Lucien held the door open with two fingers, the wood groaning like it remembered every kick it had taken in the last bad harvest.
The baron stepped inside slow, cloak torn at the hem dragging dust across the floor, boots scuffing like they weighed twice what they should.
The shack smelled of leftover stew and Nyx's sweet-smoke, the air suddenly thicker with the man's road sweat and that sour undernote of someone who hadn't slept right in weeks.
Nyx moved first, shifting human smooth and pouring tea from the dented pot into three mismatched cups.
She slid one across the wobbly table toward the baron with a smile too sweet, fangs peeking just enough to make it feel like a joke nobody was laughing at.
"Drink," she said, voice light but carrying that primordial edge.
"It's the good stuff. Or at least what passes for good around here."
Elara stayed standing, arms crossed tight over her chest, back to the wall like she needed something solid behind her.
Her green eyes didn't leave her father's face.
The bond between her and Lucien pulsed warm in his ribs, feeding him her steadiness even while her fingers dug into her own sleeves.
"Father," she said, voice firm for the first time Lucien had heard it crack like that, "I didn't come back because I don't want to."
The baron's hands shook around the cup. He didn't drink.
Just stared at her, mouth opening and closing twice before words finally scraped out.
"Elara, the debts… the count's breathing down my neck. I offered what I could, lands I don't even control anymore, coin I borrowed from people who'll break my legs if I don't pay."
His voice cracked on the last part, eyes flicking to Lucien like he was hoping for mercy from the guy who'd already taken everything.
"Just come home. We can fix this. I can fix this."
Lucien leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, listening without interrupting.
The Greed Bloodline hummed low, not loud, just tasting the desperation like cheap street food you knew would sit heavy later.
The baron kept talking, offering gold that didn't exist anymore, fields Lucien's mana seeds were already turning into his own quiet profit.
It all spilled out messy, the kind of begging that came from a man who'd ridden in once with soldiers and now stood here alone with nothing but worn boots and a cracked voice.
Lucien didn't speak until the baron ran out of breath.
Then he reached into the Infinite Chaos Treasury with a thought, pulled out a small pouch of coins he'd multiplied twice over that morning, and pushed it across the table.
The leather landed soft, coins clinking inside like they belonged there.
"Take this," Lucien said, voice low and flat, the São Paulo drawl still clinging to the edges.
"Consider the debt paid… and my protection extended to you too."
The baron stared at the pouch like it might bite him.
His fingers closed around it slow, knuckles white, and then the tears came.
Not loud. Not grateful. Just quiet, shoulders shaking, relief and shame mixing so thick Lucien could almost smell it under the tea steam.
The Greed Points ticked up in the back of his head, clean and quiet, no panel flashing, just that warm rush from the man's internal collapse.
Nyx and Elara traded a long look across the table, the first one without that sharp jealousy edge.
Nyx's tail flicked once, golden eyes soft but calculating.
Elara's shoulders dropped half an inch, the bond between her and Lucien giving another steady pulse like it approved the whole messy exchange.
Later, after the baron shuffled out with the pouch clutched to his chest and the door clicked shut behind him, Elara turned to Lucien.
Her voice came out small but steady.
"You didn't have to be… kind."
Lucien's mouth curved that half-smile, the one that started in traffic jams back home and never quite left.
"Kindness is just another way to steal loyalty."
The afternoon slipped into the village square easy, the kind of slow that only happened when the Greed decided to let things breathe.
Someone dragged out a battered flute, notes thin and wobbly but carrying across the packed dirt like they belonged there.
Tables appeared again, bread and stew from the morning stretched with whatever extra the mana seeds had pushed up overnight.
Villagers moved careful at first, then looser, clapping along when the flute hit a decent run.
Lucien danced with both of them.
Elara first, her hand warm in his, steps stumbling a little until she laughed and let the bond pull them closer.
Nyx cut in after, tail brushing his leg every turn, silver-pink hair catching the lantern light while she spun him like she'd been waiting centuries for the chance.
The music wasn't fancy. Just simple notes rising and falling, the kind that made old Tomás tap his stick in time and the blacksmith's wife hum along off-key.
Lucien felt the bond with Elara strengthen, warm and solid, like it had decided this was home now.
The square smelled of woodsmoke and fresh bread, feet kicking up dust that stuck to sweat on necks, laughter mixing with the flute in a way that felt earned instead of forced.
Lucien's scar itched faint under the lantern glow, the Greed purring content with the math—village leaning his way without him twisting arms, baron broken but still breathing, two girls who chose to stay.
At the edge of the crowd Mira appeared, short brown hair messy, patched clothes still road-dirty.
Three merchants stood behind her now, cloaks gray and faces sharp, eyes locked straight on Lucien.
She pointed, finger steady, voice carrying just far enough over the flute.
"They want to buy the Seed that made the land change."
The music didn't stop right away.
The square kept moving for another heartbeat, but Lucien felt the Greed wake up sharp, the night air suddenly heavier where it hit his neck.
Nyx's ears flattened on his shoulder. Elara's hand found his wrist without looking.
The flute played on, thin and wobbly, like it hadn't decided the party was over yet.