100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 5 - Oops

At the Plaza in Lootwell territory.

About two hundred residents assembled in Lootwell's central square. These were the steadfast individuals who chose to remain, bound by loyalty to their cherished homeland.

The former Baron and Baroness had treated them with exceptional kindness. Right up to their last breaths, the Baron's sole concern was feeding his people.

Upon their deaths, profound sorrow enveloped the entire territory.

Now, every gaze fixed upon Lucien. They recalled him as a lively, sharp-witted lad brimming with vigor and always ready to lend a hand. Yet ruling as a lord demanded far more.

The majority felt uncertain about what lay ahead. Some dreaded disaster. In their view, he remained merely a youth.

A handful had begun pondering flight should conditions worsen. Despair hung densely in the atmosphere.

Nevertheless, they gathered. Driven more by allegiance to the departed Baron than by optimism. They lingered in the plaza, bracing for what would follow.

Lucien then made his entrance.

His stride differed from the boy they knew.

His pace held firm resolve.

His expression burned with intensity.

His aura demanded respect.

All chatter ceased abruptly. A profound quiet descended over the assembly as he ascended the platform.

Even Sebas, trailing behind with the tied and bruised Dreggor, faded from notice amid their fixation on Lucien.

Lucien surveyed the throng. He noted their wary stares, reminiscent of glimpsing the late Baron's spirit.

He attributed it to his Charisma stat and the title "Menace to Society." Their effectiveness pleased him, smoothing his path forward.

Lucien signaled.

Sebas responded with a faint nod, hauling Dreggor into the platform's midst.

Finally, the crowd spotted Dreggor.

Puzzled whispers spread as recognition dawned on the restrained, battered figure.

"Isn’t that the mining manager?"

"He looks like he’s been dragged through hell..."

"What did the young lord do to him?"

"Wait—don’t tell me... is he going to feed him to us because there’s no food left?!"

Lucien grimaced at the final remark.

’Okay... that escalated quickly.’

The square hummed with agitation, residents swapping outlandish theories. Some voiced real worry, others spun bizarre tales. Lucien struggled to track the absurdity unfolding.

Before chaos deepened, he lifted his hand.

Instant silence gripped the area.

In a voice icy yet resonant, he declared:

"My loyal subjects. I know you’ve suffered. Your hardships have not gone unseen. And as your new lord, your pain is mine! I swear to you now...

It ends today.

But first, I must admit something... I failed you.

I let a traitor slip past my watch. He poisoned our land and preyed upon our trust. For that, I offer you my deepest apology."

A wave swept through the assembly. Feelings stirred deeply within them.

"Yes, a traitor. Dreggor... The very man we trusted! Dreggor! Do you even grasp the weight of your betrayal?!"

Lucien shifted his stare to Dreggor.

The crowd mirrored him.

And suddenly... a shift occurred.

Their gazes intensified, aflame with passion.

Injustice.

Indignation.

Hatred.

All their accumulated agony erupted, simmering fiercely just under the skin.

Lucien observed the transformation, sensing the electric tension in the air.

Lucien had captured their hearts.

"He wasn’t one of us. He was a spy. Sent by some greedy lord to sabotage our home.

He murdered our miners. Ruined our fields. Starved our families. He tore apart the very land we built with our own hands!

Let this act of treachery be the last.

I, Lucien Lootwell, your protector, declare:

Justice will be served!

From these ashes, we will rise. Proud, unbroken, and stronger than ever!"

The barrier shattered.

Their famine, grief, and powerlessness exploded outward.

They lacked the name of the lord behind their torment.

But a target now existed.

A traitor.

A scapegoat.

The throng exploded, cries hoarse with rage. Their anguish funneled into one resounding call.

"""""Kill! Kill! Kill!"""""

’Crap... they’re scaring me.’ Lucien thought.

In truth, Lucien required no consent to dispatch a betrayer. He would eliminate any threat to his home or kin.

He merely favored openness. Ensuring all understood the reason.

Sebas advanced, shattering his typical composure.

"Young Lord... please. Let me do it. Spare your hands this stain. Let this Sebas bear the burden."

Lucien refused with a shake of his head.

"Sebastian, this is part of being a lord. If it happens again, I need to be ready."

Sebas parted his lips to argue, but Lucien silenced him with a raised palm.

The veteran butler paused, then retreated.

His tone fell to a murmur, scarcely heard amid the roaring masses.

"I’m sorry... I couldn’t keep my promise..."

Yet the phrasing suggested it wasn't directed at Lucien.

It was for another.

Someone distant.

As chants thundered, Lucien approached amid the din. Dreggor writhed against his restraints, gagged by fabric. Lucien had ordered Sebas to mute him against any Deception skill attempt.

"You know," Lucien whispered to Dreggor, "I asked the system why I can’t see HP and other status like in games... I never got an answer. Not user-friendly at all."

Dreggor’s frantic eyes flitted about in bewilderment.

"Maybe it’s because those things can’t be measured by numbers or maybe because of other variables. So let’s test that theory. You’ll be my experiment.

After all, in games, a level 1 shouldn’t be able to harm a level 23.

Let’s find out."

Lucien unsheathed his sword.

To the casual eye, it appeared as a decorative piece. His father had prized it for aesthetics over lethality.

Yet Lucien's SCAN revealed its hidden value.

<Ironbite>

Type: Short Sword

Rarity: Rare

Description: Forge from dark iron and tempered for durability. Tears into flesh like being bitten by iron itself.

The edge caught the sunlight, its shadowy sharpness radiating chill ruthlessness.

Lucien lifted it high.

Then slashed downward.

Precise and unyielding.

The sword cleaved Dreggor’s neck cleanly. His head tumbled through the air before hitting the ground.

Silence returned.

The onlookers gaped, eyes shifting from Lucien to the traitor's remains.

Lucien stood unmoved, guilt absent.

What stunned him was a mere level 1 like himself beheading a level 23. This revelation altered perspectives. Higher levels fell to him, meaning lesser ones could fell him too.

Strength proved less straightforward than assumed.

The display felt overly visceral for his liking.

Yet abruptly, an unforeseen event transpired.

A radiant item materialized beside Dreggor’s body.

"Oops... You drop something!"

Hushed stillness enveloped the surroundings.

They fixed on Lucien, his youthful wide eyes brimming with genuine bafflement.

Then... their eyes trailed his line of sight.

Directly to the detached head on the platform.

A lone snicker pierced the quiet.

Followed by another.

Suddenly, the plaza burst forth... not with dread or revulsion, but with mirth.

Titters swelled to hearty laughs, blooming into joyous roars.

""""""Young Lord!!! Young Lord!!! Young Lord!!!"""""

They had misinterpreted entirely.

Lucien felt true astonishment. He believed drops came solely from monsters.

But the masses?

They assumed he meant the head. That very severed head sprawled ignobly nearby.

The irony delighted them.

One instant, he loomed formidable, executing with merciless accuracy.

The next, he uttered an adorably clumsy quip, shattering the mood like sunlight piercing clouds.

Fear of him vanished completely. Dreggor merited death in their eyes.

Still, the boisterous acclaim sent shivers through Lucien.

’Shit,’ he mused. ’If I hadn’t acted earlier, these folks might’ve turned on me instead.’

He mistook their joy for savage bloodlust, unnerving him deeply.

Regardless, as their leader, poise was essential.

Discreetly, he advanced and retrieved the enigmatic drop close to the severed head.

Shockingly, it deviated from the typical luminous cube.

Rather, a shimmering card glowed in his grasp.

He clutched it momentarily before it dissolved like prior loot.

He resolved to examine it soon.

To deflect curiosity, Lucien seized the severed head and thrust it upward.

Due to his slight build, both arms strained to balance it.

"HAAAAH!"

He bellowed triumphantly, brandishing the head like a conquering hero.

The crowd watched with fond amusement, enchanted by their valiant young lord's quirky, boyish antics.

Chuckles and hurrahs filled the plaza, laced with lighthearted snickers.

Yet under his bold front, Lucien felt nauseous.

’Ugh, this is gross.’

Hastily, he flung the head away and gestured for Sebas to dispose of it.

Before further action, a cascade of system alerts blazed across Lucien’s vision.