The baron rode into the square like he owned the dirt under the horses' hooves, face red as cheap wine, armor clanking loud enough to wake the dead.
Behind him twenty soldiers in mismatched mail tried to look intimidating while their horses shifted nervously.
Villagers trickled out of their huts, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes, others clutching tools like they might need them.
Fear hung thick in the air, mixed with that sour curiosity people get when watching a bully finally meet someone who doesn't flinch.
"Bring me the orphan Lucien Voss!" the baron bellowed, voice cracking on the high notes.
"He stole my daughter, emptied my vaults, and humiliated my son! Anyone hiding him shares the rope!"
A few older men muttered, eyes darting toward the rundown shack at the edge of the square.
Garrick stood near his father's horse, face still bruised, looking smaller in daylight.
The old lady who'd given Lucien bread earlier clutched her basket tighter, lips pressed thin.
Lucien stepped out alone first, boots quiet on the packed dirt.
Nyx sat on his shoulder in small fox form, fluffy tail draped across his collarbone like a living scarf.
Elara followed a few paces back, hood low over her face, short sword hidden under the cloak.
The morning air smelled of woodsmoke, fresh horse shit, and the metallic edge of nervous sweat rolling off the soldiers.
The baron's eyes locked on him.
"There you are, you filthy thief. Hand over my daughter and everything you stole or I'll burn this entire rat's nest to the ground."
Lucien stopped in the middle of the square, hands loose at his sides.
That crooked smile crept onto his face, the one that had started in São Paulo traffic jams and never left.
"Baron. You rode all this way to collect what I already took. That's cute. Almost admirable."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Some villagers leaned forward.
Others stepped back, torn between the devil they knew and the kid who'd suddenly stopped acting like prey.
Nyx's whiskers brushed Lucien's ear.
Elara stayed silent, but her fingers twitched near her hidden blade.
The baron's face went a deeper shade of red.
"Arrest him! Now!"
Two soldiers moved.
Lucien raised one hand, palm open, and the Primordial Authority over Laws slid out like a quiet knife.
"The debts this village owes you? They're mine now. And I forgive them all."
His voice carried across the square, calm but heavy.
"In exchange for future loyalty. Simple transaction."
He pulled the baron's official seal from his pocket and held it up so everyone could see the familiar crest.
Gasps went through the crowd.
The baron's mouth opened and closed like a fish yanked onto land.
"That's… that's impossible," the baron stammered, one hand gripping the reins so tight his knuckles whitened.
"My strongroom was locked. Guards were posted. How—"
Lucien cut him off with a small shrug.
"You spent years squeezing these people dry for bad harvests and your son's gambling habits. I just took the bill and tore it up. From today, the village pays what I say. And right now? I say zero."
A few younger villagers whispered.
One old farmer actually nodded once, slow, like he was testing the idea.
The fear in the air shifted, curiosity winning small battles against old habits.
The baron tried to laugh it off, but it came out wet and shaky.
"You think these peasants will follow a nobody orphan over their rightful lord? I'll have you hanged before noon!"
Lucien let the Primordial Presence roll out stronger this time.
Not enough to kill, just enough to press down on shoulders like a hot hand that had been sitting in the sun too long.
The baron's horse danced sideways.
The soldiers shifted uncomfortably.
And the baron himself—proud, red-faced, used to kneeling only in church—felt his legs buckle.
He slid off the saddle and landed on his knees in the dirt with a dull thud, armor clanking pathetically.
No one had touched him.
"Welcome to the new arrangement, old man," Lucien said quietly, voice carrying just far enough.
"You can keep your title if you behave. But the gold, the decisions, the future? Those belong to me now."
Silence stretched for three long heartbeats.
Then someone in the back clapped once.
Another joined.
Soon half the square was murmuring approval, voices mixing relief with the thrill of watching power flip upside down.
Garrick looked like he wanted to sink into the ground.
The baron stayed on his knees, breathing hard, eyes wide with the kind of confusion that comes when your whole world tilts and you can't find the edge.
Elara lowered her hood just enough for the front row to see her face.
A few villagers recognized the baron's daughter and the whispers doubled.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Nyx flicked her tail once, satisfied.
Lucien slipped the seal back into his pocket, where it vanished into the Chaos Treasury.
The multiplied gold from last night sat warm and heavy in there too, ready to be spent or shown whenever it suited him.
The Greed Bloodline purred deep in his chest, content with the public meal.
The baron finally pushed himself up, legs shaky, pride cracked but not gone.
"This isn't over, boy. I'll bring real soldiers. The capital will hear about this treason."
He mounted clumsily, yanked the reins, and rode out with his men trailing behind like scolded dogs.
Garrick threw one last hateful look over his shoulder before following.
The square stayed noisy with talk long after the dust settled.
Some villagers approached Lucien carefully, asking quiet questions about the forgiven debts.
Others just watched from a distance, weighing which side felt safer now.
Back in the shack later, the three of them sat on the floor again.
Elara counted a small pile of coins with her fingers.
Nyx played with one of the copied rings, spinning it on her claw.
The blue system panel appeared without fanfare, hovering above the scattered gold.
[Points of Greed sufficient for first purchase in the Primordial Shop. Choose now.]
Nyx leaned in close, her breath warm against Lucien's ear, voice soft but sharp.
"Pick something they'll never forget. Something that makes it clear who runs things from now on."
Lucien stared at the glowing panel, the list of impossible items waiting like a menu written by a god with bad taste.
His ring finger still remembered the weight of the fake engagement band.
The village outside buzzed with new energy, the kind that came when people realized the old boss could bleed.
He cracked his knuckles once, slow.
The Greed inside him stretched, hungry for the next bite.