Lucien woke up before the sun finished climbing, the straw mattress creaking under his back like it was complaining about the extra weight of power.
The air in the shack felt thicker, warmer, carrying that clean mana smell from the pocket universe mixed with the usual damp rot and Nyx's sweet-ozone.
His chest hummed. Not pain. Just the Greed Bloodline settling into Tier 2 like a new engine that had finally decided to stop knocking.
Everything felt sharper.
The multiplication didn't just hit items anymore. It reached for intentions, wants, the little greedy thoughts people carried around without naming them.
Points of Greed doubled in the background, quiet, no flashy blue box, just a warm rush that made his veins feel like they'd been upgraded overnight.
He sat up slow, purple-pink hair sticking to his forehead, the golden scar over his left eyebrow itching like it was laughing at how easy the upgrade felt.
Nyx was already awake, curled against his side in human form, tail draped over his leg, one ear twitching at the first birds outside.
Elara stirred on his other side, green eyes cracking open, her hand automatically finding his chest like she needed to check he was still there.
Mira slept in the corner, blanket kicked halfway off, short brown hair messy across her face.
"Tier 2 hit," Lucien muttered, voice rough from sleep. "Feels like the world just lowered its prices."
Nyx stretched, claws pricking lightly through his tunic, her tail glowing a little brighter at the tip, the pink-silver threads catching the thin morning light leaking through the cracks.
"My tail feels hotter. Like it wants to burn prettier things now."
They stepped outside while the village was still yawning.
Lucien crouched near the edge of the square, pressing a single multiplied seed into the dirt with two fingers.
The ground took it easy, pulsing once before going quiet.
Within minutes the villagers started moving different—shoulders looser, eyes finding him quicker, offering extra bread or tools without being asked.
Not fear. Not even respect exactly. Just this quiet pull, like the dirt itself was whispering that sticking close paid better.
Old Tomás brought over a basket of fresh roots, cap twisted in his hands. "Ground's giving more than it should. Figured you might want first pick."
Lucien took the basket, feeling the Greed drink in the old man's willingness like cheap beer on a hot day.
Nyx's tail had definitely brightened, the fur almost shimmering when she moved, warmer against his neck when she hopped back onto his shoulder in fox form.
Elara walked beside him, her steps matching his, the Conquest Bond pulsing stronger now.
She bumped his arm once, voice low. "I feel you inside me now. Literally. Like the bond got deeper overnight. It's… a lot."
Her cheeks went a little pink but she didn't look away.
Lucien's mouth twitched that crooked half-smile. "Good. Means I'm collecting interest on time already spent."
Mira caught up near the fountain, testing the string on her new bow.
The weapon looked the same but felt heavier in her hands, the wood humming faint with multiplied potential.
She nocked an arrow, drew, and let it fly toward a distant tree. The shot landed cleaner than it had any right to.
She lowered the bow, eyes bright but steady. "I'm staying. Not because I'm scared. Because I want to see what you do with everything you steal."
Lucien shrugged one shoulder, the power from Tier 2 still settling warm in his bones. "Welcome to the team of honest thieves."
The small celebration built itself in the square by midday.
Someone dragged out the battered flute again, notes thin but happy.
Villagers brought whatever extra the multiplied seeds had pushed up—bread, roots, a couple of jugs of weak wine that tasted better than it should.
Lucien danced with all three of them in turn, boots kicking up packed dirt that felt warmer underfoot.
Nyx spun fast, tail brushing his legs, laughing when she stepped on his toes on purpose.
Elara moved steadier, her hand warm in his, the bond humming between them like static that had learned to sing.
Mira danced last, a little awkward at first, then loosening up, her short brown hair sticking to her forehead with sweat.
The village felt different. Not louder. Just more alive.
Rumors passed in low voices between bites—Eldoria breathing different now, like the land had picked a new owner and decided it liked the taste.
Lucien listened more than he talked, the Greed purring at the way loyalty grew roots without him having to twist arms.
Later, as the fire burned lower and the flute finally went quiet, they sat near the shack with the last jug of wine.
Nyx had her head in Lucien's lap again, tail curled around his wrist.
Elara leaned against his shoulder, fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm.
Mira sat across from them, sharpening arrows out of habit, the scrape of stone steady in the night air.
The System blinked in the corner of his vision, quiet but clear.
[Secondary Mission: Secure total loyalty of the village before the local harvest tournament in 15 days.]
Lucien didn't react out loud. Just let the words sit while he took another sip of the cheap wine.
The taste lingered bitter and warm, the kind that stuck to the back of your throat and made you want more anyway.
A normal-looking crow landed on the roof of the shack with a soft flutter of wings.
No fancy ring. No seal. Just a single pink-silver feather held careful in its beak, the color too familiar, too wrong for any normal bird.
Nyx's ears shot straight up. Elara's hand tightened on his arm. Mira's sharpening stone paused mid-stroke.
The crow tilted its head once, dropped the feather onto the thatch, and flew off into the dark without a sound.
Lucien stared at the feather, the pink-silver threads catching the dying firelight.
It smelled faintly of smoke and old power, the same wrong note that had followed them from the garrison.
Tier 2 sat warm in his chest. The village breathed easier around him. The girls stayed close, the bond between the four of them tighter than it had been yesterday.
And now a plain crow had delivered a calling card that wasn't plain at all.
Lucien's mouth curved that crooked half-smile anyway, the golden scar itching sharper, the Greed already calculating how much interest this new player was worth.
He reached up, plucked the feather from the roof edge, and twirled it once between his fingers.
The color felt warm against his skin, almost alive.
"Someone's learning to copy homework," he muttered, voice low. "Question is whether they know they're about to fail the test."
Nyx sat up, tail flicking. Elara's eyes stayed on the feather. Mira's fingers tightened around the arrow in her lap.
The fire crackled once, low and final, while the village slept quiet under a sky that looked the same as always but felt heavier now.
Lucien tucked the feather into his pocket, right next to the official gold from the count.
The night pressed in thick and warm, carrying the faint metallic tang of whatever game had just sent its first move.
He leaned back against the shack wall, the straw creaking under him, and let the new complication settle.
Fifteen days until the harvest tournament.
Plenty of time to turn copied colors into something that belonged to him instead.
The feather stayed warm in his pocket. The girls stayed close.
The Greed purred low, patient, ready for dawn and whatever stupid mistake decided to knock louder next.
Lucien closed his eyes for half a second, the taste of cheap wine still on his tongue, the pink-silver feather heavy against his thigh.
Some mornings brought Tier upgrades.
Others brought feathers that smelled like burned caravans and dreams from the capital.
He smiled small in the dark anyway.
The price of everything had just gone up.
And he was the one holding the new ledger.
The fire died down to embers, the night kept breathing, and the four of them sat there in the warm quiet, the village around them sleeping a little deeper because the dirt had already decided whose side paid better.
Tomorrow the real collecting would start.
Lucien took the last sip from the jug, the wine bitter and warm, and thought about how back home he used to hate mornings.
Here they tasted like profit waiting to be swallowed whole.
The feather stayed in his pocket.
The night stayed quiet.
For now.