The villagers came with stuff in their hands like they'd been saving it for someone who might actually notice.
Bread still warm from the oven, a few tools with new handles, even an old horse that looked tired but had solid legs and eyes that didn't spook easy.
They gathered near the square where the mana seed had started working its quiet magic, the ground around the fountain looking less cracked, the air carrying a faint sweet-earth smell that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Lord Voss," one farmer said, scratching the back of his neck, "the fields… never looked like this in spring. The wheat's already pushing up like it's in a hurry. We brought what we could."
Lucien stood there with that crooked smile stuck on his face, the one that started as sarcasm back in São Paulo and never quite left.
He took the bread, felt the warmth through the cloth, and nodded once.
"Appreciate it. Keep the best for your families. I'll take what's left over."
The words sounded generous.
The Greed Bloodline inside him just hummed, already calculating how much more the soil would give him by next week.
Nyx moved through the small crowd in her human form, silver-pink hair catching the afternoon light.
She helped hand out loaves that Lucien had multiplied earlier in the pocket universe—simple trick, but the villagers' eyes went wide when the basket never seemed to empty.
"They think you're some kind of blessing," she murmured when she passed close to him, voice low and amused.
"I know you're just robbery done right. Clean. Quiet. Tastes better that way."
Elara walked beside him without the hood now, her face open to the village for the first time.
The short sword stayed at her hip, but her shoulders sat easier.
She watched an old woman press a small bundle of herbs into Lucien's hands and shook her head slowly.
"My father never saw the village like this. He only ever saw the taxes he could squeeze out. Numbers on paper. Never the faces behind them."
Lucien tore off a piece of the fresh bread and offered it to her.
"Taxes are for people who don't know how to steal it back," he said, voice low enough that only she and Nyx caught the full weight.
"I'm just balancing the books my way."
A few more villagers approached.
A young couple brought a sack of potatoes that looked bigger than they should.
An old blacksmith with thick, scarred hands waited until the others drifted away before speaking.
His voice was rough from years of hammering, but his eyes were sharp.
"Word travels slow out here, but the count next door doesn't like weak barons. He charges 'protection' double when he smells blood in the water. Your baron… he's bleeding now. Might bring the count's men sooner than we think."
Lucien filed the information away like loose change he wasn't ready to spend.
The count hating weak neighbors was useful.
The double protection fee was even better—meant there was already resentment sitting there, waiting for the right spark.
He clapped the old man on the shoulder once, casual.
"Good to know. Keep your hammer ready. Might need it for more than horseshoes soon."
The afternoon stretched lazy and strange.
People kept bringing small things—eggs, a knife with a new edge, even a blanket that smelled of lavender and mothballs.
Lucien accepted everything with the same half-smile, letting the Greed Bloodline quietly multiply some of it in the treasury when no one was looking.
The village felt different under his feet now.
Less beaten down.
More like it was leaning toward him without quite realizing why.
Nyx stayed close, helping sort the gifts, her tail occasionally brushing his leg like a reminder.
"They're feeding the hand that bit their old master," she said softly during a quiet moment.
"Humans are funny that way. Give them one good harvest and they forget the years of bad ones."
Elara walked with him toward the edge of the square, her fingers occasionally grazing his arm.
"You're turning them into your garden without them noticing the fences going up."
"Fences keep the wrong people out," Lucien answered, eyes scanning the road where the baron had disappeared earlier.
"The ones who know how to grow things stay inside."
Later, when the crowd thinned and the sun sat lower, he slipped away for a few minutes alone.
He planted three more mana seeds in different spots—behind the old well, near the main path out of the village, and one close to the blacksmith's forge.
Each one went in with a small push of mana, the ground glowing faintly before settling back to normal dirt.
The effect would spread slow, quiet, multiplying yields just enough that people would thank the land instead of questioning the math.
By the time he returned, the square had mostly emptied.
A few kids ran past laughing, carrying the new fruit like it was normal.
The old horse someone had given him stood tied near the shack, chewing lazily on some grass that looked greener than it had any right to be.
Nyx and Elara waited by the door.
Nyx had a small basket of multiplied bread balanced on her hip.
Elara leaned against the wall, watching the village with that new steadiness in her eyes.
"You're building something here," Elara said as he approached.
"Not just taking. Building."
Lucien shrugged, the smile tugging again.
"Taking is the fun part. Building makes sure nobody takes it back."
They were sharing the last of the bread when a kid came running up the main path, barefoot and out of breath, face flushed red from sprinting.
He skidded to a stop in front of Lucien, chest heaving.
"There's a messenger from the count on the road," the boy gasped, pointing back the way he came.
"Riding alone. Says he wants to negotiate. Looks important. Fancy cloak and everything."
Nyx's ears perked under her hair.
Elara straightened, hand drifting toward her sword.
Lucien felt the Greed Bloodline wake up again, warm and curious, already tasting whatever offer the count thought was worth sending one man ahead.
He wiped the bread crumbs off his hands, the afternoon light catching the faint glow in his eyes.
"Negotiate," he repeated, the word tasting like cheap wine.
"That's cute."
The kid stood there waiting, the whole village suddenly feeling like it was holding its breath again.
Lucien looked down the road, where a lone rider was already becoming visible in the distance, banner fluttering behind him.
"Tell him I'm listening," he said.
Then he turned back toward the shack, Nyx and Elara falling in step beside him, the new mana seeds already working their quiet work under the dirt.
The count wanted to talk.
Good.
Talking was just another way of deciding who owed what.
And Lucien was getting real good at keeping score.