100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 496 - Nearing Completion

Lucien perched upon the Stillness Palace, gazing across the territory approaching its final stages.

From such an elevation, Lootwell ceased to appear as mere construction.

It manifested as a destiny already demanding its place.

Beneath the hovering palace, right at the capital's precise heart, rested the Sovereign Circle.

This formed the motionless core around which the entire territory revolved. Immense, raised, and purposefully designed.

Within it lay the governing halls, treasure repositories, record archives, command centers, and bureaucratic zones via which Lucien would rule all beneath Lootwell’s expanding influence.

It transcended a simple administrative sector.

It served as a cornerstone.

Outward from there, the city expanded in broadening tiers of function.

Near the Sovereign Circle rose the High City, constructed primarily for cultivators with aesthetics secondary.

In that area, mobility outweighed display. Entry to formations surpassed expansive bazaars. Flow of aura, practice arenas, secluded meditation rooms, and structures attuned to laws influenced the layout far beyond standard streets.

Beyond lay the capital's expansive sections.

To one flank towered the Forge Quarter, alive with ordered fervor. The old Starforge had merged into it. Its prior bulk integrated into a vastly grander whole.

The Construction Division had been assigned to Anvil-Horn long ago, and the veteran craftsman transformed the area into a domain where clamor appeared structured.

Strikes of hammers echoed in rhythmic patterns. Glowing tracks shimmered under transport routes. Metalworking furnaces, forging areas, high-pressure molding rooms, mechanical assembly shops, and trial fields interconnected in a loop so seamless it resembled a breathing organism of steel.

In another direction extended the Verdant Quarter.

Its fields defied typical farmland behavior. Expansive farming zones gleamed with spirit flora, healing tubers, potion ingredients, blooming pools, and precisely managed expansion arrays.

Adjacent loomed the alchemy facilities, expansive enough to mimic their own borough. Brewing vats exhaled vapors skyward. Pill shops functioned in orderly lines. Processing spires throbbed with regulated warmth.

Ex-Verdant Veil affiliates navigated it as seasoned experts at last granted ample space for grand visions. They instructed freely. Formulas previously hoarded like hereditary treasures now flowed to select successors, refined along the way.

Elk and her group had taken a special liking to that zone, and the sharing of knowledge among potion makers, plant manipulators, pill forgers, and living-material specialists was already yielding odd yet valuable outcomes.

Further away rose the Law Hall District.

Structures for insight soared in precise order. Open-air lecture arenas awaited. Archives, meditation rooms, communal law archives, restricted advanced study chambers, and directed reflection edifices wove into a unified scholarly network.

Crowds gathered there presently, poring over the legal tomes Lucien had released, following tenets once reserved for elites alone. From his vantage, he observed advancement. Shifts in aura. Waves of law. Abrupt enlightenments. Individuals stepping into a building diminished and emerging transformed.

Farther out lay the Practice Grounds.

These expanses were colossal and meticulously tiered by difficulty. Varied arenas accommodated diverse fighting methods, array drills, unit maneuvers, and harmony training. Entrances to Skillpedia, Magic Book, and Monsterdex were located there as well, and currently lines of folks streamed through them like residents of a metropolis where personal advancement counted as routine work.

Over those fields ascended the Ascension Spire.

Even from the airborne palace, it asserted dominance over its territorial slice with bold upward force. Daily, challengers scaled it. They absorbed lessons. Stumbled. Came back. Advanced. Grumbled about unfinished upper levels. Yet persisted regardless.

That persistence, beyond any acclaim, signaled to Lucien its integration into daily existence.

The peripheral capital took a distinct form.

The Trade Rings positioned distant from the nucleus, designed so incoming trade convoys, traders, diplomats, and partner groups could arrive sans instant penetration of the urban core. Someday those circles would buzz with haggling, passage, agreements, check stations, overseas legations, secured warehouses, and the chaos prosperity draws when spotlighted for all to covet.

Lucien would permit such bustle.

In time.

Currently, order prevailed.

And past the capital proper—

the broader domain spread not as a single homogeneous society, but as an ordered mosaic of expansive areas tailored to diverse populations' requirements.

Lootwell spanned too broadly for uniformity. Its inhabitants varied too greatly.

Westward sprawled the Dune Dominion, carefully preserved and refined for the Desert Folk. It transcended mere habitability now. Transformed into a paradise molded precisely to their essence, pressure endurance, locomotion patterns, and cultural tempo. There, heat danced as a faithful companion. Buildings attuned to the whispers of the wind. Sand had been forged into breathtaking splendor.

In other regions expanded the Wild Zone. Crafted with stacked elemental realms, it enabled monsters, beast-races, and particular rare bloodlines to dwell, hone skills, or face study—unshackled from societal molds that crushed their innate drives.

Yet those represented merely the finished primary zones.

The leftover quadrants remained in development. Their bases already whispered promises of upcoming neighborhoods, ecosystems, and maybe bold new societal trials still unnamed.

This land wasn't meant solely for common folk.

It served cultivators, species, entities, beasts, and societies forged by laws, pressures, affinities, battles, legacies, and the fierce will to endure.

Expansion possibilities stretched infinitely onward.

Lucien lingered amid the twilight breeze, gazing upon it all with serene fulfillment.

His labors had not reached conclusion.

He had concealed a segment of the coming era.

Tavian, Mirelle, and Auren remained unaware of what Anvil-Horn had already set in motion for them.

Or more precisely—

utilizing them.

The veteran artisan directed the revival of their birth realms as enclaves within the vast domain.

Lucien had sensed their longing far earlier than any hint they uttered.

Politeness kept them from voicing it directly.

Overwhelmed by gratitude, they hesitated to request further boons. Mindful of his immense gifts already bestowed. Wary of seeming to burrow deeper than permitted.

Thus, they proposed modest alternatives.

Improved links between their minor realms and the core domain. Orientation for fresh migrants. Joint squads from blended worlds.

They presented it as mere utility.

Lucien discerned the deeper yearning.

Residence here was their true wish.

Within the heart of the primary domain. Amid the throb of the grander realm he crafted. Inside a vitality surpassing their former secluded orbits.

Lucien grasped this truth unspoken.

And through comprehension, he chose silence over speech for their wish.

Deeds of building became his reply.

Together with Anvil-Horn, he orchestrated the project with precision. Inhabitants of one minor realm aided in erecting zones echoing another's likeness. The grand design unveiled gradually. Comfortingly familiar yet adapted to merge seamlessly into the overarching expanse.

Such scheming transcended the trio of Liberators’ realms.

It reached the Lithrens and his personal minor realm too.

In time, all would dwell beneath the unified canopy of his domain.

This vision filled him with delight.

For his domain's immensity defied selfish hoarding of space.

It embraced them entirely.

And vastly more.

Regarding the minor realms proper—

Lucien refused to squander them.

Their utility proved immense.

Anvil-Horn first voiced an evident option openly.

"I want one," the elder craftsman declared one dusk, casually as requesting an extra smithy.

Lucien eyed him. "One what."

"One world."

Lucien paused expectantly.

Anvil-Horn crossed arms within his robes, utterly earnest.

"A forge."

That summed up the pitch.

Yet it sufficed completely.

Lucien consented without delay.

The vastness within a minor realm demanded utilization if safely repurposed. A forge realm devoted solely would empower Anvil-Horn to craft at scales unattainable in standard sectors without disrupting neighbors.

The Lithrens’ minor realm stood apart.

Its peculiar mineral makeup lingered as an anomaly. Astrafer abounded still, mined now with willing restraint far stricter than prior frenzy. Sustainability defined extraction over desperation. Depleting the realm equated to blasphemy against heirs unborn.

Blended aptly with alloys and stabilizers, Astrafer’s flaws evaporated.

And with their erasure—

emerged freakishly potent yields.

Such alloys already infused builds, fortifications, and elite assembly in Lootwell.

Lucien relished this deeply.

Right then—

A motion swept into his sight.

Six shadowy metal silhouettes sliced the heavens in tight array.

Lucien’s gaze followed instinctively.

The bio-metal automatons.

These machines now glided with far greater smoothness than the initial prototype had ever managed. After the first model's triumph, producing the rest grew simpler, yet "simpler" here still described labor so exhausting that typical craftsmen would collapse and doubt the very structure of existence.

Six of them existed now.

Each harbored the strength of a Celestial Realm expert.

Their forms continued to present the biggest challenge.

Or the greatest marvel, based on one's trade and ethical limits.

Memory Alloy shards inside recalled every strike. The material absorbed knowledge from what hit it. It reshaped its handling of incoming force. It positioned for peak absorption and redirection of blows. A sword slash lost its edge after the debut cut. Blunt impacts schooled the alloy. Elemental strikes instructed it as well.

And with a soul core in every automaton—

they possessed the ability to evolve.

Rurik took immense pleasure in that fact each time he brought it up.

Thanks to Seren’s expertise, Morphy’s aid, and Rurik’s own spiraling genius, later versions would turn more tailored, tougher to face, and deadlier.

Lucien observed the six shapes twisting across the heavens, picturing Lootwell’s appearance after construction wrapped up.

That marked the instant to reveal it to everyone.

The territory.

Lucien planned to stick with his long-standing choice for the moment.

The hidden master. The shadowy leader whose lands stirred global anxiety by running too perfectly.

A faint smile touched his face at the idea.