Lucien stood dead center in the square with the morning sun already warming the back of his neck.
Twenty riders fanned out behind the count like they were posing for a painting nobody asked for.
The baron sat stiff on his horse off to the side, reins gripped too tight, eyes flicking between the dirt and Lucien like he couldn't decide which was safer to look at.
Elara stayed right beside Lucien, chin up, short sword still at her hip even though nobody had drawn steel yet.
Nyx had gone invisible the second the hooves got loud, her weight a faint pressure on his shoulder that only he could feel.
The count swung down from the saddle with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of making smaller men step aside.
Mid-forties maybe, beard trimmed neat like he paid someone to do it every week, eyes the color of old coins that had seen too many hands.
He smelled faintly of oiled leather and the sour edge of someone who'd ridden hard without stopping to wash the road off.
"You humiliated my baron," the count said, voice carrying across the packed dirt without shouting.
"Took my daughter. Made the dirt itself sing wheat where nothing grew before. Impressive work for a kid who was supposed to be starving in a shack."
Lucien kept his hands loose at his sides, purple-pink hair shifting when the breeze hit it.
The golden scar over his left eyebrow itched once, sharp, like the Greed Bloodline was waking up to sniff the new arrival.
"Word travels fast when people owe you favors. Or when they're scared you'll collect."
The count's mouth twitched, not quite a smile.
One of the riders behind him shifted in the saddle, leather creaking loud in the quiet square.
Old Tomás watched from his doorway, cap twisted in his hands, while the blacksmith paused mid-hammer, rag still hanging from his belt like he'd forgotten it was there.
"I'm offering you a place," the count continued, stepping closer but not too close.
"Official vassal. You run Eldoria under my banner. Fair tax—nothing that breaks backs. In return, my protection. No more barons sniffing around trying to reclaim debts. No more caravans asking questions about miracle harvests. You get to keep playing lord, just with the right papers."
Elara's shoulder brushed Lucien's arm.
He felt the bond between them pulse steady, warm, feeding him her stubbornness like cheap coffee on a Monday morning.
Nyx's invisible tail flicked against his neck once, soft, the only sign she was paying attention.
Lucien reached into his pocket—didn't even need the treasury for show—and pulled out the baron's old seal, the one he'd lifted weeks back when the man came begging.
Metal still carried a faint trace of wax and nervous sweat.
He held it up between two fingers, letting the morning light catch the engraving.
"Fair tax," Lucien said, voice low but carrying.
"That's cute. I decide what fair looks like around here. And right now I'm deciding zero. At least until I feel like changing my mind."
The count's eyes locked on the seal. His jaw worked once, slow, like he was chewing on something that tasted off.
The baron made a small noise in his throat, half cough, half choke, fingers tightening on the reins until the leather creaked again.
"You stole that," the count said, but the words came out flatter than they should have.
"Borrowed," Lucien corrected, slipping the seal back into his pocket where it vanished into the Infinite Chaos Treasury without a sound.
"Same way I borrowed your daughter's loyalty. She chose to stay. The land chose to grow. Seems like a pattern."
One of the younger riders muttered something under his breath.
The count raised a hand without looking back and the muttering stopped.
The air in the square felt thicker now, the kind of thickness that happens when too many people are holding their breath at once.
Lucien let a thread of the Primordial Presence slip out—nothing flashy, just enough weight that the count's shoulders dipped a fraction, like someone had dropped an extra saddlebag on him without warning.
"You didn't ride all this way to negotiate," Lucien added, tilting his head.
"You came to measure how much trouble I am. How much it'll cost to make me disappear or fall in line."
The count exhaled through his nose, sharp.
His beard twitched when he forced the corner of his mouth up again, but the smile looked borrowed.
"Smart mouth for someone with no army behind him."
"Army's overrated when the dirt itself works for you," Lucien said.
He glanced sideways at Elara, then at the baron who still wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
"We'll send a voluntary contribution. Multiplied wheat. Enough to make your collectors happy for a while. In return, you leave Eldoria alone. No extra taxes. No surprise visits. No trying to drag Elara back like she's unpaid rent."
The count stood there a long moment, eyes moving over the square—the fountain where the mana seeds pulsed quiet under the dirt, the villagers watching from half-open doors, the way the wheat fields beyond the huts looked too green for this time of year.
His fingers flexed once at his side, the only tell that the weight Lucien was pushing still sat heavy on his ribs.
"Voluntary," he repeated, tasting the word like cheap cachaça.
"Fine. Send the grain. But if I hear stories about glowing hair and fox girls spreading too far, we'll have this conversation again. With more men."
Lucien shrugged one shoulder.
"Send as many as you want. Just make sure they bring their own lunch. Mine's already spoken for."
The count mounted up without another word, signaling the riders with a sharp jerk of his head.
The baron lingered a second longer, eyes finally meeting Elara's across the square.
Something passed between them—regret, maybe, or just the tired look of a man who'd picked the wrong side twice.
Then he turned his horse and followed the others back down the main road, dust kicking up behind twenty sets of hooves.
The square stayed quiet until the last rider disappeared around the bend.
Then the murmurs started, low at first, old ladies whispering by the fountain while kids peeked out bolder than before.
Tomás gave a small nod from his doorway, the blacksmith went back to hammering like the interruption had never happened.
Nyx shifted visible the second the dust settled, landing light on her feet beside Lucien with her tail curling around his calf through the fabric of his pants.
The fur felt warm, familiar, the kind of contact that grounded the Greed so it didn't chew too loud.
"He'll be back," she said, voice soft but carrying that edge she saved for when she was tasting trouble.
"They always come back when the numbers stop adding up the way they want. With bigger pockets or sharper knives."
Elara let out a breath she'd been holding, shoulder finally relaxing against Lucien's.
"My father looked… smaller. Like he knew the count was lying about the protection the whole time."
Lucien rolled his neck once, feeling the morning stiffness from the long grind in the pocket universe still sitting in his muscles.
The village smelled of ripe wheat and woodsmoke and the faint metallic tang of nervous sweat drying on too many necks.
It felt like his now, in a way that went deeper than just stolen coins or multiplied grain.
Later that night they slipped back into the pocket universe, silver grass cool under their backs as they sprawled near the usual spot.
The artificial light dimmed low, the way it did when Lucien wanted it to feel like actual night.
Elara fell asleep first, head on his chest, breathing steady but shallow like her mind was still chewing on the day.
Nyx curled against his other side, tail draped over his thigh, ears twitching every few minutes even in sleep.
Lucien stared up at the flat glow overhead, thoughts drifting to stupid shit—like how back in São Paulo he'd never imagined negotiating with a count while two girls who smelled like smoke and lavender pressed against him.
The Greed hummed low, satisfied with the wheat deal but already bored, looking for the next thing to swallow.
Then the system blinked in the corner of his vision, quiet, no fanfare.
[Main Mission "Accumulate Everything" Tier 2 unlocked in 72 hours. Requirement: Secure total loyalty of the village.]
He didn't react out loud. Just let the words sit there while the mana pressed clean against his skin.
Elara woke with a start sometime later, sweat slick on her forehead, breath coming sharp.
The bond between them pulsed hard, pulling Lucien's attention like a hook behind his ribs.
She sat up fast, green eyes wide in the low light, one hand pressed to her chest like she could push the dream out.
"I dreamed about my father," she whispered, voice rough from sleep.
"He said the count lied about the protection. That there's something else coming. Something he didn't tell us in the square."
Nyx's ears shot up, golden eyes opening sharp.
Lucien felt the Greed stir again, warmer this time, mixed with that uncomfortable tightness in his chest that came when the people he'd decided were his got dragged into the mess.
The silver grass stretched quiet around them.
Three months inside still ticking down to whatever waited back in the real world.
Lucien reached out, thumb brushing the sweat from Elara's temple, the bond humming between the three of them like it already knew the next move.
He didn't say anything right away.
Just felt the weight of the new mission timer sitting in the back of his head while the night inside the pocket universe pressed on, clean and endless and ready to be stolen from.