Lucien crushed the Memory Core without hesitation.
The moment it shattered, it pulsed with a strange glow. Then... It shot a beam of light straight into his forehead.
And then...
His mind was flooded with memories.
Blurred.
Fast.
Fragmented.
It's like watching a distorted film reel in his head.
They weren't his own. They belonged to the burly man.
Lucien felt himself becoming the burly man... Like seeing the world through his eyes.
A child's birth cry.
The bitter loss of parents.
The gnawing pain of hunger and poverty.
Then, a single stroke of luck... A chance encounter that gave him strength.
And then came the Coalhearts.
With no means to train or grow stronger on his own, the burly man swore loyalty to them. In time, his power earned him a place among their ranks.
A servant. Then a trusted hand.
So trusted that the Baron even whispered secrets into his ears.
And Lucien saw everything.
The plans.
The schemes.
The evil that oozed beneath their noble facade.
It had been them... the Coalhearts... who triggered the famine across the border territories three years ago.
A man-made disaster. It was carefully orchestrated to weaken neighboring domains and pave the way for plunder.
It was also the reason so many desperate outsiders had poured into Lootwell territory.
The beginning of everything.
And then…
Lucien saw it... something he wouldn't have believed without proof.
The Coalhearts had their own private army in which every single one of them were a skill bearer.
Powerful.
Disciplined.
Dangerous.
Lucien could hardly believe it. So many skill-bearers! And all gathered within a single domain.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
Lucien's suspicion had been right. Hidden deep within the shadows of the estate was a unit of trained assassins.
Brainwashed killers.
Each one stripped of free will.
Programmed with a single directive.
To Kill!
They were the ones who had refused to serve the Coalhearts willingly... and were turned into mindless puppets as punishment.
Lucien felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Everyone in that household was corrupt. Even the burly man had known and stayed anyway.
But what shocked Lucien the most was the Baroness.
She was the one who possessed the Brainwasher skill.
She was the one responsible for twisting minds into loyal tools.
And as for the curse that had nearly killed him...
It was the Coalhearts' first son who cast it. But it wasn't like the ordinary curse magic. It was powered by something else. Something far more sinister.
A dark and twisted Gargoyle statue...
It reminded Lucien of the Rainbow Slime Lord Statue but this one radiated dread.
Bleak.
Ominous.
Filled with malicious energy.
He couldn't tell where they had acquired it but one thing was clear. It served as the catalyst for the curse.
And it demanded blood.
The more lives sacrificed, the stronger the curse became.
Immigrants.
Prisoners.
Rebels.
Anyone who defied them was fed to the darkness.
Lucien's jaw clenched. Rage stirred in his chest.
But amidst the horror, he found a sliver of hope.
The curse hadn't worked as planned. And according to the memory, it wasn't something that could be cast repeatedly. It required time... and an enormous cost. The first son, having failed, would be suffering backlash as they spoke.
Lucien exhaled deeply, his chest finally loosening.
That statue... whatever it was... clearly wasn't ordinary. Curse magic wasn't meant to be that powerful... unless it had been unnaturally amplified.
He was lucky.
Damn lucky to still be alive.
But the greatest threat of all… was the Baron himself.
Who would have thought that a pot-bellied and slow-moving noble could possess Tier 6 strength?
Lucien nearly scoffed but he knew the truth. That strength wasn't natural.
It was borrowed.
Artificial.
The result of rare elixirs and powerful medicines.
They were luxuries made affordable only by the wealth they'd stolen from conquered territories.
Even so, it made him dangerous.
Lucien felt a creeping sense of helplessness wash over him.
They were stronger.
More prepared.
More ruthless than he had ever imagined.
And yet, he took some comfort in one thing.
The Coalhearts wouldn't make another move... not yet.
That was because the tax collector could arrive any day now.
Appointed by the king himself, tax collectors were one of the few individuals nobles like the Coalhearts couldn't easily ignore.
And the one assigned to the borderlands? A known ally of the Lootwells.
Lucien trusted him. Not as a warrior but as a man of principle. If he witnessed injustice, he wouldn't turn a blind eye.
Still, due to his official position, he had to remain impartial. He couldn't interfere directly.
Only observe.
Report.
And enforce the King's will through proper channels.
They came like clockwork. Every six months.
And the next visit was just around the corner.
Originally, the Coalhearts had planned to invade after the tax collector departed. But the dungeon's sudden appearance had disrupted their timeline and pushed them to act early.
They failed.
And now… they would wait again.
Lucien let out a long breath. Tension eased from his shoulders.
He had time.
His mind shifted gears.
If the Coalhearts wouldn't move yet… then he would.
It's time to rebuild.
His thoughts raced with plans.
Defenses to fortify.
Resources to gather.
Plans to get stronger.
A storm of strategy brewed in his head.
Then suddenly—
Knock knock.
A voice called through the manor doors.
"Young Lord, our crops are ready for harvest. Please… come witness the miracle you've brought upon us."
•••
They arrived at the farm.
Lucien gave a silent nod as his eyes swept across the fields.
Dense clusters of leafy greens swayed gently in the breeze. The fronds stood tall and the leaves fanned out wide.
The plants were so plump that he found himself wondering how the soil even held them. The ground around each stem bulged slightly as if struggling to contain whatever massive roots had grown beneath.
He remembered the seeds Kael had handed him. Radishes and carrots.
He knew the usual timelines. Radishes matured in about a month while carrots took nearly two.
But according to the farmers… both were ready for harvest.
'Already?' Lucien frowned thoughtfully. 'Could the Soil Crystal's effects vary by crop? Or did its fertilizing power cut off before the plant reached maturity?'
He wasn't sure.
He decided not to overthink it.
The result was a good one and for now, that was enough. His people could finally eat well.
A few steps behind him, Clara's eyes gleamed with familiar devotion.
"As expected of my Lord," she breathed as her voice trembled. "Even the soil bends to your will… infused with specks of divine energy…"
Sebas trailed behind silently but even he couldn't hide the faint flicker of wonder in his eyes as he scanned the overgrown crops.
Driven by curiosity, Lucien stepped closer to one of the plants.
The farmers immediately gathered around him. Their eyes are wide and hushed murmurs passed through the crowd.
Excitement buzzed in the air. The crops had grown unbelievably fast. Barely a week had passed!
And now... they waited in collective anticipation.
All eyes were on him.
Waiting for their Lord to give the signal…
To begin the harvest.
But Lucien…
He stepped forward and reached for one of the carrot tops in curiosity.
It resisted.
He furrowed his brow then gripped it with both hands and pulled harder. With a satisfying pop, the root finally came free.
And then… silence.
Every eye widened.
Every mouth hung open.
The carrot was huge. Nearly half a meter long!
Thick.
Weighty.
Utterly unnatural.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the cheers erupted.
Clara and Sebas, without missing a beat, echoed their favorite line in near-perfect unison.
"As expected of our (young) Lord!"
But the farmers quickly shifted from awe to guilt.
They had let their lord... yes, their lord!... do the work meant for their hands. It was unthinkable.
A few stepped forward and bowed in apology.
Still… their eyes sparkled with unconcealed joy. The harvest was a miracle and they all knew who to thank.
But Lucien didn't hear a word.
He was lost in his own world. Not because of the oversized carrot still clutched in his hands but because of something far more important.
A sudden, silent revelation.
"...Eh?"
His eyes narrowed.
He felt it.
A faint system ting echoed in his mind.
Auto-Collect had activated.
Because...
The crop dropped something.
Lucien stared at the carrot like it was some treasure.
"I'll be damned," he muttered. "Plants are considered living targets?! F*cking great!"
Without another word, he bolted to the next plant. Then the next.
Grabbing.
Yanking.
Pulling crops like a man possessed.
It wasn't farming anymore. It was a loot run! And he was not about to let anyone beat him to it.
To the farmers, it looked like their young lord had simply gotten excited.
To Lucien?
It was a race and he was dead set on staying in first place.
The farmers began to clamour with excitement.
They thought it was a signal...
So they joined in.
What started as a harvest quickly turned into a full-blown game. Laughter echoed across the fields as everyone competed to see who could pick the most crops.
Even Sebas and Clara couldn't resist.
The usually stoic Sebas bent down and yanked out a carrot with surprising speed while Clara giggled madly with every oversized radish she unearthed.
The other subjects poured in from their homes as they were swept up in the celebration.
The once-quiet fields were now alive with shouts and joy as they gathered the massive crops like treasure.
But Lucien...
Lucien was fuming inside.
'Fck all of you… stealing my drops!'
He kept a noble smile on his face. He nodded as if proud of the community effort.
But deep down, he wanted to scream.
He couldn't say a word though.
Because...
'A Lord must maintain dignity… even while being robbed blind by his own people.'