100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 488 - Drops

One more month had gone by.

The Western campaign drew close to its finish.

The cure had extended much beyond their initial wildest expectations. One region after the next was torn free from the Exchange Clasp's control.

Whole webs of reliance tumbled down the moment the clasp vanished, with the reality of those so-called miracle drugs emerging from the veil of addiction and fabricated cravings.

Yet even triumph brought its own brutality.

There were just too many souls involved.

The Liberators managed to liberate people these days.

That challenge had faded away.

The real struggle lay in matching the immense scope of liberty.

Lucien lingered in one of Lootwell’s upper chambers, surrounded by scattered reports, as he deciphered the same harsh reality in countless forms.

This region was freed, but the cure lacked enough for every plagued district.

This outpost welcomed aid, yet shipping holdups sparked dangers of relapse.

This local group pledged to the Liberators, though secret stashes of the drug persisted.

This aristocratic family openly rejected the Exchange, even as they hoarded leftovers in secret.

He exhaled deeply and steadily.

The Exchange lay dying.

Its venom endured.

That formed the tougher phase of the conflict.

Even stranger was the absence of fierce pushback.

This worried him more than the sheer numbers.

The western lines still encountered issues, indeed, but not the ones Lucien anticipated.

Most resistance now stemmed from folks who had savored the Exchange’s illusory dominance and clung to it desperately. The feeble ones craving loaned power just a bit longer. The unskilled who had forged their sense of self on a fake ascent, preferring decay over returning to mundane toil.

Far more of them existed than Lucien desired.

Yet even those holdouts crumbled eventually.

New groups aligned with the Liberator Organization weekly. The Evershade Exchange's so-called miracle drugs kept diminishing. Supply routes shattered. Concealed labs went up in flames. Spies started spilling secrets. Traders who once ignored the truth now picked life over gain and revealed their books.

The west shifted allegiance.

And yet—

something felt off.

What disturbed them deepest was the Exchange's own behavior.

When the push finally hemmed in the Maereth Region, the supposed site of the Evershade Exchange headquarters as a last stand, they discovered...

emptiness.

No fortress fit for such a power. No frantic guards. No doomsday Voidwalker. No hidden Primordial Incarnation poised to crush their progress.

Just desertion.

It resembled less a beaten army at campaign's close and more a player withdrawing from the board after claiming its prize.

The ancient beasts despised this.

Astraea deemed it an outrage. Condoriano labeled it cowardice with dramatic scorn. Even Saber, usually sparing words on letdowns, gazed at the vacated land with such icy frustration that the surrounding air seemed to creak.

They craved a fitting climax.

A war demanded a vital point to sever.

Instead, the Exchange had evaporated.

That by itself would have gnawed at Lucien.

But Convergence persisted.

And Voidwalker stayed missing.

Lucien understood such foes wouldn't mercifully spare a crumbling group out of fondness.

If the Exchange slipped away whole, that retreat held intent.

That idea lodged in him like a metal shard.

He stood from the documents and moved to the wide balcony, gazing over the lands without really taking them in.

Next, his mind shifted to the other Primordial Incarnations.

Severance had forfeited his host to Lucien’s Execution Circle and wouldn't reemerge anytime soon.

Convergence lurked beyond.

At least those two bore names tied to clear dangers.

But the others?

He had questioned Seran earlier. The reply offered no solace.

Knowledge remained scarce.

Post-Millennia War, the Primordial Slime had bound the Incarnations. That stood as fact. Yet bindings weren't mere cages. They could erode. If one Incarnation escaped, it might count as isolated bad luck.

If multiple had...

That transcended chance.

That signaled design.

Lucien’s gaze sharpened.

Then his reflections wandered to the mural world.

To the ancient turmoil. To the era when Incarnations had torn the world so fiercely that the Origin Core splintered into myriad shards.

The recollection hit him abruptly, freezing him in place.

His pulse altered.

And then the notion arrived.

’What if the Evershade Exchange had never truly been about profit?’

Profit served as lure. Addiction as tool. Control as ease.

But suppose the grand scheme loomed larger?

Suppose decades of crafted despair, terror, disorder, longing, reliance, and societal ruin all fueled a single aim—

to force such profound disharmony into the Big World that the frail seals on other Incarnations started fracturing?

A chill gripped Lucien.

Should that prove accurate—

the Exchange had secured the victory that counted above all.

Harm had already been inflicted.

Chaos had proliferated. Fear had dug in deep. People's resolve had crumbled beneath constant strain. The world's equilibrium had been upended for years already.

His fingers tightened on the balcony railing until it creaked in protest.

It would account for the vanishing.

The mission had become obsolete.

Once the primary goal was met, the overt branch could dissolve, forcing others to handle the aftermath.

Darkness clouded Lucien's expression.

"That means," he murmured to the vacant air, "there may already be more of them outside."

Silence enveloped him as he lingered there.

Soon, his thoughts turned elsewhere.

The drops from Severance.

***

LEGENDARY:

• Severing Thread of the Unlived Path — able to slice a nascent outcome before it solidifies into existence. A counter to sequences. A dagger for unrealized potentials.

• Scythe-Scar Pollen — black-gold powder that adheres to a target's form, making any subsequent wounds resist healing.

MYTHICAL:

• Rift of the Last Horizon — obsidian fragment capable of dividing a selected span into "before" and "after," letting the user reach the distant end without traversing the gap.

• Core of Severance – Contains the purified Law of Severance, bestowing command over severing bonds, interrupting flows, and neatly separating things from their roles.

DIVINE:

• Covenant of Final Division — any item presented to it can be severed from its present condition once. Substance from flow. Law from container. Memory from twist. Fate from imposed end. Activation demands precise purpose. Mistakes cannot be undone.

***

The divine drop had held Lucien's gaze for ages when he first encountered its description.

Amid its many horrifying applications, one notion lingered persistently in his thoughts.

Oblivion.

If any item from Severance's drops could someday sever Lucien from the alterations forced upon his memory across the world, that one held the promise.

Not yet.

But eventually.

He sealed the protected room once more and pivoted away.

The moment would arrive.

For the present, restraint proved the deadlier blade.

Incarnations were not the sole concern.

The Black Mass weighed heavily too.

That issue haunted him relentlessly.

Lucien had always doubted the simplistic account of its nature.

The Black Mass exhibited traits eerily akin to independent volition.

It originated from the Primordial Slime. It ought to align with what the Primordial Slime had sought to safeguard.

Yet it appeared to grow more aligned with the horrors it overlooked.

Lucien scowled.

'Did the Primo Slime waver during its creation?' he pondered. 'Or did some external force infiltrate the process later?'

No clarity emerged.

At that instant...

A gentle wave passed through the chamber.

Lucien glanced up as Seran materialized.

He stepped out from a full-length mirror against the interior wall.

Advancing with his customary serene poise, though his aura seemed faintly frayed at the borders.

Lucien spotted it right away.

"You’re leaving?"

Seran offered a smile.

"Very soon."

Lucien examined him closely.

Then scrutinized again.

A revelation dawned.

Seran caught the dawning insight and cocked his head.

"You noticed."

Lucien crossed his arms.

"You didn’t come here the normal way."

"No." Seran eyed the mirror. "The artifact I used before is exhausted. It was an emergency transit device. It needs years to recharge."

"So this is..."

"Reflection."

Lucien’s curiosity ignited at once.

Seran chuckled softly.

"Yes. I knew you’d look like that."

He pressed on.

"The Liberator bases have reflection chambers. Each one is carved around my Law and linked through a common correspondence script. The principle is simple to say and difficult to achieve."

Lucien listened intently.

Seran elaborated.

"A reflection is not merely an image," he said. "At deeper levels, it is a negotiated agreement between original and surface. Most things reflect only appearance. A true reflection goes further. It persuades reality that resemblance may temporarily substitute for presence."

Lucien’s gaze sharpened with respect.

Seran warmed to the topic, thrilled by his engaged audience.

"Those chambers do not send my true body. They establish a mirrored continuity between one prepared reflective origin and one prepared reflective destination. Then the Law of Reflection deepens that continuity until the reflected self becomes locally authoritative."

A subtle smile touched Lucien’s lips.

"In plain words."

Seran exhaled.

"In plain words, I step into one mirror and convince another mirror elsewhere that my reflection deserves to be treated as me."

It was exquisite.

And fearsome.

Lucien scrutinized him even more intently.

"But this one isn’t hollow," he said. "If I hit you, it would matter."

Seran’s smile narrowed.

"Yes. But don’t hit me."

He raised both hands placatingly.

"This is where most people misunderstand Reflection," he said. "A weak reflection is image. A proper one is correspondence. A high reflection is consequence."

He tapped his chest lightly.

"If this body is wounded, the injury reflects back to the original. If it is killed under sufficient force, the damage transfers by mirrored truth. That is why this method is not used casually. The law does not let me cheat presence without price."

Lucien mulled it over.

A form not truly his own, but no mere throwaway either.

Precisely the sort of artifact mechanic he admired above all.

It rang with brutal honesty.

Seran noted the gleam in his eyes and grinned anew.

"You can take it apart with your eyes later," he said.

Lucien offered no rebuttal.

"I want the schematics."

"You want everything."

"That is how civilizations are built."

Seran let out a quiet chuckle.

"Later."

Then the mirth ebbed away.

"Time’s up."

Lucien’s face altered.

Then he replied, "Talk to you later."

Seran’s stare met his steadily.

"Yes."

Then his silhouette faded, as if the room relinquished its hold on his reflection in favor of its rightful domain.

The mirror grew dim.

Seran disappeared.

Lucien lingered in place moments longer, a private smile curving his lips.

The world grew ever stranger.