Baron's Son with -9,999,999 Reputation Point-Chapter 134: I’ve Changed

..."Y-young master..."

The voice trembled, caught somewhere between the damp soil and a breath held far too long.

Lucas knew exactly who was kneeling in front of him. Everyone there did.

Edric.

The man who had once borrowed fifty silver from him. The man who had shouted the loudest when Lucas, back when he had dueled as Lucian, wielding nothing but a hoe, had been beaten to a pulp in the arena.

Lucas let out a slow, quiet breath. The crisp morning air felt strangely heavy in his chest.

"What is it?" he asked, his tone flat.

Edric lifted his head just a fraction, still unable to meet Lucas’s gaze. His hands trembled against the ground.

"P-please... Young Master. I... I apologize for not coming to work yesterday. My wife... gave birth a few days ago." His voice cracked midway. "I know I’m not worthy, but... I beg you. Please lend me money once more. Just a little."

No one spoke.

The smell reached him first, damp soil mixed with sweat and stale breath. Tears, snot, and shaking hands pressed into the mud, turning the moment into something uncomfortably raw. It wasn’t tragedy that unsettled Lucas. It was how unnecessarily exposed it all felt, stripped of dignity and restraint.

Geralt stopped wiping the sweat from his face. Anya stood frozen, her childish eyes, still dreaming of becoming a knight, glassy, snot nearly slipping from her nose. Elin remained perfectly still; as a commoner, she knew all too well how Young Master Voss usually dealt with pleas like Edric’s.

Silvara narrowed her eyes. The nerve... I remember him screaming like a madman when Lucas was beaten senseless! Her fingers curled tightly into her palms.

Lucas stared at Edric’s hunched back, his thin frame looking even smaller against the damp earth. He drew another breath, longer this time.

He wasn’t a cruel person. That much was true.

Lucas disliked scenes like this. Not because of the people, but because of the roles they forced onto him. Silence made him cruel. Distance made him heartless. The more dramatic the plea became, the more he was framed as the villain, no matter what choice he made.

The problem was the reputation carried by the body he now inhabited, already rotten. Too many old wounds. Too many petty grudges left behind. If he acted too kind, it wouldn’t just become troublesome, it could easily turn into something worse.

Lucas slipped a hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed against the cold touch of metal coins.

Good thing there’s still some left.

He pulled out twenty silver and let them fall gently onto the ground, right in front of Edric’s hands.

Silvara allowed herself a small smile. Good. He doesn’t deserve to be treated kindly, she thought.

"Take it," Lucas said shortly. "Stand up."

Edric flinched. His head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. His hands scrambled for the coins as if they might disappear if he was even a second too slow. His shoulders shook violently.

"Th-thank you... thank you, Young Master—" His voice broke completely. Mucus ran down his nose without him noticing, tears soaking his cheeks. He tried to stand, nearly collapsed, then finally managed to straighten himself, breathing hard.

Lucas turned his face slightly away. A thin but unmistakable sense of pity pressed against his chest.

"Go home now," he said, forcing his voice to sound hard and cold. Just like the Lucian everyone knew.

Edric nodded quickly. Then hesitated.

"T-then... when can I work again?" he asked softly, as if afraid the answer might snatch the coins straight from his hands.

Lucas frowned. The irritation surfaced, sharp and brief.

"Fix that leg of yours first. You’d be useless trying to work like this," he said coldly. "Go."

Edric froze for a moment, then bowed deeply. "Understood."

In his mind, a single thought echoed, simple and bitter: I won’t be able to repay my debt. But at least my wife can eat for the next few weeks.

He turned and began to walk away, limping heavily.

"Edric."

Lucas’s voice called out once more.

Edric stopped instantly. His heart pounded. Is he going to toy with me? His jaw tightened. A spark of anger nearly rose to the surface, but he swallowed it whole. Slowly, he turned back.

"Wait," Lucas said.

Edric stood stiffly, bracing himself for a punishment that never came.

Lucas glanced toward the horse-drawn carriage. "Liona."

"Yes!" Liona answered at once.

"Take him home."

Liona nodded without asking any questions. She stepped down from the carriage, approached Edric, and skillfully supported his body. Edric was startled, almost refusing, but his injured leg left him no choice. He was helped onto the carriage.

"Thank you, Young Master," Liona said before returning to the front. The reins were pulled, and the carriage began to roll slowly away from the field.

From the carriage, Edric looked back. His eyes caught Lucas’s figure growing smaller in the distance. Relief, shame, and something bitter twisted together in his chest.

He lowered his gaze, staring at the twenty silver in his hands. His thoughts drifted back to the past, to the loud shouts he had once hurled when Lucas was beaten in the arena. Back then, he had been just another commoner swept up in collective bravery. Now, he understood his position all too clearly.

The carriage disappeared around the bend.

Lucas raised his left hand. A faint light gathered, shaping itself into a hoe in his grip. A moment later, a Loticentra flower bloomed into existence, its petals tightly closed, like a large bud carved from clear crystal.

Without turning around, he extended the flower toward Silvara.

Silvara paused for a moment, then took it. No comment. No protest. She immediately walked toward the center of the field, her steps steady, carrying the Loticentra away.

Lucas glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"Didn’t expect you not to complain."

Silvara didn’t answer.

But deep in her heart, a simple sentence resonated, calm, steady, and certain.

I’ve changed.