100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? Chapter 831 - 841 - Disturbance

Several more days passed, and the village slowly stopped feeling like a place Lucien had borrowed from someone else’s memories.

He began to know it through his own experiences.

The mornings had a certain rhythm. Smoke rose from chimneys before sunrise, carts creaked toward the fields, and the river carried the voices of people washing tools or filling buckets before the day’s work began.

By noon, the roads were usually dusty, the workshops loud, and the shade beneath the larger trees crowded with anyone fortunate enough to have a reason to rest.

Lucien found himself becoming part of that rhythm without realizing when it happened.

Tavian no longer looked surprised whenever Lucien appeared near the forge or volunteered to help with repairs.

Mirelle had stopped treating his increased sociability as a temporary illness and had begun involving him whenever she needed another pair of hands.

Auren still made jokes about the mushroom whenever an opportunity appeared, but he also started seeking Lucien out whenever he returned from one of his shorter trips.

The three had become his closest friends in the village.

That realization was strange enough on its own.

In the future Lucien remembered, they had already possessed powers that could overturn ordinary logic.

Here, they were simply young people trying to find their places in life.

Tavian worried about becoming good enough to take over proper smithing work someday. Mirelle complained about merchants who believed a young woman would be easy to deceive. Auren could spend an unreasonable amount of time describing road conditions, shortcuts, and the quality of different wagon wheels.

Lucien liked them more the longer he remained around them.

Perhaps he always had.

That thought came more often now.

The villagers had also begun treating him differently.

Young Lucien’s old reputation had not disappeared entirely. Some still looked mildly surprised whenever he joined a conversation instead of standing at the edge of it. A few older villagers joked that the forest had returned a different person than the one it took.

Nobody meant it cruelly.

Most seemed pleased.

Luke and Cienna never said much about the change, but Lucien noticed the difference in them too.

Luke had always treated him warmly, yet there was something lighter in the way he spoke whenever Tavian or Auren came looking for Lucien. Cienna had stopped pretending not to smile whenever Mirelle dragged him away to help with some task.

They had never treated their son as defective for being quiet.

They had simply worried about him.

Lucien understood that now.

That understanding made another problem more difficult to ignore.

His memory had begun changing.

At first, it was something small.

He forgot where he had placed a knife.

Another time, Tavian mentioned a conversation from the previous evening, and Lucien needed several seconds to remember what they had discussed.

Neither incident mattered.

What frightened him was how ordinary they felt.

Lucien had lived for so long with Photographic Memory that forgetting had become almost foreign to him. His mind had once preserved information with unnatural precision. Faces, pages, formations, techniques, maps, conversations, and tiny details could remain available whenever he needed them.

Now they faded.

Not immediately and not dramatically, but naturally.

The thought disturbed him far more than he wanted to admit.

One evening, Lucien sat beside the small table in his room with a sheet of rough parchment in front of him.

The candle beside his hand burned unevenly.

He stared at the blank surface for a long time before finally lowering the charcoal.

He wrote his name.

Lucien.

Then he paused.

That was no longer enough.

The name belonged to both of them.

Lucien began again.

He wrote about Lootwell.

He wrote about the future.

He wrote about Seraphine, Vivian, Eirene, Lilith, Marie, Kaia, Sylra, Marina, Seran, Luke, Cienna, Virel, and Aniel as he remembered them from his own time, and the countless people who had become part of his life.

He wrote about the Tree of Creation and the Divine Energy Core.

He wrote about the Aevans.

He wrote about Alanthuriel, the temporal passage, Rust, Hunger, and Fracture.

He wrote about why he had entered the body of this ancient Lucien.

The writing was not elegant.

It did not need to be.

It was a record.

A reminder.

Something he could return to if the boundaries inside him ever blurred more than he intended.

Lucien leaned back after finishing several pages.

The fear remained.

His soul had joined the fractured identity remarkably well. Every day, the memories of this young Lucien felt less foreign.

That was useful.

It also meant the life around him was becoming increasingly natural.

Perhaps that was inevitable.

Lucien did not resent it.

He only refused to lose himself inside it.

He closed the diary.

"So this is what I get for losing Photographic Memory."

The System did not respond.

Lucien sighed.

Perfect Calculation was gone as well.

He had tested that repeatedly.

The Skill itself no longer existed within this spirit.

Even so, Lucien’s mind remained fast.

Years of experience had changed how he thought. He was used to estimating distance, weight, force, timing, and probability almost without effort. He could still perform calculations quickly because the habit had been burned into him through use.

The same was true of many things.

He no longer possessed the Skills that had once made certain tasks effortless, but he remembered what it had felt like to use them.

That memory had shaped him.

It was the difference between losing a tool and losing the knowledge of how the tool had once been used.

Lucien was weaker.

He was forgetful.

His body tired.

His muscles needed rest.

He could not level up.

He could not simply open an Inventory and retrieve whatever object the moment required.

Every day made those losses feel less shocking.

That frightened him in a different way.

The conveniences of his old life were beginning to feel distant because this body had never known them.

Lucien opened the diary again and added another line.

Do not mistake adaptation for forgetting.

He stared at it for a moment, then closed the book.

That was enough for tonight.

...

A few days later, shortly after the village completed most of its harvest, an entourage appeared on the western road.

The watchmen noticed the banners first.

Nobody panicked.

By the time the riders reached the village entrance, several people were already preparing to greet them.

Lucien stood beside Tavian near the repaired section of wall and watched the procession approach.

There were only a handful of guards, several pack animals, and a wagon carrying sealed boxes and documents. The man riding near the front was older, with graying hair and a round face that looked far too cheerful for someone arriving to collect taxes.

Lucien recognized him from the young man’s memories.

The tax collector came every month.

More importantly, the village did not hate him.

That alone made Lucien suspicious.

Tavian noticed his expression.

"What?"

"I expected someone more unpleasant."

"You say strange things sometimes."

"I’ve been told."

The older man dismounted and greeted the village chief as though meeting an old acquaintance. Luke and Cienna joined them soon after, and the conversation began without tension.

The tax collector listened to the chief’s report about the harvest, checked the recorded stores, and adjusted several figures when told that part of the crop had been damaged before the recent recovery.

He did not argue.

He even commented that the capital had already heard of several communities suffering unusual losses and that the administration had been instructed to avoid pushing affected villages too hard.

Lucien watched him more carefully.

Something about the man reminded him of Maxim.

It was not the face.

The resemblance existed more in the easy way he dealt with people. He seemed comfortable speaking with farmers, guards, merchants, and village elders without changing himself for any of them.

Lucien felt an unexpected ache.

He missed Maxim.

He missed many people.

The thought passed quietly before the conversation near the chief’s house changed.

The tax collector’s expression became more serious.

"I should warn you about something before we leave."

The village chief straightened.

Luke stopped smiling.

Lucien moved slightly closer.

The tax collector looked toward the surrounding fields before continuing.

"Reports have been coming in from several parts of the kingdom. Animals are moving in strange numbers, even species that normally remain territorial. Livestock are becoming restless for no obvious reason. There have also been tremors in areas that have never experienced them before."

Cienna frowned.

"How widespread?"

"Wide enough that the capital has stopped treating the reports separately."

The older man rubbed his chin.

"Foresters in the north say entire sections of woodland have become unusually active. Hunters in the east claim game is abandoning familiar grounds. No one knows what is causing it."

Lucien’s attention sharpened.

The village chief asked whether soldiers were being sent.

"Some," the tax collector replied. "Mostly to roads and larger settlements. There is no enemy to fight yet, so there is only so much they can do."

He looked at Luke.

"You people know how to take care of yourselves. Still, reinforce what you can and keep watchers posted. If animals start behaving strangely here, do not assume they will turn away before reaching the fields."

Luke nodded.

"We’ll prepare."

The conversation moved on, but Lucien remained quiet.

The disturbances had begun across the kingdom.

That could be coincidence.

But he no longer trusted coincidence.

The tax collector noticed him a short while later.

His serious expression disappeared.

"Well, if it isn’t our quiet young man."

Lucien looked up.

The inherited memories supplied the man’s familiar presence, although young Lucien had rarely responded beyond a nod.

This time, something about the man’s warmth and the memory of Maxim slipped past Lucien’s caution.

"Welcome back, Uncle."

The tax collector blinked.

Luke turned toward Lucien.

Cienna did too.

Tavian covered his mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

Lucien immediately knew he had made a mistake.

The older man stared at him for another second before bursting into laughter.

"Uncle?"

Lucien considered walking away.

The tax collector clapped him on the shoulder.

"This is the first time you’ve properly greeted me in years, and you’ve promoted me to family."

"I can take it back."

"No, no. I rather like it."

Luke grinned.

"He’s become much friendlier lately."

Cienna nodded with enough pride to make Lucien regret remaining within hearing distance.

"He has been helping around the village too."

"Mother."

"And he has been spending time with people his own age."

"Please stop."

The tax collector laughed harder.

Lucien looked at Tavian.

Tavian looked delighted.

There would be no help there.

Eventually, the older man took pity on him.

"Good. You should keep it up."

His expression softened.

"And learn how to protect yourself. If the reports from outside continue, everyone may need to know how."

Lucien’s amusement faded slightly.

He nodded.

"I will."

The tax collector left the following morning.

Lucien watched the entourage disappear down the western road.

The village returned to ordinary work soon afterward, but the warning remained with him.

So did another thought.

He had spent days wondering how much he should interfere.

The answer might be arriving on its own.

...

Lucien started training that afternoon.

He had no mana, no Divine Energy, no Skills, and no supernatural regeneration.

If something came for the village, he had only this body.

That meant the body needed to become better.

Lucien asked the System for an optimized training method based on his age, physical condition, available food, and the absence of any usable external energy.

The answer was far more useful than most of its responses about history.

Lucien began carefully.

Running. Weighted carries. Controlled bodyweight movements. Balance work. Short bursts of speed. Simple weapon drills.

Recovery periods were calculated to prevent injury rather than chase exhaustion.

He also asked for remedies using herbs available near the village.

Cienna became interested the moment she saw the ingredients.

"You mixed these yourself?"

"The proportions matter."

She smelled the preparation.

Her eyebrows rose slightly.

"This should help the muscles relax."

"It does."

Cienna looked at him.

"Where did you learn this?"

Lucien smiled.

"I had time to think while recovering."

She clearly did not believe that was the whole answer.

Fortunately, she did not press.

Luke joined the training two days later.

Mostly, Lucien suspected, because he thought it would be entertaining.

Then Tavian joined.

Auren followed after discovering Tavian had joined.

Mirelle refused at first and then appeared the next morning before any of them had started.

Lucien said nothing.

The training spread slowly from there.

The first surprise was how manageable it felt.

The System’s method was designed for ordinary humans rather than people capable of circulating energy.

Nobody finished barely able to walk. Nobody tore muscles trying to prove something.

They worked hard, rested properly, ate appropriately, and used Cienna’s improved herbal preparations afterward.

Within two weeks, the changes became noticeable.

Luke’s endurance improved despite already being physically capable.

Tavian gained better control over his strength.

Auren stopped becoming winded after longer runs.

Mirelle discovered that she was much stronger than Auren expected and made sure he remembered it.

Even some older villagers began participating in modified exercises after Cienna confirmed they were safe.

Training gradually became part of the village’s routine.

Lucien watched it happen with mixed feelings.

This was interference.

There was no avoiding that conclusion.

It was also small, practical, and human.

He was not introducing magic or technology centuries ahead of its time.

He was teaching people how to use bodies they already possessed more effectively.

Alanthuriel had told him to do as little as necessary.

Lucien hoped this still qualified.

The warning from the tax collector had made preparation necessary.

At least, that was what he told himself.

...

Then one afternoon, while Lucien was helping Tavian carry several repaired tools back from the forge, the forest went quiet.

The change was subtle.

Lucien noticed it before anyone spoke.

Birdsong disappeared.

Tavian slowed.

"Do you hear that?"

Lucien listened.

At first, there was nothing.

Then a distant stirring rolled through the trees.

Branches cracked.

Animals cried out somewhere far inside the forest.

A few moments later, the ground trembled beneath their feet.

Lucien’s expression changed.

The village bell began ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Then rapidly.

The emergency signal.

Tavian dropped the tools.

Lucien was already moving.