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

It wasn't unusual for rival factions to clash during grand gatherings.

And this time was no exception.

So long as things didn't spiral out of control, no one would step in. After all, for nobles who thrived on spectacle, such tensions were entertainment they eagerly awaited.

Especially when it came to the long-standing rivalry between the Golddusts and the Silvermines.

Everyone wanted to see who would come out on top this time.

News of Edric's breakthrough to Tier 8 had already spread like wildfire… and now, as Maxim revealed his aura, realization struck the crowd.

The genius had returned. And it wouldn't be long before he too, stepped into Tier 8.

At first, the audience expected the usual.

A sharp exchange of words perhaps even fists.

But this conflict felt different.

At the very center of it stood two barons.

And before the first blow could land...

The hall fell utterly silent.

As if everyone was doubting what they had just heard.

But then—

Prrt!

Prrt!

Prrt!

The sound cut through the hall like a trumpet of doom.

Everyone froze.

Servants.

Nobles.

Officials.

Not a single whisper remained... only the humiliating echo of gas rippling through the chamber.

Lucien twitched. He hadn't expected this.

The Ring of Mild Mischief was unpredictable.

Its random effects ranged from itchy skin, slippery shoes, stubbed pinky toes, and many more.

But this? This was beyond perfect. In this situation, it was nothing short of divine.

Lucien's lips twitched… then he broke.

"HAHAHA! Uncle Ed, Uncle Max! Did you hear that? The fight hasn't even started but it seems someone's already shitted themselves!"

The silence shattered.

Like sparks igniting dry leaves, laughter spread through the crowd.

Building. Swelling. Until the grand hall roared with it.

"Nephew! GAHAHA that's too much," Edric bellowed between laughs. "We're not even sure it's shit yet! Maybe he's just preparing for one… Wait... don't tell me this is actually his method of attack?"

Lucien widened his eyes in mock horror.

"Oh no! A biochemical attack! Ooooh, I'm so scared!"

"Quick, hide behind me, Nephew!" Edric puffed up, shielding him dramatically. "I'll protect you... even if I end up filthy. You'd be fine with that, wouldn't you?"

Maxim could only shake his head helplessly though a chuckle still escaped his lips.

The hall shook with laughter. The nobles howled louder and louder.

Watching Lucien and Edric act so shamelessly only made it worse.

They were ruthless. Absolutely ruthless.

Meanwhile, Harold's face turned crimson. He was caught between fury and humiliation.

He didn't understand what was happening to his body.

Desperately, he pressed a hand to his backside, trying to stifle the noise. But it didn't stop. He had no control.

He tried channeling mana only for the flow to sputter and die.

Of course. The castle was lined with anti-magic enchantments.

Grinding his teeth, he tried everything.

Clenching his cheeks harder. Forcing his body to obey.

But nothing worked.

Panic began to creep into his chest.

Magnus and Dorian were mortified.

They wanted to pretend they didn't know Harold but it was far too late.

Their glares snapped toward Harold only to realize something was clearly wrong.

Harold's face twisted with rage as he roared at Lucien,

"Boy! What did you do to my body?!"

Lucien tilted his head. His expression was innocent.

"Ugly Uncle, you're the one farting nonstop and you're blaming me? What am I—your butt?"

The hall erupted again, nobles doubling over in laughter.

Lucien's comebacks were impossible to predict.

Quick.

Merciless.

Always cutting deeper.

But then—

Something "not fun" spread through the air.

A smell.

Thick.

Overpowering.

Revolting.

Laughter crumbled into groans of disgust.

The nobles recoiled, covering their noses with sleeves and jeweled fans.

Some quickly activated prepared magic tools for this very kind of "incident."

Those with sharper senses gagged, some on the verge of vomiting.

Even Lucien winced, pinching his nose as the foul stench reached him.

Magnus and Dorian were already moving to drag Harold away before any more damage could be done. This couldn't continue. Not when their faction's reputation was on the line.

But Lucien was faster.

"Hey," he called out, "you'd better head to the restroom. Or is this your way of presenting the king with a very… special gift?"

The hall burst into another round of wheezing laughter. The nobles clutched their noses while trying not to choke on the stench.

That was the final straw for Harold.

Face burning, he scrambled out of the chamber.

Each panicked step was punctuated by another humiliating Prrt!

Magnus and Dorian's expressions turned to stone. Their faces darkened as the nobles' laughter followed Harold's retreat.

This was more than embarrassment. This was humiliation for their entire faction.

And clearly, this wasn't natural. Something was at play here… though what, they couldn't tell.

They shot one last withering look toward Lucien's group before leaving themselves... hands still pressed firmly over their noses.

Moments later, castle servants rushed in with enchanted sprays. The foul odor dissolved replaced by the delicate fragrance of garlands drifting once more through the hall.

Meanwhile, the crowd of nobles remained caught between shock and amusement at what had just unfolded.

No duel had taken place… or perhaps one had. A battle not of fists or steel but of words.

Words so ruthless that Harold and his side hadn't even managed to fight back.

The noble ladies, in particular, were delighted.

They hid their laughter behind jeweled fans, already savoring the gossip they would spread. Their gazes lingered on Lucien.

The sharper nobles however, noticed something more.

Lucien had done something. They had seen the subtle flick of his hand earlier. But with magic suppressed inside the castle, it couldn't have been a spell.

A skill, perhaps. Or an artifact. Yet no one had truly seen what he did.

And so their curiosity deepened.

All this time, the nobles had been quietly assessing him. What they found was unexpected.

Lucien carried an air of… freshness.

He showed openly when he liked or disliked something.

No guessing.

No hidden layers.

No sugar-coated lies.

Yes, his tongue was venomous but it was honest venom. And among nobles who constantly cloaked themselves in honeyed words, that kind of directness was almost refreshing.

Unlike them, Lucien did not wear a mask.

More and more eyes turned toward him.

His aura alone hinted that he was no ordinary baron.

The medals at his waist confirmed his influence.

And then there was the way the Silvermine brothers hovered protectively around him.

Some neutral nobles chuckled quietly, amused by the entire affair.

Some, the political vipers, watched with sharp eyes... calculating.

But some nobles noticed something else.

Lucien's outfit.

The fabric gleamed with fine craftsmanship. Each stitch was intricate and every detail was deliberate.

The craftsmen in the crowd immediately recognized opportunity. This design would sell.

No, it would explode in demand. And seeing Lucien wear it only reinforced the thought.

Meanwhile, the herald continued announcing the arrival of more families. The hall grew livelier yet Lucien quietly noted that Vivian and her group had yet to appear.

Gradually, the nobles returned to their own conversations though many still whispered and chuckled about the earlier spectacle.

Edric stepped closer lowering his voice.

"I felt something. What did you do, Nephew?"

Lucien only shrugged.

"Just a small trick."

Both men laughed quietly together.

Suddenly, the herald's voice rang out.

"Please welcome the arrival of Duke Alistair Jadecrest and Duke Damian Rubyrcrest... together with their families and honored guests!"

Lucien's eyes lit up. Vivian is here.

But before he could search for her figure in the crowd, another announcement echoed through the grand hall.

"Please welcome… the former Academy Headmaster, Cielius, and the current Headmaster, Ellen."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Silence blanketed the hall.

The former headmaster? He had returned.

Cielius was no ordinary figure. A Tier 9 powerhouse.

Respected.

Fair.

Incorruptible.

Though not a noble by blood, his influence carried the same weight as any duke. The king himself had offered him a noble title more than once yet Cielius had always refused.

Many present owed their success to his teachings for countless nobles here had once been his students.

But then… he had vanished.

Resigned his post. Passed the mantle to his disciple. And left the capital without a word.

Now, after years of absence... he had returned.

Every gaze turned toward him. Even the two dukes inclined their heads with visible respect for the old man.

And then… Lucien saw him.

An elderly man with long flowing white hair, his beard just as long and pale. He wore the traditional robe of a magician.

Lucien's heart gave a sudden throb.

There was… something. A faint sense of connection.

Familiarity... and yet not.

'Why does he feel… known to me?'

He quietly activated his Divine Sense.

The aura he felt was kind and gentle... but dimmed. Faded.

Like a lantern still glowing yet long past its prime. His colors told a story of resignation, of a man alive but no longer truly living. A soul that had lost hope.

Lucien's eyes narrowed. He almost triggered INSPECT to see further but—

A ripple.

He was detected.

He canceled his skill in an instant but it was already too late.

The old man's gaze shifted... locking onto Lucien.

Their eyes met.

Cielius froze.

Shock flashed in his wide eyes. Lucien didn't understand why.

The old man suddenly strode forward. His steps were quicker than his age should allow.

He stopped before Lucien, looking at him with unguarded warmth.

"Young man," Cielius said as his voice trembled slightly. "Have we met before?"

Lucien felt the sincerity in the question and found himself pausing. He forced a polite smile and shook his head.

"Grandpa, I don't think so. I've lived in my territory my whole life before coming here. We haven't met."

Hearing Lucien call him Grandpa, Cielius froze. For a moment, something stirred in his chest... an ache he thought long buried.

He sighed softly.

"Hohoho… never mind. I'm just a senile old man," he said with a faint smile. "It's just… you remind me of my late daughter. When she was young."

Lucien's lips parted. A question was rising on his tongue...

But before he could ask, another voice cut in.

Ellen stepped forward, slipping through the crowd with brisk confidence.

"Master," she said. "This is the boy I mentioned before. The one I wanted to introduce to you. I believe… he carries the same spark as Sister Cienna."

Lucien's heart tugged at the name.

'Cienna. Again.'

Cielius nodded absentmindedly though his eyes never strayed from Lucien as if trying to etch his face into memory.

Before the silence could deepen further, movement caught Lucien's eye.

Vivian and her friends approached.

"Sis, you're here," Lucien said.

Vivian smiled warmly and nodded.

"Yes. Brother, I should formally introduce you to my friends."

And with that, Vivian began the introductions once more. Her voice was carried lightly over the curious murmurs of nearby nobles.

Caelum and Lioren greeted Lucien warmly too.

They exchanged a few words before the two suddenly tugged their fathers closer.

"Father, this is Baron Lucien Lootwell," they said almost in unison.

The two Dukes, Alistair Jadecrest and Damian Rubycrest, offered their greetings with dignified courtesy.

Lucien returned it in kind. His manner was calm yet confident. A short conversation followed.

Soon after, several academy department heads arrived with their noble families accompanying them. One after another, they gravitated toward Lucien too.

Whispers rippled among the watching nobles.

"Why are so many formidable figures gathering around him?"

"Just who exactly is that boy?"

Throats tightened. Even the most arrogant among them could no longer dismiss Lucien as an ordinary baron.

Yet despite the attention, Lucien's thoughts wandered. His eyes kept drifting toward the elderly man in white robes speaking with Ellen in the distance.

The old man's presence gnawed at him. Lucien wanted to ask more to uncover the thread tugging at his chest.

But before he could move, the herald's voice boomed across the grand hall.

"Announcing… His Majesty, the King!"

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

The idle chatter died.

The weight of the hall deepened.

And all eyes turned toward the great entrance.