100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full?-Chapter 405 - Transcendents

The Voidcraft cut through distance like a knife through silk.

Hours of travel collapsed into a handful of breaths.

Then Cassian raised his hand.

"Here."

Lucien felt it before he saw it.

A seam in the world.

Cassian drew the black card from his sleeve and held it upright.

The card’s glow deepened.

The air ahead rippled.

A veil parted.

And an entire territory stepped into existence.

"This branch was not always hidden," Cassian said as the Voidcraft slowed. "We used to stand openly."

Lucien’s gaze stayed on the revealed land, but he listened.

"In the old years, the East Branch looked like an academy from the outside," Cassian continued. "A place where sects could send their young to learn technique, footwork, coordination, and the habit of thinking before swinging."

A faint smile touched Cassian’s mouth.

"We built reputation deliberately. We helped only those who did not make cruelty their doctrine. We traded instruction for trust, and trust for stability."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"That sounds... dangerous," he said.

"It was," Cassian replied. "But it was also necessary. A hidden hand cannot lift the world if it never touches it."

Cassian’s gaze turned a shade colder.

"Then the world changed. The Exchange spread its rot. Eternals began buying loyalty with fear."

He let the words hang for a breath.

"When a teacher becomes a target, the classroom becomes a grave."

Lucien understood immediately.

"So you vanished."

Cassian nodded.

"We had smaller branches scattered across the East, little workshops, little clinics, little training courts. Once the world turned hostile, we integrated them. Separated embers get stamped out. One fire is harder to smother."

He looked at Lucien.

"But remember, we do not hide because we fear dying. We hide because dying early would accomplish nothing."

That was wisdom without decoration.

Lucien felt his respect deepen.

The Voidcraft drifted toward the veil.

Cassian held the black card forward.

They passed through.

•••

Lucien’s breath caught.

From above, the Liberators’ territory was not just large.

It was planned, like a living city designed to function.

Roadways curved with intent. Water channels ran cleanly between districts, fed by a reservoir that glittered under a lattice of runes.

Buildings rose in tiers.

Courtyards. Lecture halls. Training arenas. Gardens. Workshops. Residential blocks arranged so that every home had light, and every street had sightlines.

It felt... civilized.

Near the center stood the old academies Cassian mentioned. They were built of pale stone and dark wood, with roofs layered like scales and pillars carved with symbols that were not decorative but instructive. Every line served a purpose.

To the east, a vast training ground spread like a green-and-stone ocean. Dozens of practitioners moved in synchronized patterns, refining forms.

Above them, hovering arrays shaped the air, simulating resistance, pressure, and directional force without harming anyone.

To the south, Lucien saw what could only be called a destruction yard.

Multiple reinforced platforms. Marked boundaries. Emergency cut-off runes. Channels in the earth to drain excess energy.

It’s a place built for people to fail safely.

And that alone made it rare.

Lucien’s eyes brightened despite himself.

The Voidcraft descended toward an open landing square. The stone there was patterned with concentric circles and stabilizing runes. Even their landing site was designed to prevent accidental shockwaves.

They touched down.

•••

People were already gathering.

In curiosity.

The moment they recognized Cassian, greetings rose like warm wind.

"Warden!"

"Brother Cassian!"

"Welcome back."

Cassian returned their gestures calmly, nodding, answering names, never rushed, never distant.

Then their eyes found Lucien.

A stranger.

A new face.

And instead of suspicion, smiles spread.

The kind people wore when they saw someone arrive and instinctively made room.

A young woman stepped forward and looked Lucien up and down with shameless interest.

"Brother," she said, bright-eyed, "you are dangerously handsome. Are you here to stay?"

Another laughed.

"Do not scare him. He looks like he is still deciding whether we are real."

Lucien blinked once, caught off guard by how... normal it felt.

Here, humans stood tall.

Cassian lifted one hand.

The crowd quieted without resentment.

His tone remained gentle, but it carried authority.

"Let our new brother breathe first," Cassian said, amused. "He has traveled far, and he is not here for you to interrogate like a festival prize."

The group laughed and backed off with good humor.

Lucien found himself smiling.

This was the atmosphere he wanted for his own people.

A place where strength did not require cruelty.

A place where camaraderie was not a performance.

For the first time since arriving in the Big World, Lucien felt a flicker of something dangerously close to comfort.

He did not let it soften him.

But he acknowledged it.

•••

Cassian guided him inward.

As they walked, more Liberators waved. Some bowed. Some simply greeted him with the casual familiarity of an extended family that had learned to survive together.

Lucien noticed non-humans too.

A slender beastman carrying training poles. A dwarf instructor correcting footwork with patient irritation. An elf seated in a courtyard, calmly teaching breathing techniques to a group of mortals.

They were not guests.

They belonged.

The deeper they went, the quieter it became, until they reached a structure that looked like a temple without idols.

A library.

Its entrance was wide and open.

Inside, shelves stretched in clean rows.

The air smelled of ink, resin, and old paper.

And people.

So many people.

Most were at the peak of Metamorphosis Realm.

Lucien saw it immediately.

The moment before transcendence.

That stage where someone had power, but lacked the final clarity to choose a Law and bind their life to it.

A boy stood between two shelves, weighing two books like they were life decisions.

A girl sat cross-legged, brows furrowed, reading the same passage over and over, as if forcing the words to become her own bones.

Lucien’s chest warmed.

This was not like a sect’s hoarded treasure.

This was a public forge for minds.

Cassian’s voice softened.

"Brother," he said, "this is what you asked for."

He gestured toward the shelves.

"Our records are special. We do not only describe Laws. We annotate strengths, weaknesses, counters, and interactions. If you want to survive, you need more than talent. You need understanding."

Lucien turned to him with genuine appreciation.

"This is excellent," Lucien said. "This is exactly what I hoped for."

Cassian nodded.

"There is a vacant house three blocks outside," he said. "I will mark it for you. Rest when you feel like remembering you have a body."

Lucien almost laughed.

"I will. And after I absorb what I can here, I will help with the cure work. Maybe the Laws will give me ideas."

Cassian’s smile returned.

"I would enjoy staying and reading beside you," he admitted. "But I have obligations."

He dipped his chin.

"Later, then."

Lucien returned the gesture.

"Later."

Cassian left him there.

And Lucien stood for a moment, simply looking.

Shelves.

Books.

People thinking hard enough to change their lives.

A treasure vault of knowledge, offered openly.

Lucien stepped forward.

Then began reading.

And memorizing.

•••

Hours passed.

From the outside, Lucien looked almost disrespectful.

He skimmed.

He moved faster than anyone read.

He pulled a book, glanced through pages, returned it, took another.

Then a small group approached him.

They were at the peak of Metamorphosis, faces calm and friendly.

One boy spoke first

"Brother, we noticed you have been... browsing for a long time. Do you need help?"

A girl beside him added gently, "We can brainstorm Laws that might suit you. If you want. Only if you want."

Another offered, "We will respect your preference, of course."

Lucien studied them.

Their intent was clean.

He smiled.

"Thank you," Lucien said. "I am only checking the collection. But if you came to be helpful... I can help you instead."

They blinked, surprised.

Lucien continued evenly, "Tell me what Law you are considering. I will tell you what I noticed in its structure and where people usually stumble."

The first boy’s eyes brightened.

"I want to integrate with the Law of Spring," he admitted quickly, as if afraid the thought would be judged. "It feels... right. Like I can become someone who helps things grow."

It fit him.

The boy’s aura was gentle, the kind that did not crave domination.

Lucien nodded with approval.

"A good choice," Lucien said. "It suits your temperament. Where are you stuck?"

The boy hesitated, then opened the book and pointed.

"Here. It says the Law of Spring is not only growth. It is permission. I do not understand what that means."

Lucien’s gaze flicked over the page once.

Photographic Memory took it whole.

Perfect Calculation began assembling the concept.

Lucien’s voice turned patient and clear.

"Spring is not force," he said. "Winter forces by taking. Summer forces by burning. Spring does something subtler. It creates conditions where growth becomes allowed."

The boy frowned, trying.

Lucien gave him an easy analogy.

"Imagine a seed," Lucien said. "You can scream at it. It will not sprout. You can threaten it. It will not sprout. But give it warmth, water, and time, and it will split its shell on its own."

Understanding flickered in the boy’s eyes.

Lucien continued, laying it down carefully.

"Integrating with Spring means your aura stops behaving like a hammer. It becomes an environment. Your Law does not command growth. It invites it. And because it invites it, it can affect living things without breaking them."

The boy swallowed.

"And in battle?"

Lucien did not romanticize it.

"In battle, Spring is terrifying," Lucien said. "Because it can make wounds heal when enemies expect you to bleed out. It can make poison lose its bite. It can make your allies recover faster than the enemy’s rhythm can handle."

The girl beside the boy leaned forward, fascinated.

Lucien kept going.

He pointed at a passage.

"Here is where many fail," he said. "They try to treat Spring like Life. It is not Life. Life insists. Spring allows."

The boy’s breathing slowed.

His fingers tightened on the book.

His eyes began to unfocus in that specific way.

A person standing at the edge of something larger.

Lucien noticed immediately and softened his tone, guiding without pushing.

"Do not force it," Lucien said. "Let your intent match the Law. Ask yourself one simple question. If you were Spring, what would you permit to return?"

The boy exhaled.

Then sat down without realizing he was doing it.

His aura pulled inward, spiraling.

The air around him thickened.

The Law responded.

Integration began.

The other Liberators stared.

Then stared at Lucien.

Awe slid into their faces in slow disbelief.

Lucien coughed once, clearing the sudden attention away as if it was dust.

He looked at the girl who had offered help earlier.

"Sister, it’s your turn," Lucien said. "Tell me your Law."

The girl blinked, then clutched her book like it was suddenly precious.

"I... I want the Law of Echo," she said quickly. "But I keep looping in the same paragraph."

Lucien nodded.

"Then we start there."

And as he began explaining, something strange happened.

People nearby stopped pretending not to listen.

A few stood closer.

A few sat.

The library’s quiet shifted.

Lucien taught, and he did not teach like a lecturer showing off.

He taught like a craftsman handing tools to apprentices.

Clear language. Simple analogies. Precise corrections.

Then another person’s aura shifted.

Another sat down.

Another reached.

One by one, the library began changing.

A hall of readers became a hall of seekers.

A dozen minds reached toward Laws at the same time, guided by a voice that made the impossible feel structured.

Lucien watched them with a faint smile, pleased.

He saw talent.

So much talent.

And for a brief moment, a temptation rose in him.

To take them.

He exhaled once and let the thought go.

"That would be unethical," he murmured to himself.

Then he looked at the next person waiting with a trembling book.

"All right," Lucien said gently. "Show me the part you do not understand."

Quietly, in the heart of the Liberators’ branch, Lucien was doing something that would not stay secret for long.

He was making Transcendents.