100\% DROP RATE : Why is My Inventory Always so Full?-Chapter 460 - Shriek

A week passed.

Nothing strange happened.

And that, somehow, made everything worse.

The world kept going.

That was what unnerved Lucien most.

He trained. He crafted. He refined contingencies

And still—

nothing came.

That silence grew teeth.

He spent much of that week speaking with Seran through the jade communication disc.

The calls were not long, but they were regular.

Seran updated him on the shifting state of the continents. More regions were becoming stable. More rumors had hardened into accepted truth.

Lucien, in turn, told Seran what he was doing in Lootwell.

The fortifications. The arrays. The equipment. The simulations. The possible countermeasures.

At one point, the conversation drifted.

Lucien asked...

"Do you ever think about the Liberator Convergence took?"

There was a pause on the other side.

Long enough that Lucien knew Seran had stopped smiling.

"Of course I do," Seran said at last.

His voice was calm.

"But I can’t do anything about that part. What’s done is done."

Then, after a beat, Seran added more quietly,

"I’ve always prepared myself for the worst."

Lucien said nothing for a while after that.

He could hear it underneath the words.

Sadness.

And a helplessness so deeply accepted that it no longer fought to sound like anything else.

Lucien understood that too well.

•••

That same day, Lilith came to see him.

She was smiling.

That alone was strange enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

Lilith was not joyless, but she was not usually the kind of person whose excitement arrived before her words did.

Lucien looked up from the notes spread across his desk.

"What happened?"

Lilith stepped in without her usual measured restraint.

"I finished it," she said.

Not trying to hide how pleased she was.

Lucien straightened.

"The strongest metal?"

Lilith nodded, and once she began speaking, the words came faster than usual, as if the idea had been pressing against her ribs for hours and she had only now found permission to let it out.

"Yes. And it works."

She placed a hand lightly on the case, almost reverently.

"I used the Astrafer as the structural spread-base, because its natural property prevents force from remaining concentrated at a single point. But pure Astrafer alone would only disperse. It would not hold."

Lucien listened carefully.

Lilith’s eyes were bright now.

"So I layered Living Alloy Essence into it... not enough to make it unstable, just enough to let the metal respond rather than merely endure. Then I folded Adamantine into the deep frame."

She glanced at him.

"Not too much. Adamantine is nearly indestructible, yes, but too great a ratio makes the whole alloy arrogant. It stops adapting. It insists on being what it already is."

That was exactly the kind of thing only Lilith would say about metal without sounding absurd.

She continued.

"I used star-essence as the alignment medium. Void metals can resist force, but they need a higher reference point to remain coherent under conceptual strain. The star-essence gives it directional memory."

Then her tone sharpened with delight.

"And planet residue solved the final problem. Weight. Not physical weight but structural gravity. It keeps the alloy from suffering collapse under layered stress."

Lucien’s expression changed slightly.

Lilith noticed and smiled more.

"I know," she said. "I was surprised too."

Then she finally gave him the ratios, voice precise now, as if reciting sacred mathematics.

"Four parts Astrafer for dispersion. Two parts Adamantine for enduring core. Two parts Living Alloy Essence for adaptive response. One part star-essence for coherence. One part refined planet residue for structural grounding."

Lucien repeated it once in his head.

It made sense.

Disturbingly good sense.

Lilith leaned forward slightly.

"It doesn’t just resist destruction," she said. "It actively prevents structural zero. Even if the outer pattern is damaged, the internal relationship between layers fights collapse. It tries to remain itself."

That was terrifyingly useful.

Lucien listened patiently through the rest of her explanation. It was rare to see her like this. Openly excited, flushed by success rather than irritation, speaking not like a guarded craftsman but like someone who had touched the thing she had always wanted to make.

A smile slowly formed on his lips.

When she finally finished, he said quietly,

"Isn’t this great?"

Lilith blinked.

Lucien looked at her.

"Your dream finally came true."

That stopped her cold.

For a second, she looked genuinely unprepared.

Then her expression changed.

She shook her head once.

"No," she said.

Her voice had softened.

"My dream... changed."

Lucien tilted his head.

Lilith met his eyes directly.

"My current dream is for my creation to be able to protect you."

The room went still.

Lucien forgot, for a moment, how to move inside it.

They held each other’s gaze.

And in that short silence, everything that Lilith would never say plainly had already been said.

Lucien was speechless.

Lilith seemed to realize what she had just revealed.

Color rose in her face all at once.

She moved before the moment could deepen any further, reached into her ring, and pulled out the armor she had brought.

She practically pushed it into his hands.

"Wear it," she said quickly. "Every time you go out."

Then she turned and began walking away before he could answer.

"Wait," Lucien called after her, still half-laughing from surprise. "What is it called?"

Lilith froze mid-step.

For a second, it looked like she might refuse to answer.

Then she glanced back over one shoulder, face burning.

"Beloved Bastion," she said.

Lucien froze too.

Then he laughed.

Warmly.

"I like it," he said, lifting the armor slightly. "My Beloved Bastion. I’ll make sure to wear it."

That only made Lilith’s face go redder.

She turned and fled properly this time.

Lucien remained there for a while, still laughing under his breath.

But the feeling beneath it was different.

Lighter.

His unease did not disappear entirely.

But for the first time in days, it loosened.

As if something forged out of care, out of worry, out of love too stubborn to name itself directly—

had truly placed one more wall between him and the future.

•••

Afterward, Lucien returned to his room and resumed making notes.

He organized records and prepared fallback instructions.

He was preparing not only to survive but to make sure things would continue if he didn’t.

That thought no longer felt melodramatic.

It felt responsible.

He left sealed records in his room.

Instructions. Warnings. Activation orders. Names of people who should take charge if systems failed.

Then he placed another black cube inside a concealed compartment. This one had once contained the Abyss-Eyed Devourer.

Now it carried different things. Things too important to risk losing together.

A final answer, if the worst came first.

...

Just then—

It happened.

A shriek tore through the West Continent.

Not loud in the ordinary sense.

But something worse.

A sound that seemed to rip through air, stone, bone, and instinct all at once.

Every part of Lootwell heard it too.

People stopped mid-step. Monsters lifted their heads. The city itself seemed to flinch.

Lucien blinked out of his room and leapt instantly to the edge of the Stillness Palace.

Others were already doing the same from below, raising their heads toward the sky.

There—

High above the atmosphere—

Moved a nightmare he knew all too well.

The Abyss-Eyed Devourer.

The same one he had once released to fend off the Extinction-grade Void-Walker.

It was there.

And it was shrieking again.

Lucien’s heart sank.

He grabbed the communication disc immediately.

"Brother Seran. Why didn’t you tell me an Abyss-Eyed Devourer would show up? Is this it? Is this the meeting being arranged?"

Lucien’s eyes remained fixed in the sky.

The reply came at once.

"No," Seran said. "No, wait. That doesn’t fit. The divination didn’t include a Devourer. That thing was not present at the convergence point. That meant it might have nothing to do with Convergence."

A pause.

"Give me one minute."

The connection dimmed.

Lucien didn’t answer.

He was staring too hard.

The Devourer was not attacking.

Not yet.

Its countless eyes were fixed upward, tracking tiny moving points against the sky.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. Those dots were the Void-Walkers from the East.

They were running.

Lucien’s face darkened.

Then, suddenly, the dots vanished.

The Devourer shrieked again.

Then its gaze turned downward.

It found something else.

Or rather—

It lost its original target and locked onto the nearest remaining one.

The communication disc lit again.

Seran’s voice returned, tighter now.

"We know what happened. Void-Walkers dragged it there on purpose."

Lucien’s expression turned ugly.

Seran continued rapidly.

"In the Void, they can’t outrun it forever. Not from that thing. More than a year of pursuit would grind anything down. They must have realized they were never escaping cleanly."

Lucien exhaled sharply.

More than a year. That’s absurd.

He could barely believe the Abyss-Eyed Devourer had chased them that long.

The goblin blood. The structural tampering. The chaos of that original release.

All of that should have faded long ago.

Which meant only one thing remained.

Its nature.

Seran spoke the same conclusion aloud.

"The Devourer is naturally destructive. If its original prey slips just far enough, it takes the nearest viable target instead. In the Void, they wouldn’t be able to redirect its attention away from them. It was, in essence, the Devourer’s domain.

The Void-Walkers must’ve baited its pursuit path toward the Big World, then broken line at the last moment so the redirection would fall on other targets."

Lucien’s grip tightened on the disc.

Who would have thought that the very thing he used to drive the Void-walkers away would be turned back against him.

They had taken a force they could not kill and turned it into a guided disaster.

And now the Abyss-Eyed Devourer was above.

Lucien lifted his head slowly and stared at the monstrous shape blotting the sky.

This had turned ugly fast.