100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full?-Chapter 401 - Abyssal One

The group reappeared within Starforge’s territory.

Lucien reached inward and summoned the Starforge members out. They appeared in order, posture ready, as if they had been waiting for the next disaster to be assigned a name.

Anvil-Horn nodded once at Lucien.

Morveth opened his shell-space without fanfare.

Kaia and Lilith stepped out.

They looked tired in the quiet way that meant they had been carrying other people’s panic until it stopped being panic.

Lucien watched them for a moment, then exhaled.

"Good work."

Then he stepped into his divine energy core.

Morveth, Condoriano, Saber, Kira, and Aerolith entered with him.

There was training to continue. The monsters inside still needed to become something that could survive what was coming.

Lucien’s gaze landed on Aerolith.

"You go to the farms," he said.

Aerolith’s eyes brightened instantly.

Lucien raised one finger.

"Eat if you want. Do not eat everything. If you consume it, you regrow it. If you do not regrow it, I will not give you food."

Aerolith nodded quickly, and floated away with suspicious enthusiasm.

Only after everything had been set back into motion did Lucien allow himself to sit.

He intended to decipher the clues he had gathered at the split-open site. He intended to thread them into a method.

But before he could begin—

The air shifted.

Lucien stood immediately.

The Abyssal One was there.

Lucien clasped his hands.

"Senior."

The Abyssal One made a small gesture. Not quite a nod, but close enough to be understood.

It did not speak at first.

Its silence carried more weight than most speeches.

Lucien asked anyway, because the question would rot in him if he did not.

"You told me an adversary would come," Lucien said. "Has it already passed? I have not faced anything."

The Abyssal One exhaled. The sound was low, like deep water moving in an ancient cavern.

"That is the reason," it said at last.

Lucien’s spine tightened.

The Abyssal One continued.

"An interruption occurred. A race placed itself between you and the hand that would have reached for you."

Lucien’s breath caught.

"A race?"

"The adversary you were meant to face was diverted," the Abyssal One said. "Those that had turned their attention upon you turned away. Their gaze was stolen. Their intent was redirected."

It paused, and the pause felt deliberate, as if it wanted Lucien to taste the implication.

"Whether by virtue or by calculation, the diversion succeeded. I have come as promised."

Lucien’s mind was already burning.

"Senior," he said quickly, "I have questions."

The Abyssal One’s head tilted a fraction.

"Ask."

Lucien hesitated for only a breath.

Then he spoke the realization that had been clawing at him.

"Do you mean the Celestial Race?" Lucien asked. "They came to the East. Was it their presence that changed the board?"

The Abyssal One’s reply came like a slow bell.

"You could say so."

Lucien’s thoughts surged.

He saw it clearly now.

The Celestials had not charged into the East because they were foolish. They were not suicidal. They were not blind to numbers.

They had moved because their movement itself was an act, a wedge in fate’s trajectory.

They did not need to reach Lucien. They only needed to exist where the enemy could not ignore them.

A smart sacrifice. A successful diversion.

Lucien’s chest tightened with a bitterness that tasted like gratitude.

The Abyssal One spoke again, and for the first time its tone held something almost resembling approval.

"Who would have thought," it murmured, "that selflessness still existed in a world so eager to bargain with extinction."

Lucien’s eyes lowered.

He was protected again.

The thought did not comfort him. It made him furious at the price paid by others.

Then the Abyssal One’s voice sharpened slightly.

"Still, do not misunderstand. The consequences of changing fate are not finished simply because you survived."

Lucien raised his head.

He did not blink.

The Abyssal One’s gaze felt like a void staring back.

"You are fortunate," it said. "But you have caused destiny fragmentation."

Lucien frowned.

He did not understand that phrase.

"Senior," he said carefully, "please enlighten me."

The Abyssal One began without haste, as if reciting principles that existed before worlds learned how to name them.

"When you change fate, the world must balance what you moved. The first mechanism is an old one. Equivalent Exchange Correction."

Lucien listened, unmoving.

The Abyssal One continued.

"It is also called Transferred Sacrifice. Fate does not like unpaid debts. When you prevent a destined loss, the loss does not vanish. It seeks a vessel."

Lucien’s throat went dry.

Realization hit him like a sudden bolt.

"And the vessel is... someone connected to me," Lucien said slowly.

The Abyssal One’s silence confirmed it before words did.

"Yes," it said. "This correction strikes those the fate-changer values. Or those fate can plausibly argue are tied to the fate-changer’s path. That is why it surprised me."

It paused, and Lucien felt the pause press against his ribs.

"This only happens cleanly when the bond has weight."

Lucien’s breath hitched.

His father and mother, in this world, leading the Celestials, bleeding beneath a storm of Eternals.

They... had accepted the mark meant for him.

The Abyssal One’s voice lowered, almost amused in a cold way.

"They were clever," it said. "They exploited the correction’s preference. They offered themselves as the ledger’s ink. They were not only selfless. They were precise. They acted before it could unfold and in doing so, they successfully deceived fate."

Lucien’s eyes stung with an emotion he refused to show.

They were injured because of him. But they were alive.

And that meant the debt was not yet complete.

The Abyssal One continued.

"The second mechanism is more dangerous. Causality Backlash."

Lucien’s shoulders tightened.

"Fate may create what you might call a Correction Entity," the Abyssal One said. "A being shaped solely to repair the anomaly."

Lucien pictured it instantly.

Something born to erase him the way a flame erased paper.

The Abyssal One spoke as if reading his thought.

"Be careful what you change," it said. "Correction Entities do not negotiate. They do not forgive. They are bad for worlds."

Lucien nodded once, slow.

"I understand."

The Abyssal One waited a breath, then spoke again.

"And then there is destiny fragmentation."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed.

The Abyssal One’s voice became quieter, and somehow that made it worse.

"You prevented the destruction of a group," it said. "You removed a calamity from its appointed place. Now consider what you also removed."

Lucien did not speak.

He could already feel the answer moving toward him.

"What if that adversity was meant to forge something," the Abyssal One said, "that the continent required."

It paused.

"A hero. A reformer. A knife pointed at a far greater throat."

Lucien’s mind flashed with the vision again.

Anvil-Horn falling.

The chaos.

Lilith escaping with conviction so sharp it looked like light.

If that suffering had been the furnace that tempered someone into a necessary blade, then by saving them—

Lucien might have stolen the continent’s future weapon.

His breath left him.

For a rare moment, he had no immediate reply.

The Abyssal One allowed the silence. It did not rush him.

Finally Lucien lifted his head.

His voice came steady.

"Senior," Lucien said, "if that is true, then I will recreate that hero."

He paused, then corrected himself with cold certainty.

"No. I will forge a stronger one."

The Abyssal One regarded him for a long moment.

Then its voice carried faint amusement again.

"Good," it said. "If you can change fate, you can also replace what fate intended to create."

Lucien felt something unclench in his chest.

Resolve.

Then the Abyssal One spoke again, as if remembering something it had decided to pay.

"Before I forget," it said, "I will fulfill a smaller promise."

Lucien straightened.

He was curious.

Even his Monsterdex had never managed to define what stood before him. The Abyssal One was a gap in recorded reality.

The Abyssal One’s tone turned dry.

"Do not look so eager. I will not reveal my whole truth."

It paused.

"I will give you my true name."

Lucien’s eyes widened despite himself.

The Abyssal One did not speak it aloud.

It placed it directly into his mind.

[Alanthuriel. Arch Lord of Abyssal Nullity.]

Lucien froze.

His Photographic Memory reached for it and found the edges slipping, as if the name resisted being held by mortal mechanisms. He could remember the meaning behind the sound, but the full capture felt like trying to net smoke.

The Abyssal One watched him struggle and seemed faintly entertained.

"Do not speak it," Alanthuriel said. "True names are doors. Doors are dangerous."

Lucien swallowed.

"I understand."

A pause.

Then the Abyssal One continued, almost casually.

"Your kind loves nicknames," it said. "I will permit you one. Call me Alan."

Lucien blinked.

"Senior... Alan."

A low, approving sound rose from the Abyssal One’s throat.

"Good."

It stepped closer without moving. The air dimmed slightly, as if the world held its breath.

"I have given you my true name for a reason," Alanthuriel said. "When you can see fate and identity through a name like mine, then you are ready to carry something greater."

Lucien’s pulse slowed.

He did not ask what "greater" meant.

With beings like this, "greater" was not a bigger burden.

It was a different category of existence.

Lucien bowed slightly.

"I will not waste what you have given me," he said.

Alanthuriel did not reply immediately.

Then, in a voice like distant void, it said one last thing.

"See well, little maker. If you intend to rewrite the world, then learn first what the world writes back."

And the air shifted again.

The Abyssal One was gone.

Lucien remained standing for a long time after.

In his chest, emotions collided.

He looked toward the horizon.

Lucien’s eyes cooled.

"Then I will balance back," he whispered.