100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full?-Chapter 402 - Misunderstanding

Hours later, Lucien opened his eyes.

The meditation had not been idle.

Inside his mind, the image of the torn reality had been dissected, reassembled, and refined again and again.

He had run it through Perfect Calculation until even the smallest stress-line had a place in his memory.

There was satisfaction in his gaze.

He was close.

If he refined the method a little more, he believed he could reproduce the phenomenon.

Not tear reality recklessly. But open it deliberately.

He could almost see it.

But almost was not enough.

Lucien exhaled and let the thought settle.

A little more information, then it would be perfect.

He rose.

He stepped out of his divine energy core and returned to Starforge.

The first thing he did was look for Anvil-Horn.

Starforge was alive again.

Smiths hammered in rhythm, rebuilding damaged structures with furious efficiency. Reinforced beams rose where walls had collapsed. Runic arrays were being reset. Apprentices carried ingots twice their size without complaint.

Kaia stood near the central forge.

Her flame burned black and gold. Every strike she made with a hammer sent heat that did not scorch but refined. The forgers stared at her fire with open envy.

"She makes it look easy," one muttered.

"It is not," another replied through gritted teeth.

Kaia noticed Lucien and offered him a wink before returning to her work.

Soon, he found Anvil-Horn not far from the main forge, deep in discussion with Lilith.

They stood near a half-rebuilt hall that would likely become a meeting chamber.

"Uncle," Lucien called. "I need to ask you something."

Anvil-Horn turned.

He immediately saw the seriousness in Lucien’s expression.

Without asking, he gestured toward the newly rebuilt chamber.

"Come," he said.

Lilith followed.

•••

They entered a simple room of reinforced stone and fresh timber. The scent of resin and metal still lingered in the air. A single table stood at the center.

They sat.

Lucien did not waste time.

"Uncle," he began, "would you consider returning to the West Continent with me. All of Starforge."

Silence fell.

Lilith froze.

Anvil-Horn’s expression shifted.

The weight of that question was not light.

After a moment, Anvil-Horn spoke.

"Little friend," he said slowly, "Starforge is not a sword I can simply carry on my back. It is not only mine. Every hammer that strikes here belongs to someone with a will."

He folded his arms.

"I must ask them first."

He paused.

"But if you ask me alone..."

A faint grin appeared.

"There is no hesitation. I would walk with you."

His horn-glow flared once.

"Still," he added, "I will not abandon my people. Not now. Not after you spared them from becoming a lesson."

He then turned his head toward Lilith as if he was trying to say, ’Speak. If you are going to choose, choose with your own mouth.’

Lucien turned as well.

Lilith had been watching him the entire time.

She had been unusually quiet these past few days, and he found it strange.

Lucien waited without pressing.

Lilith finally spoke.

"Brother," she said lightly, "I remember wanting to keep you before."

Anvil-Horn’s eyes closed for a brief moment, as if he was praying to a god that did not listen.

Lilith’s lips curved into the confident smile that had always defined her.

"But it seems it is you who wants to keep me now."

She leaned back in her chair and flashed that wide, confident smile she always wore before.

Anvil-Horn covered his face with one massive hand.

’What a tomboy,’ he thought.

Lucien smiled back, unaware of the danger he was walking into.

"Yes, Sister Lilith," he said earnestly. "Would you consider being kept by me then?"

To him, the meaning was simple.

He remembered Alanthuriel’s warning.

He had prevented the furnace that might have forged her into a hero.

If destiny would not temper her through tragedy, then he would temper her through strength.

He could not do that from a distance.

He needed her where his path was.

Where his resources were.

The words, however, did not land that way.

Anvil-Horn coughed once, long and dramatic, as though the heavens had personally offended him.

Lilith’s confident posture faltered for the first time in a long while.

Her eyes stayed bold but her gaze flicked away for half a heartbeat, then returned as if daring Lucien to notice.

Lilith lifted her chin.

Then, with a steadiness that was too quick to be fully rehearsed, she said, "If it is you asking... then yes. I will come."

Lucien nodded in satisfaction.

Anvil-Horn stared toward the ceiling as if asking ancient ancestors why raising a daughter was such a trial.

Then suddenly—

He slammed his palm on the table.

The sound cracked through the room.

Both Lucien and Lilith blinked, startled.

Anvil-Horn’s expression had shifted.

It was serious now.

"Little friend," he said, "before you walk further with my people at your back, I must tell you a truth about us."

Lucien straightened.

"What is it, Uncle?"

Anvil-Horn’s voice lowered.

"Our Solhorn race carries a burden," he said. "When a Solhorn woman bears a pureblood child, the child draws strength directly from the mother. It drains her life-force as it grows."

Lilith’s expression softened slightly.

"Lilith is my only daughter," Anvil-Horn continued. "Starforge was forged as my legacy for her."

He paused.

His horn-glow dimmed.

"Actually, someone once told me my death was certain," Anvil-Horn said. "I had accepted it. I had prepared the forge for her hands."

His gaze shifted to Lucien.

"But you overturned that future. Now I live... And the future has become uncertain again."

Lucien listened carefully.

Anvil-Horn’s stern face suddenly broke into a grin.

"What I mean," he said, "is that I am entirely comfortable leaving my daughter with you."

Lucien blinked.

The phrasing sounded... wrong.

Anvil-Horn leaned back then his laughter began, low at first, then loud enough to shake dust from the repaired ceiling.

"Perhaps... a Solhorn and a human will produce a child who does not drain the mother dry! GAHAHA!"

Lilith froze.

Lucien froze harder.

Anvil-Horn stood, still laughing.

"Ah," he said, wiping his eyes as if the joke had wounded him, "I am looking forward to the future."

Lucien’s mind finally caught up.

Misunderstanding.

His brain finally connected the misinterpretation.

"Uncle," Lucien said quickly, "I believe you are misunderstanding—"

Anvil-Horn waved a hand as he walked toward the door.

"Aya," he said with a dismissive wave. "No need to explain further. Let me convince my people first. I’ll leave the matters of youth to the young."

The heavy footsteps faded into the corridor, followed by booming laughter.

Lucien turned toward Lilith.

"No, wait! Sister Lilith, please ex—"

She had turned away.

Her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall as though the stone had suddenly become fascinating.

"—plain," Lucien finished weakly.

She did not look at him.

The silence in the room thickened.

Outside, Anvil-Horn’s laughter echoed triumphantly through Starforge.

Lucien stood there, realization dawning far too late.

He had just attempted to discuss strategic relocation.

Instead, he had accidentally negotiated marriage.

Just then—

Kaia pushed the door open.

She paused the moment she stepped inside. Her gaze flicked between Lucien and Lilith.

The air in the room felt... different. Charged in a way that had nothing to do with battle.

She blinked once, then shook her head as if deciding she did not want to know.

"Brother," she called. "Quick. A Liberator is approaching. The black card is reacting."

Lucien’s eyes lit up instantly.

Relief flashed across his face far too quickly to be dignified.

"Perfect," he said, already standing. "Let’s go meet them."

He moved fast —too fast— striding past Kaia and out the door as if extinction itself was waiting outside.

Kaia followed without question.

Lilith remained seated for a heartbeat longer.

Then she covered her mouth and let out a soft chuckle at the sight of Lucien fleeing so decisively.

Outside, Anvil-Horn watched Lucien dash across the courtyard with Kaia.

Realization dawned slowly across the old Solhorn’s face.

He folded his arms and let out a long, theatrical sigh.

"Who would have thought," he muttered, eyes glinting with amusement, "that someone who can face extinction without trembling would run from romance."

The forge fires crackled.

And somewhere behind him, Lilith’s quiet laughter lingered like warm embers.