as concepts solidified.

He guided Elk, Stone, and the Crafting and Construction Division to encounter Anvil-Horn. Seren, among the Five Beacons of Light, joined them as well.

Their cultivation levels weren't lofty, but that weighed less than many assumed.

Anvil-Horn grasped this right away.

Might could shatter peaks. Expertise could erect empires.

Upon hearing Stone expound on structural integrity and Elk on material versatility, the veteran artisan’s eyes lit up with clear fascination.

Morphy(Mimic Slime) especially captured every gaze.

Despite his pliable form and odd physique, he possessed a knowledge of techniques that halted even seasoned makers in their tracks. He had evolved with the constructors. Through mimicking, assimilating, refining, and constant involvement, he had advanced. No mere decorative aide anymore, he resembled a breathing repository of hands-on craftsmanship.

Anvil-Horn eyed him once, then turned to Lucien.

"You keep gathering outrageous talents," he remarked.

Lucien grinned.

"I don’t collect them. They just show up."

Anvil-Horn offered only a grin in reply.

Rurik presented a wholly different scenario.

Lucien formally presented him to Seren, and they dove into automaton blueprints with such rapid fervor that three bystanders slipped off, figuring the space near them might ignite from pure focus.

Rurik was overjoyed.

Essence Shift, Seren’s ability, unveiled options he had never conceived. Or maybe they had flickered in his thoughts, dismissed as absurd dreams unworthy of pursuit.

Now, they stood achievable.

Now, kindred minds surrounded him who comprehended envisioning mechanisms, modularity, aware structures, adaptive substances, and evolving prototypes.

Rurik resembled a famished academic granted a secret archive and a chamber of like-minded rebels.

"I knew it," he declared once, nearly chuckling. "I knew the universe couldn’t stay this miserly eternally."

Lucien departed them to their fervor, utterly assured that some extraordinary and practical creation would arise from it in time.

Lucien led Green and the Sustenance Division to Eirene and the remnants of Verdant Veil, sparking talks right away on refining crops, cycles for growing medicines, adapting plant stocks across multiple worlds, and weaving healing plants into a territory facing wildly varied laws and environments over the long haul.

Though softer than previous discussions, that exchange carried equal weight.

Sustenance for the populace would mold tomorrow just as powerfully as their weaponry.

Lucien pressed on afterward.

Group by group.

He presented individuals to roles they would eventually surpass, perfect, and maybe claim fully.

Assignments weren't mere handouts from him.

Temperaments, skills, loyalties, and each person's drive were paired by him with Lootwell's evolving form.

Life had come back to him, indeed.

Yet administration had returned too, and oddly enough, that thrilled him as well.

Not all fittings happened right then.

Certain ones demanded patience.

For instance, Lucien planned for Elias to encounter Dawnbinder on a later date. With the Luminarch bloodline in Elias's veins, too many vital teachings hid in that connection to squander through rush.

Ronan faced a different challenge.

Dual swords were his weapons, and though Lukas had trained him solidly, Lucien recognized solid fell short of mastery.

The Duovari owned Ronan's bloodline.

A race built for using both hands equally.

Balance, nerve pathways, shoulder builds, split awareness, and innate syncing turned them deadly in dual-blade combat.

When handled right, battling a two-blade Duovari resembled enduring assault from one foe splitting flawless choices across two angles simultaneously.

Nevertheless, from Big World knowledge, Lucien gathered the Duovari now shone in another field.

Cooking.

Dishes granting buffs, enduring upgrades, targeted body tuning, and even rare lasting gains when top ingredients met flawless methods.

Lucien had almost sighed in disbelief upon discovering how one of history's top dual-wield races had pivoted mostly to kitchen fame.

Even so, the reasoning held an odd logic.

Fine precision. Ideal dual-side harmony. Tempo. Order. Sense blending.

Sword mastery and culinary craft weren't as distant as folks might assume.

He jotted a reminder to seek them out someday.

True dual-wield training awaited Ronan.

Their cooking secrets would boost Anya immensely. Sinep too, maybe.

Robin, though—

Robin just craved extra refinement and broader abilities.

Sebas's lessons had honed him too sharply for innocence to linger. As a shadow thief, Robin edged toward prowess that promised hilarious future chaos.

Lucien conceded the point.

Talent overflowed in the Five Beacons of Light.

Each glance at them revived the same conviction:

Readiness or not, the new era barreled in.

...

After deeper chats with folks from Lucien's vast domain, the nation leaders swiftly voiced plans to dive into rigorous training.

Such zeal made perfect sense.

The Big World had already exploded their grasp of magnitude. Training sites that could steer toward ascension? Impossible to absorb without fervor.

Still, Lucien urged restraint.

"Training awaits," he declared. "Chaos does not. Settle your people first. Blind rushes into progress mean half of you stall uselessly while the rest brew headaches for all."

Silence fell over them.

Truth rang clear in his words.

Riri joined them, backed by Tavian, Mirelle, and Auren—the three Liberators steering the other small worlds folded into his realm.

These four grasped the training grounds' flows, boundaries, and timetables better than any others around.

Midas embraced the coordination with obvious thrill. The rest leaders trailed eagerly.

Vast as the training areas were, their immensity heightened the need for structure.

Under Lucien's shield, worlds mingled now. Ascension rolled out in waves. Slots demanded equity. Priorities weighed steadiness, rule-keeping, talent, and each group's coming defense roles.

Quiet approval filled Lucien as he observed.

His comeback brought more than personal joy.

Fusing folks, expertise, realms, and destinies counted hugely.

One surprise delighted him beyond expectations.

No group scorned another.

Curiosity abounded, yes. Shock, absolutely. Bits of haughtiness requiring checks, naturally.

Yet it held no disdain.

This alone eased his breathing.

•••

That evening, Morveth and Aerolith visited him.

Guilt shadowed their arrival.

Aerolith cracked first.

Her apology spilled forth before she even bridged the space separating them, and tears surged so fast that her speech melted into jumbled sobs.

Guilt chewed at Morveth as well.

He straightened his posture. Still, the burden inside him showed clearly.

"We forgot you," he said.

The words emerged low and harsh, as though voicing them wronged the world once more.

Lucien grasped it right away.

This went beyond mere apology.

This was deep shame.

Aerolith scrubbed at her cheeks in fury.

"I was there," she said. "I was there and I still forgot big brother. I hate that. I hate it."

Morveth clenched his jaw.

"A bond like that should not have broken."

Lucien gazed at them both and, for a fleeting instant, nearly smiled at their misunderstanding of true fault.

He extended a hand first to Aerolith, then to Morveth.

"It didn’t break," he said. "That’s the point."

They stared at him.

"That thing did not reveal weakness in you," Lucien went on. "It revealed strength in the beings we were facing. Abyssal powers capable of distorting recognition itself are not ordinary enemies. If anything, the fact that the bond returned at all proves it was real."

Aerolith’s expression quivered.

"So you’re not angry?"

Lucien truly chuckled.

"At you?" he asked. "No."

Morveth shut his eyes for a moment. His relief flowed silently, yet so powerfully it aged his features briefly.

Lucien shook his head.

"If I start blaming the people for being overpowered by forces like that, then I’d be the one who doesn’t deserve the bond."

That silenced their self-blame.

They lingered a bit more afterward, with talk softening into warmth. When they departed, Aerolith still sniffled, but the raw agony of an undeserved survival had faded from her eyes.

•••

In other corners of Lootwell that same night, quieter reunions took place.

Luke strode alongside Sebas, arms linked, chatting in the relaxed cadence of comrades who had braved shadows together and now marveled at their survival beneath calm lanterns.

Cielius walked with Cienna as father and daughter, and after endless years, fear no longer forced their words to rush.

They just conversed.

…

Even later, Lucien strolled beside Vivian.

He shared tales of the Big World.

Its true vastness.

How immense it stretched. How constantly he teetered on the brink. How absurd certain perils grew. How death stalked him relentlessly, until it struck outright.

Each time the narrative plunged into fresh madness, Vivian’s eyes sparkled, scarcely believing these were the adventures of the boy from her innocent childhood.

When her moment came, she recounted Lootwell’s saga.

How she had guided them. How doubt plagued her in secret even as she commanded with resolve. How she mastered choices ahead of readiness. How she awaited his return, despite waiting bordering on folly at times.

Lucien absorbed every word.

Finally, after prolonged silence, Vivian let out a sigh.

"If only Mother and Father could have seen all this."

Lucien froze.

Then he faced her completely.

"There’s something I should tell you, sis," he said.

Vivian met his gaze, catching the sudden gravity.

Lucien picked his phrasing with rare precision.

"Father Virel and Mother Aniel are alive."

For an instant, Vivian just gaped.

Utterly empty, as if the news struck her core where old graves lay.

Lucien pressed on before denial could form.

"They are not dead in the greater sense. The ones in the small world may have been incarnations, or something close to that. I still don’t understand the full mechanism."

He hesitated.

"But I confirmed it. They belong to a race in the Big World. The Celestial Race."

Then Vivian shattered.

Her features crumpled as savage hope overwhelmed her.

At first, she figured it was mere solace.

Then she realized his earnestness.

And she wept against his chest, unleashing years of suppressed dreams.

"I want to see them," she said.

Lucien embraced her softly.

"I know."

"Can we?"

"Not yet."

That stung anew, but differently now. It pointed forward. No longer endless loss, but deferred promise.

Lucien ran a hand through her hair once.

"Their dominion is sealed right now. There are complications. But the day will come."

Vivian drew back slightly to peer into his eyes amid her tears.

Lucien held her stare steadily.

"I promise you," he said, "I will take you to them. We will go to the Celestial Race Domain. And when that day comes, you won’t need to wonder anymore."

Vivian scanned his features for any hint of doubt hidden in softness.

She discovered none.

This resolve anchored her more firmly than mere words of comfort ever could.

Her nod trembled with emotion.

For some moments afterward, they remained locked in embrace under a sky forever altered, grasping a destiny now immense beyond their boldest dreams.