The baron's back still looked ridiculous disappearing down the dusty road, armor clanking like cheap pots, soldiers trailing behind him with their heads down.
The square stayed weirdly quiet after that, the kind of heavy silence where even the chickens knew something big had shifted and decided to shut up about it.
Lucien stood there with his hands in his pockets, feeling the eyes of half the village on his back like invisible fingers poking for answers.
Nyx, still in her small fox form on his shoulder, leaned in and nipped his earlobe with tiny sharp teeth.
"Come on. The system's blinking like an impatient firefly. Pick something before it gets bored and offers you a cursed spoon or whatever."
Lucien exhaled through his nose, the morning air still carrying the smell of horse sweat and fear-sweat that hadn't quite faded.
He closed his eyes for half a second and let the Primordial Shop unfold in his mind.
The blue screen flooded his vision with rows of insane shit—ancient swords that sang when they killed, bloodlines of dead gods, potions that turned your enemies into loyal puppies.
All tempting. All loud.
He ignored most of it.
His finger—well, his mental finger—stopped on something small and quiet: Eternal Mana Seed.
A little thing you planted once and it grew invisible roots under the ground, quietly multiplying harvests, mana in the soil, luck for the fields.
Only the planter got the real cut. Everything else looked normal to outsiders.
"Not a shiny sword right now," he muttered under his breath.
"I need roots nobody can pull up."
He walked to the cracked center of the square where the dried fountain sat like a bad memory.
The ground there was hard-packed dirt, the kind that hadn't given anything good in years.
Lucien crouched, pressed his palm flat against the earth, and pushed the seed in with a casual thought.
No big light show.
Just a faint warm pulse under his skin that traveled down his arm and into the ground.
The dirt glowed for maybe two heartbeats, soft blue, then went back to looking like regular dirt.
Elara watched from a few steps away, hood still low, biting the inside of her lip.
"You're turning the whole village into your private garden, aren't you?"
Lucien stood up, brushing dirt off his hands.
"Exactly. They plant, they water, they harvest. I just take a bigger share without them noticing the math."
He gave her that crooked half-smile that was starting to feel permanent on this new face.
"Fair trade. They get better crops than under the baron. I get the difference."
A couple of villagers drifted closer, slow and cautious, like approaching a dog that might bite or might hand out treats.
The old lady who had given him the stale bread yesterday shuffled up holding a small basket.
Inside were fresh apples and some early berries that definitely hadn't been there yesterday—plump, shiny, smelling sweet and alive in a way the village soil hadn't managed in seasons.
"Lord Voss…" she started, then corrected herself with a nervous laugh.
"I mean… the ground feels different this morning. These grew overnight near my hut. Never seen fruit like this in spring. What did you do to the land?"
Lucien shrugged, keeping his voice low and easy, the kind that made people lean in without realizing.
"Just gave it a little push. The rest is just… natural greed. Soil wants to grow. People want to eat. I made the wanting line up better."
More villagers gathered.
A farmer with rough hands kept flexing his fingers like he could feel the difference in the air.
A young mother holding a kid on her hip stared at the basket of fruit like it was magic bread from old stories.
Whispers spread—some grateful, some wary, all of them tasting the change in the air.
The smell of fear from earlier had mostly burned off, replaced by something warmer, almost hopeful, mixed with the faint sweet rot of overripe berries someone had already started eating.
Nyx nuzzled closer to Lucien's neck, her small body warm through his tunic, tail swishing slow against his collar.
She purred right next to his ear, the sound vibrating soft and pleased.
"Good pick, master. Now they'll depend on you without even clocking it. Roots grow deep. Harder to burn down later."
Elara stepped up beside him, lowering her hood just enough for the closer villagers to see her face clearly.
A few recognized the baron's daughter and the murmurs got louder, but nobody threw stones.
She looked at the fresh fruit, then at Lucien, green eyes thoughtful.
"My father spent years taxing them into the ground. You planted one seed and they're already bringing you gifts. That's… dangerous."
"Only if I get bored," Lucien answered, popping a berry into his mouth.
It burst sweet and tart on his tongue, juice staining his fingers.
"But I don't plan on getting bored anytime soon."
The old lady smiled, wrinkles deepening around her eyes.
"The baron always took more than his share. If the land gives more now… we won't complain about who gets the extra."
Lucien felt the Greed Bloodline settle deeper, satisfied with the quiet transaction.
No big fight. No dramatic speech.
Just one small seed and people already shifting their weight toward the new center of gravity.
The ring on his finger from last night felt heavier for a second, like a reminder.
He was about to say something else when rapid footsteps pounded up the main road into the square.
A messenger, sweaty and pale, skidded to a stop in front of the growing crowd, chest heaving like he'd run the whole way from the next town.
Dust clung to his clothes and his eyes were wide with the kind of panic that doesn't come from good news.
"The baron…" he gasped, bending over with hands on his knees.
"He didn't go home. Rode straight to the neighboring count's garrison. Brought back reinforcements. They're coming this way—armed, angry, talking about treason and hanging."
The square went quiet again, but different this time.
The hopeful warmth cooled fast.
A few villagers stepped back, hands tightening on tools or baskets.
The old lady clutched her fruit tighter.
Elara's hand drifted toward her hidden sword.
Nyx's ears flattened against her head, a low growl starting in her tiny chest.
Lucien stared down the road where the messenger had come from, the berry juice still sticky on his fingers.
The system panel was still faintly visible in the corner of his vision, the shop menu waiting like an open tab he hadn't closed.
He wiped his hands on his tunic, the crooked smile returning slower this time, sharper at the edges.
"Guess the old man wants a second round," he said, voice carrying just enough for the closest villagers to hear.
"Fine. Let him bring friends. More witnesses when the roots dig deeper."
Nyx nipped his ear again, harder this time, voice a whisper only he caught.
"Make it hurt pretty this time, master. They need to remember who owns the dirt now."
Elara met his eyes, green and steady despite the news.
The Conquest Bond between them hummed warmer, waiting.
The morning sun kept climbing, but the air in the square felt heavier again, charged with the kind of tension that came right before someone drew a line in the sand and dared the other side to cross it.
Lucien cracked his neck once, slow.
The village waited to see what their new owner would do with the incoming storm.