100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 489 - Changes

Lucien made a point of strolling through the territory in full.

The sights that met his eyes delighted him far beyond his expectations.

Lootwell continued its expansion.

The framework stood ready. All that was left involved polishing, merging, and the gradual, rewarding transformation of power into lasting solidity.

Among the initial attractions that drew his gaze was the chapel.

It loomed massively.

Lucien halted his steps entirely for a solid second, just gazing at it.

This structure towered over an entire district like a bold rejection of restraint. Light stone, tall windows, stacked arches, emblematic engravings, worship areas, a main spire, flanking rooms, contemplative basins, and sufficient ornate devotion to make Lucien instantly think Clara had shared her vision with excessive zeal while Anvil-Horn had accepted it as a dare.

He didn't have to wonder for long.

Clara waited right before it, her face glowing with utter, beaming joy that nearly made Lucien chuckle.

Lucien crossed his arms and observed her briefly as she directed the final laborers with grave focus, as though each pillar and every gleaming tile held the key to safeguarding existence on a cosmic level.

Given Clara's nature, it just might.

Anvil-Horn lingered slightly distant, examining the building's framework.

Lucien approached.

Clara spun around, spotted him, and lit up instantly.

"My Lord," she said, "do you like it?"

Lucien glanced back at the chapel.

Then toward her.

Then once more at its outrageous proportions.

"It is," he replied cautiously, "larger than I imagined."

Clara pressed a hand to her chest.

"That means I was right to scale it up."

Lucien sought backup from Anvil-Horn.

The veteran craftsman merely grinned into his beard with the subtle malice of one who had relished the whole endeavor excessively.

"It is sound," Anvil-Horn stated. "Excessive. But sound."

Clara viewed that as total confirmation.

Lucien chose not to dwell on it further and proceeded onward before she could suggest adding statues.

He definitely wanted no statues of himself.

The more ground he covered, the more evident it grew that folks from the lesser realms had transformed over the last month.

The practice areas had achieved precisely what he anticipated. Talent remained crucial, indeed. Affinity stayed vital. Bloodline held importance. Yet opportunity now counted as well, and for the first time for many, chance had been handed out with near-even justice.

The gifted rose more swiftly.

The ungifted still advanced.

That shift alone had altered the mood across the merged lands.

Resignation's heavy shadow had lifted from the people. They toiled with greater vigor now that advancement shone clear. Their efforts no longer merely sustained life. They nurtured tomorrow.

As Lucien progressed, he observed dueling arenas, drill spots, market districts, learning spaces, and adaptable build sites.

Suddenly his focus shifted, and he barely restrained a broad grin.

Sebas sparred with Elunara.

They occupied a calmer field, exchanging controlled blows while a few brazen onlookers watched.

The Five Beacons of Light had gathered there as well.

And naturally, they amplified the awkwardness.

Robin wore a look of wicked glee. Ronan struggled intensely to suppress laughter. Anya feigned purity so poorly that even the breeze seemed to cringe on her behalf. Elias stood arms crossed, projecting gravity while plainly seeking amusement. Seren had abandoned any facade of discretion entirely.

After a clash, Sebas cleared his throat into his hand and extended his palm to Elunara with the poised grace of someone acutely aware of the audience and determined not to crack first.

Lucien nearly burst out laughing right then.

Sebas kept his features mostly composed, yet the faint grin tugging at his lips gave him away utterly.

Elunara fared no differently.

Her face held that classic elven neutrality aiming for calm and aloofness.

But her ears—

Her ears twitched relentlessly.

Fiercely enough to reveal it all.

The instant she and Sebas locked gazes a beat too long, they both stiffened slightly, prompting the five observers to erupt in synchronized, thrilled cheers.

Sebas pivoted away with poise that deceived nobody.

Elunara appeared to weigh whether to discipline the quintet of youngsters.

Lucien departed before his amusement showed.

He endorsed it completely.

...

Later on, another practice area caught his passage with a starkly contrasting scene.

Midas. Augustus. Leo.

They clashed in combat.

Or more accurately, Midas grinned as Augustus and Leo desperately urged the world that cooperation could offset his natural edge.

Augustus stuck to his preference as a long-range mage, yet he no longer resembled the elderly holy man Lucien had first encountered.

The change following the shedding of his mortal body proved striking.

Youth now graced his features. His laughter echoed with a fresh vigor. The passage of years persisted, yet their heavy toll no longer crushed him so fiercely.

Leo battled as if unleashed to embrace what his physique had always craved. Having merged with the Law of Combat, it suited him flawlessly. Each movement seamlessly led to the next with growing assurance, every near-combat clash mounting tension as though he bargained straight with the essence of war.

Midas posed the real challenge.

He had forever been a threat.

Now elegance defined him.

He glided effortlessly amid Augustus’s distant light formations and Leo’s up-close assaults, adjusting to both simultaneously like the fight had replayed thrice in his mind, merely performing his favored rendition.

His Law of Clairvoyance fused seamlessly, granting a combat style that rendered him less a fighter exchanging strikes and more a ruler reshaping inevitability to his whims.

Augustus unleashed a barrage of glowing spears.

Leo struck from the flank in perfect sync, creating a tight approach.

Midas smiled.

Then he took a single step aside.

The glowing spears flew through his former spot, Leo’s pursuit struck nothing, and Midas brushed Leo’s shoulder and Augustus’s wrist before withdrawing once more.

"Again," Midas said.

Augustus stood tall and let out a genuine laugh.

"Midas, one day I will blind that smugness out of you."

Midas arched an eyebrow.

"You may try."

Leo shrugged his shoulders and flashed a grin.

"We almost had him."

"No," Augustus shot back at once. "You almost had yourself. I was doing excellent."

Lucien observed the following clash for some time with silent approval.

Among the recent batch of climbers, Midas truly shone as the most gifted, though what delighted Lucien further was how all three had evolved without forsaking their core selves.

Augustus wielded the Law of Light. Leo commanded the Law of Combat. Midas harnessed the Law of Clairvoyance.

Yet none diminished as they grew mightier.

That remained the superior result.

...

Shifts in the hierarchies of the small worlds had grown evident as well.

Equality hadn't eliminated disparity. Rather, it dismantled inertia.

Ancient frameworks rooted solely in bloodline separation crumbled beneath the push of new chances. Respect for power, insight, experience, and leadership endured. But now, true progress stirred.

A worker might rise. A sentry could climb. A learned one might turn lethal. The offspring of a leader and a mere stable boy now grasped one chilling reality:

Under Lucien’s framework, relentless effort could compel the future to heed their call.

Such transformation stabilized society far beyond any oration.

Basic wants found fulfillment. Roles gained purpose.

Lootwell’s vastness in the Big World started seeming less daunting to those from small worlds.

The initial revelation of its immense size had left many speechless, simply gaping.

Adaptation had since taken hold.

Despite enhanced airships, crossing the expansive domain end-to-end demanded months. Still, the awe receded into habit.

The merged populations now explored fellow small worlds, absorbing foreign traditions, routines, and quirks.

To Lucien’s subtle ease, harmony largely prevailed among them.

Morveth’s people blended in more smoothly than anticipated. Many hailed from realms once tied to Sylra’s, despite her firm denial of any personal bond.

Sylra had stated outright that she shunned public appearances, and her worlds’ folk adored a myth more than the real her. Thus, she indeed felt remote.

Yet Lucien had seen her discreetly monitor their integration.

He noted her subtle lean-in during their update briefings.

He also spotted the deeper facet of the matter.

In certain traits, Sylra mirrored Marina’s nature more than she’d ever concede.

Both withdrawn, prone to deep emotions concealed by calm facades.

Meeting Lucien had transformed Marina. She grew braver, kinder, more eager to draw near others instead of retreating.

Lucien sensed Sylra yearning for the same shift.

She had confessed it once, in the most matter-of-fact tone imaginable.

Lucien allowed her to tread that road at her chosen pace.

Her fear of men lingered. Distance persisted with most males, normalcy reserved for Lucien alone, others met with calculated reserve.

That suited perfectly.

Accelerating the healing process didn't make it feel any more genuine.

•••

Later on that day, Midas came up to him.

From the look on his face alone, Lucien could tell this wouldn't be a simple ask.

Midas wore a wide grin.

"I want to go out," he said.

Lucien cocked his head.

"To the Big World."

There it was.

Lucien had anticipated this moment would arrive sooner or later.

Midas was never suited for being cooped up. To him, power wasn't just held—it got pushed against ever-higher limits.

Lucien gazed at him steadily for a while.

Then he offered a faint smile.

"You’ve been patient."

Midas’s lips turned up.

"Patient enough."

Luke and Cienna had ventured out earlier to bolster their laws. More would go in time. With the western fronts now fairly secure and major dangers less pressing at the forefront, boundaries could ease a bit.

Given Midas’s abilities, law, and nature, hardly anyone in the Big World could take him down effortlessly—unless he went hunting for danger deliberately.

Which, sadly, Lucien figured he just might.

Still.

Midas needed the chance to grow into his full potential.

Lucien gave a nod.

"I won’t keep you."

Midas’s eyes lit up instantly, even as his stance stayed mostly the same.

Lucien lifted a hand to halt that eagerness before it turned into hasty victory.

"But not carelessly."

Midas held his silence.

Lucien continued, "If anyone from the small worlds wants to experience the Big World, I’ll allow it on one condition."

Not long afterward, he broadcast the proclamation wide enough for the connected worlds to grasp it fully.

Anyone desiring to depart and enter the Big World could do so.

But solely upon attaining the Fifth Stage of the Transcendent Realm.

The rule was tough enough to carry weight, equitable enough to earn regard, and perilous enough to ensure nobody viewed it as a light jaunt.

Lucien refused to let fledgling powerhouses stray into a ruthless realm, confusing endurance for assured welcome.

The Big World sprawled immense, stunning, bizarre, and pitiless. One required sufficient might to weather its chances and its disdain alike.

Once the news sank in, Midas let out a slow breath and shot Lucien a glance of obvious respect.

"Reasonable," he said.

"That’s why I’m still alive," Lucien replied.

Midas let out a real laugh.

The territory around them continued its motion.

And as Lucien observed it all, he sensed the subtle fulfillment of someone who had perished before, come back against the odds, and discovered the realm awaiting him striving fiercely to deserve whatever lay ahead.