100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 563 - First Day

The moment Lootwell's Middle Continent branch swung its doors open on its inaugural day, the various factions swiftly arrived at a singular, profound realization: their decision to be present here was unequivocally the correct one. Those who had heeded the whispers and follow the rumors found themselves breathing sighs of relief, while those who had wavered in their resolve were now consumed by fervent regret. As for the skeptics who had dismissed the tales as mere embellishment, they were promptly and quietly compelled to redefine their comprehension of the word "impossible."

The entrance system mirrored that of the West, involving the mandatory issuance of tokens to every individual seeking entry. Lootwell personnel, arranged in meticulously organized queues beneath the immense, towering projection screens situated outside the grand protective barrier, distributed these tokens with efficiency. These prominent panels clearly delineated the established rules, which were notable for their stark simplicity and directness. Judging by the visibly proud expressions adorning the faces of many prominent faction representatives, these rules also carried a distinctly insulting undertone. Yet, remarkably, not a single individual dared to transgress them, a development that genuinely surprised Lucien.

The Middle Continent presented a stark contrast to the West in terms of its inhabitants' behavior. Here, a more cautious and measured approach prevailed, primarily driven by the potent concept of "face." In this region, reputation held a significance nearly on par with raw strength; status functioned as a formidable weapon, and public dignity was treated as a form of tangible currency. A faction might conceivably weather the loss of a small sum of money, endure a single lost argument, or even salvage a failed negotiation. However, the prospect of becoming a public spectacle, an example demonstrated before the eyes of the entire continent, was fraught with inherent danger.

No self-respecting sect master harbored the desire for a projected record detailing his disciple being unceremoniously expelled from Lootwell for flagrantly disregarding explicitly posted rules. Similarly, no esteemed elder wished for rival factions to gleefully mock his ancient lineage due to a botched token inspection. And certainly, no young master courted the humiliation of having his unbridled arrogance transformed into a cautionary tale broadcasted via communication devices before the day had even drawn to a close. Consequently, they meticulously read the rules and dutifully adhered to them.

Lucien blinked, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features. "Well," he murmured under his breath, a hint of amusement in his tone, "this continent appears to be unexpectedly manageable."

Eirene, standing beside him, cast her gaze upon the same scene unfolding below. "Do not mistake a fear of public embarrassment for genuine obedience."

"Right," Lucien acknowledged, the implication sinking in.

"But it is nonetheless useful," Eirene added, a pragmatic glint in her eyes.

"Indeed, it is exceedingly useful," Lucien concurred, the wheels of his mind beginning to turn.

•••

The initial distribution of communication devices was, as anticipated, met with little surprise. These devices had already solidified their status as the quintessential symbol of Lootwell's transformative influence in the West, and word of their significance had undoubtedly circulated amongst their allies. However, the public sale of these devices represented a distinctly different matter. The moment the very first official sales counters commenced operations, the specialized halls dedicated to communication devices were immediately inundated with eager customers.

Lootwell personnel diligently presented each available tier with absolute clarity. An elder, adorned in opulent attire, scrutinized the price list with an expression of profound disbelief. "This is far too low," he declared, his voice laced with incredulity.

The staff member offered a polite, unwavering smile. "The listed price is indeed correct, sir."

The elder's brow furrowed further. "A device capable of facilitating instantaneous communication across vast distances should not be offered at such a modest price." Around them, several representatives from smaller factions stiffened perceptibly.

Another affluent representative chimed in, echoing the sentiment, "Furthermore, the higher-tier models ought to command a more substantial price. If such devices become accessible to everyone, their inherent value inevitably diminishes."

Lucien, observing the scene unfold through a distant projection feed, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Kael, standing nearby, let out a soft sigh of profound appreciation. "Ah," he remarked, a knowing smile gracing his lips, "there it is."

"There is what?" Lucien inquired, turning his attention from the projection.

"The predictable behavior of the affluent attempting to safeguard their prestige by advocating for inflated prices," Kael explained with a touch of wry amusement.

Lucien’s gaze swept across the bustling hall. A different faction representative articulated the prevailing sentiment with unvarnished bluntness: "Poorer factions should not possess access to the same tools. It fundamentally disrupts the established social hierarchy." A palpable chill descended upon the atmosphere. The representatives of smaller factions present in the vicinity lowered their gazes, though several among them subtly clenched their fists, their indignation simmering beneath the surface.

The Lootwell staff member's smile remained perfectly composed, unchanging. "The prices are determined solely by Lootwell."

The elder, undeterred, reiterated his point, a persistent frown etching his features. "We are more than willing to pay a higher price."

"Your willingness is duly noted and appreciated. However, the prices remain as set by Lootwell," the staff member replied smoothly. With a deliberate gesture, the staff member lifted one hand and indicated a prominent display panel positioned behind the counter.

[Communication access serves as a fundamental public stabilizing tool. Practices such as price manipulation, the artificial creation of scarcity, mandated reselling, and any obstruction of basic communication access are strictly prohibited.]

A profound silence descended upon the hall, the weight of the displayed regulation hanging in the air. The staff member continued, their tone gentle yet firm, "Higher-tier devices are available for individuals who require enhanced functionalities. However, basic access will and always shall remain basic access."

Lucien's smile broadened, a deep sense of satisfaction spreading across his face. "Excellent." He harbored absolutely no intention of allowing communication to degenerate into a mere plaything exclusively for the wealthy elite. The experiences in the West had unequivocally demonstrated the profound benefits of rapid information dissemination: it empowered the vulnerable, exposed corruption and abuse, accelerated the pace of commerce, and significantly bolstered the effectiveness of regional responses to crises. To restrict swift communication solely to the affluent would inevitably condemn the less fortunate to remain easily exploitable and perpetually silenced. Such an outcome was, in Lucien's view, entirely unacceptable.

Nevertheless, the sheer magnitude of the Middle Continent's existing wealth did indeed come as a surprise to him. The premium counter sections became intensely crowded almost instantaneously. Factions, engaging in interactions that were outwardly polite yet inwardly fierce, vied for the most advanced devices. Those fortunate enough to acquire them departed with an almost unbearable air of smug satisfaction, akin to individuals carrying highly coveted possessions that others could clearly see and deeply desire.

A disciple from a comparatively minor sect clutched his basic communication device as if it were a priceless treasure. In stark contrast, a young master hailing from a major, influential faction held his premium device with the gravitas befitting a royal decree. Both individuals were, in their own distinct ways, immensely happy. And that was perfectly acceptable. Lootwell, in its impartiality, readily catered to both.

•••

The introduction of specialty crops imbued with attribute-granting properties ignited the subsequent wave of commotion.

As soon as the items became available, faction envoys surged forward like hungry predators remembering their manners.

Following them were the merchant scalpers, their presence immediately obvious.

They were easily distinguishable:

They congregated in clusters, attempting to buy the maximum allowable amount from multiple counters simultaneously. They utilized various affiliated buyers and dispatched servants to stand in separate queues. Their inquiries focused on bulk purchase discounts and the possibility of negotiating private resale rights.

Lootwell had anticipated these maneuvers.

A market-wide alert flashed across all panels just as the first scalping attempt was about to materialize.

[Restricted attribute products are subject to purchase limits.]

[Buying for forced resale, artificial price inflation, hoarding, proxy stacking, or disguised faction monopolization is prohibited.]

[Violators will forfeit their purchase rights.]

The merchants abruptly halted their actions.

One of them managed a strained smile.

"Surely, normal trade is not forbidden?" he inquired.

A market supervisor responded with measured calm, "Normal trade is entirely welcome. Predatory hoarding, however, is not."

"That is a rather harsh assessment," the merchant countered.

"It is an accurate one," the supervisor stated flatly.

The merchant's smile faltered, becoming rigid.

Meanwhile, the regular buyers visibly relaxed, a sense of relief washing over them.

Lucien observed the market's reaction with distinct satisfaction.

He believed that equal opportunity did not translate to unrestricted access for everyone.

Instead, it meant that no single entity could monopolize resources, preventing others from even having a chance.

Consequently, he had implemented quantity limitations.

These restrictions, far from dampening demand, seemed to fuel an even greater sense of urgency.

•••

The automatons were met with a different kind of fervent desire.

While communication devices represented status and rapid information exchange, and attribute products offered a magical edge, the automatons signified substantial, long-term power.

Rurik had personally overseen the preparation of the Middle branch's display for these advanced units.

These new automatons were capable of performing rudimentary array construction, basic alchemy, and simple crafting tasks with an unnerving degree of precision.

They could efficiently sort materials, maintain uncomplicated formation nodes, refine low-grade pills, assemble standard components, patch basic structural damage, and execute repetitive workshop procedures without any sign of fatigue.

Their operational speed was deliberately kept at an average level by Lucien.

Their capacity for creative thinking was almost entirely absent, another intentional design choice.

Furthermore, the range of tasks they could perform was strictly basic, a very deliberate limitation.

Nevertheless, their accuracy within their designated functions was beyond reproach.

For any sect, merchant guild, workshop clan, or even a remote outpost, such a tool was considered invaluable.

Standing beside the demonstration platform, Rurik exuded an almost tangible sense of pride.

A representative inquired, "Can it truly perform alchemy?"

"Basic alchemy," Rurik clarified immediately. "We would not dare insult seasoned alchemists by implying this unit could replace them."

The representative seemed to visibly relax at this assurance.

Rurik then added with a slight smirk, "However, it can certainly replace incompetent apprentices."

Several attending elders appeared visibly struck by his statement.

The automaton commenced its demonstration.

It began by meticulously arranging formation plates with precise spacing.

Next, it refined a simple pill, maintaining a perfectly stable flame.

Following that, it assembled a small defensive charm with expert care.

Finally, it repaired a cracked array tile, leaving no trace of the damage.

The representatives from the gathered factions fell into a hushed silence.

Lucien had set the price for each automaton at one million of the highest-grade spirit crystals.

It was an undeniably exorbitant sum.

Yet, the very first buyer gave their assent to the purchase before the demonstration had even concluded.

The second interested party attempted to acquire five units.

The staff, however, denied the request.

The policy was strictly one unit per qualified faction during this initial phase.

A merchant patriarch expressed his dismay, stating, "One unit is simply not enough."

The staff member replied with unwavering resolve, "Then you must learn to cherish it."

Rurik offered an approving nod.

"An excellent response," he remarked.

The assembled factions grasped the profound value of the automatons immediately.

While one million highest-grade spirit crystals was a staggering upfront cost, the long-term benefits over years, even decades, were immense.

With guaranteed flawless basic output, zero failure rate, no wasted materials, perpetual operation without fatigue, and absolute obedience?

The initial investment would undoubtedly recoup itself numerous times over.

More critically, securing even one automaton signaled that a faction had successfully entered the era of automaton-assisted production.

No one wished to be left behind in this technological advancement.

The first batch of automatons was depleted rapidly.

Rurik surveyed the now-empty display allocation, a sigh of profound satisfaction escaping him.

"Magnificent," he murmured.

•••

Then came the presentation of the Echo Crucible, an item that nearly plunged the market into chaos.

Lucien realized he had underestimated the Middle Continent's deep-seated regard for reputation and historical records.

The instant the Echo Crucible's availability was announced, the allied representatives who had previously experienced its capabilities moved with immediate haste.

Their rivals followed closely behind them.

Hot on their heels were individuals who had only heard legends and were resolute in their determination not to be outdone in setting the first public records.

Within the initial hour, every available low and mid-tier room had been successfully booked.

By the second hour, three distinct factions had attempted to negotiate for extended time slots.

During the third hour, an elder vehemently accused another faction of "cowardly employing easier environmental settings simply to fabricate more impressive numerical results."

By the fourth hour, two disciples had nearly come to blows in the waiting hall; the dispute arose because one had surpassed the other's record by a mere three breaths and then displayed an overly triumphant smile.

Astraea stepped in to restore order.

She did not resort to shouting.

She merely turned her gaze.

The two disciples immediately recalled every ethical guideline they had carelessly disregarded.

Lucien had strategically positioned Astraea and numerous ancient beasts within the Echo Crucible for precisely this purpose.

The ancient beasts managed the area with an unnerving level of efficiency.

This was not due to any inherent organizational talent.

Rather, it stemmed from the fact that no one dared to prolong any disputes with them.

A representative elder from a faction once attempted to challenge this.

Astraea listened with attentive patience.

She then calmly stated, "Should you desire to debate the order of reservations, I can arrange a private chamber for you."

The elder paused, considering.

Astraea offered a slight smile.

"A private chamber with me."

The elder quickly recognized the wisdom of compromise.

The Echo Crucible transformed into a battleground, though no weapons were ever drawn.

An palpable pressure permeated the halls.

It was the pressure of intense competition.

Individuals fixated on the scoreboards as if they were revered religious texts.

Names ascended in prominence.

Names plummeted from view.

Factional affiliations began to emerge.

Existing records were challenged and broken.

The spectator lounges became crowded with elders, intently observing their disciples either achieve glory or bring shame upon the sect.

A young woman from a minor faction completed a survival trial at a pace that surpassed that of three disciples from a renowned pavilion.

Her faction comrades erupted in tears of joy.

The esteemed pavilion immediately submitted a request for detailed analysis reports.

A skilled healer from the Clearwater Meridian Sect secured the top position in a mass-casualty simulation, immediately drawing the focused attention of roughly half the medical factions present.

A commander trial concluded with such profound humiliation for a once-proud battlefield elder that he exited the chamber, stared blankly at the post-action report, and murmured, "I have been directing my forces to their deaths ineffectively."

Lucien observed the unfolding events with a satisfied smile.

The facility was fulfilling its intended function precisely.

Educating through the sting of pride.

Rectifying errors through the sharp edge of humiliation.

Cultivating skills through the fire of obsession.

A representative of one faction adamantly refused to depart after failing to secure a place on any scoreboard.

A staff member gently reminded him that his allotted session time had concluded.

He pleaded, "I cannot possibly return home in this state."

The staff member responded simply, "Then return after you have diligently practiced."

That stark answer reverberated through the hall, causing several individuals to feel personally affronted.

Lucien let out a genuine laugh, the first in nearly an hour.

The Echo Crucible was indeed a scene of absolute chaos.

Yet, it was a carefully controlled chaos, a profitable chaos, a profoundly useful chaos.

A situation where everyone emerged a winner.

His most favored outcome.

•••

The initial day proceeded without interruption.

The academy welcomed scholars, seasoned warriors, and eager young disciples, all of whom regarded the training grounds with a mixture of intense desire and palpable apprehension.

The Celestial healing complex received injured practitioners who had journeyed there partly to ascertain the veracity of the whispered rumors.

They departed not only healed but also serving as walking, breathing testimonials to its efficacy.

The chapel opened its doors to those seeking quiet contemplation, those grappling with profound questions, and those who simply felt compelled to attend because everyone else was present, and they were loath to miss any significant event.

Clara adeptly managed all three distinct groups.

Certain visitors departed with a newfound sense of tranquility.

Others left feeling invigorated and inspired.

A select few emerged with expressions suggesting they had undergone a gentle, internal judgment by their own conscience and found themselves wanting.

•••

The elevated administrative city hovering above remained an off-limits zone, which only served to intensify the curious stares directed towards it.

The allied factions who had joined early moved through the complex with an air of unmistakable self-assurance.

This very confidence acted as a powerful, silent form of advertisement in itself.

Representatives from the Starveil Observatory were granted access through exclusive, priority halls.

The Mirror-Sun Hall received the benefit of private device calibration services.

Disciples from the Jade Horizon Pavilion returned to the Echo Crucible with expressions that caused their rivals to clench their teeth in sheer frustration.

Negotiators from the Ninefold Ledger House conducted discussions regarding supplier contracts within chambers inaccessible to most other factions.

Healers belonging to the Clearwater Meridian Sect were escorted into specialized observation areas within the healing complex.

Wherever they went, other factions observed their movements.

They observed with palpable frustration.

They observed with grudging admiration.

They observed with bitter regret.

Indeed, the early entrants had seized the prime opportunities.

And in the vast Middle Continent, no one relished the feeling of being tardy to a crucial and advantageous gathering.

An elder from a certain sect watched as an allied faction was granted preferential booking and muttered, "We should have acted sooner."

His disciple whispered a gentle reminder, "Master, you previously stated it was more prudent to wait and observe."

The elder closed his eyes slowly.

"Do not preserve my misjudgments in your spoken words."

Nearby, Kael overheard the exchange and a smile touched his lips.

He knew that particular line would prove highly marketable later on.