100% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full? - Chapter 305

Chapter 305: Chapter 305 – Decision
Lucien allowed the Lithrens a single night to breathe.

By morning, he gathered the ones who mattered.

Riri came first, steady on her newly restored legs. Rurik followed with eyes still bright with sleepless purpose. The elders arrived last with their faces carved by decades of endurance.

They sat before Lucien like people deciding whether they would gamble their future.

Lucien spoke plainly.

“You won here because the true masters were absent,” he said. “The Celestial overseers are not on this world. The Eternals who own the extraction schedule have not returned. That is why this was possible.”

The elders exchanged looks. Rurik’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Riri’s jaw held firm but her eyes dimmed slightly.

Lucien continued.

“When they come back, they will notice the missing Alloykins. They will ask questions that cannot be answered without punishment.”

One of the older elders spoke carefully.

“We believed the worst was behind us.”

Lucien shook his head.

“The worst is what arrives after hope,” he replied. “Hope makes you visible.”

A weight settled over the room. It was not despair. It was the cold recognition of scale.

Rurik inhaled and let it out slowly.

“What will they do?” he asked.

“They will exploit you again,” Lucien said. “Or they will erase this world to remove the problem. Both outcomes end the same way. Your children return to chains, or your bloodline ends.”

Rurik looked down as if fighting the urge to strike the stone itself. One of the elders closed his eyes for a long moment then opened them with bitterness.

“We have won a day,” he murmured.

Riri nodded.

“And we will lose the century if we stay,” she said.

Her gaze lifted.

“Savior, what do you suggest?”

Lucien did not soften his answer.

“I will take you with me,” he said. “Not just you. This world as well.”

The room went still.

An elder’s lips parted but no words came out. Rurik stared as if Lucien had spoken an impossibility and called it a plan. Riri’s expression tightened into something complicated.

“A whole world,” one elder repeated quietly. “Savior… even the strong Alloykins do not move worlds.”

“They destroy them,” another continued.

Lucien’s eyes stayed calm.

“I will not let yours be destroyed.”

Riri did not answer immediately. She leaned forward slightly and studied him with the kind of gaze that had held rebellion together in darkness.

“If we leave,” she said, “what happens to what we have built here?”

Lucien met her gaze without hesitation.

“As I said, I will take your world with you,” he replied. “When the remaining Alloykins return, they will arrive to nothing.”

Riri’s fingers curled once then slowly relaxed.

“And if we go with you,” she paused, “our lives will belong to you.”

Lucien shook his head.

“You will be my people,” he said. “Not possessions. I take care of those under my protection, and I do it thoroughly. I will ensure that nothing like this ever happens to you again.”

Silence returned, heavier now because it was filled with thought.

Lucien stood.

“I will not force this decision,” he said. “Speak among yourselves and decide together. I will give you time.”

Rurik opened his mouth, then closed it. Riri held his gaze and the elder beside her gave the faintest nod. It was not agreement yet.

It was permission to consider.

Lucien left them with their council and walked alone into the corridor.

He barely took three steps before the air inside his chest changed.

A pressure stirred within his divine energy core. A presence turning its attention toward him.

Lucien stopped. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Then a voice reached him. It did not travel through air. It arrived the way gravity arrived, unquestioned and absolute.

“Reckless,” the Abyssal One said.

Lucien’s expression did not shift.

“Senior, you have been listening,” he replied.

“I have been enduring,” the ancient one answered. “Your inner world trembles when your will sharpens. You mistake dominion for immunity.”

Lucien turned his gaze outward.

“I can control what is inside me,” he said. “My inner realm is stable. Gravity is a rule I can rewrite there.”

The Abyssal One’s attention pressed colder.

“You speak of gravity like a stone in your palm,” it said. “Yet you plan to seize a world that is not yours to carry.”

Lucien did not flinch.

“I plan to save it,” he said.

“And in doing so,” the Abyssal One replied, “you plan to tear a stitch from the tapestry and pretend the cloth will not fray.”

Lucien’s eyes sharpened.

“A planet is anchored by law,” he said. “Yes. Orbit is not habit. It is agreement enforced by the universe. If I cut that agreement, space will respond.”

The ancient one did not deny it.

Instead, it spoke as if recalling something older than stars.

“When you remove mass from an ordered system, the system does not politely adjust,” it said. “It convulses. Paths change and tides of force seek new balance. The void between worlds is not empty. It is tension. It is geometry. It is debt.”

Lucien nodded slowly.

In truth, he already knew that. And it was exactly what he wanted. In fact, it was one of the reasons he intended to seize a world from the universe itself.

A world was not simply a rock.

It was an intersection of countless influences. Gravity wells, orbital resonances, stellar radiation, and the invisible scaffolding of law that told everything where it was allowed to be.

If he uprooted it, the absence would pull like a wound.

The Abyssal One continued,

“It is a great movement,” it said. “A loud movement. You will announce yourself to those who watch the folds of distance. You will make your name into a flare.”

Lucien’s mouth curved slightly.

“That wouldn’t be a problem,” he said.

The Abyssal One’s attention tightened.

Lucien’s gaze lowered, thoughtful.

“I have a special ability that would prevent that,” he said.

‘My title, The Unwritten One. The veil that denies narrative. It has been more than a year since I last used it.’

He did not say the rest aloud, but the implication filled the space between them.

If the world screamed when it was taken, then he would make the scream forgettable.

The Abyssal One fell silent for a moment. When it spoke again, its voice was quieter.

“You place faith in a mask,” it said. “Masks fail when the blade is deep enough.”

Lucien lifted his eyes.

“I am not only relying on a mask,” he replied.

He thought of the Obsidian Tower, the impossible vessel that had endured a cosmic storm that even space-born beings feared. He thought of its hull absorbing pressure that should have shredded reality around it.

He spoke carefully because this part mattered.

“When a mass vanishes,” Lucien said, “the system releases energy into change. That release becomes a disturbance wave. If I time it correctly, I can ride it.”

The Abyssal One did not laugh. It did not praise.

It simply stared through him with patience that felt like an abyss staring into a candle flame.

“You would use the recoil of theft as propulsion,” it said.

“I would use the recoil of rescue,” Lucien answered.

He stepped forward and the walls seemed to dull slightly around him as if they sensed the weight of the plan forming.

“The nearest celestial bodies are far,” he said. “Not days. Not years. Distance at this scale is not measured by footsteps. It is measured by patience.”

He exhaled.

“I arrived here in over a year only because the tower was caught in a storm-current that bent trajectories. Without that, I might drift in space for centuries. Maybe longer.”

The Abyssal One’s voice threaded into him again.

“Time is not honest in the void,” it said. “Without a reference, you will not know whether you have moved at all.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed.

“That is why my inner world matters,” he said. “It gives me a clock that cannot be fooled by starlight.”

Then his expression cooled into focus.

“But I will not gamble on improvisation,” he added. “One mistake in a maneuver like this and I die. If I survive, the shock could still ruin what I carry.”

The Abyssal One lingered, its presence pressed along the edges of Lucien’s mind.

Then finally, it spoke as if granting a single coin from an endless treasury.

“It cannot be helped,” it said. “If calamity claws at the seam and you are about to be unmade, I will push once.”

Lucien’s eyes sharpened.

The voice continued, colder.

“Only once. Only if ruin is imminent. I will not expose myself. Not yet. The Abyss does not enjoy attention… and neither do I.”

Lucien’s lips curved into a smile.

That was not kindness.

That was the Abyssal One protecting its own shelter.

But the result was the same.

Assistance. A single time.

Lucien inclined his head slightly.

“Understood,” he said.

He looked toward the chamber where Riri and the elders were deciding.

Then he looked inward, toward the slimes dancing upon the Abyssal One’s body, toward Nihility waiting like an answer that did not belong in a sane universe.

Lucien exhaled.

Then he turned and walked.

Before he could move a world, he would perfect the move in his Perfect Loop.

Because the difference between salvation and annihilation would be a fraction of timing.

And in space, fractions decided everything.