Baron's Son with -9,999,999 Reputation Point-Chapter 144: Little Step

The Baron let out a long sigh and straightened his back. His gaze swept over Lucas once more—sharper than before.

"Whatever you’re trying to pull," he said firmly, his voice carrying far enough for the nearby townsfolk to hear, "if this turns into a mess, I’ll step in myself."

Lucas didn’t reply. He simply stood there, expression unreadable.

The Baron gave a quiet snort and turned away. Without waiting for an answer, he climbed back into the wagon. The door was shut from the inside, the dull thud of wood cutting cleanly through the silence of the square.

The wagon rolled forward at a slow pace.

Behind the thin curtain, the Baroness was already seated comfortably. She glanced toward the window and let out a small laugh, barely louder than a breath.

"You’re really bending over backward for him," she said lightly.

The Baron took the seat across from her, pulling off his gloves. "I’m just doing what I can."

"Even so," the Baroness smiled. "You’re not usually the type to put on a show for others." She chuckled softly.

The Baron returned the smile.

Silvara stood slightly behind Lucas, half a step to his right. From where she was, she could clearly see his back—straight, composed, far too calm for someone openly challenging authority in a public square.

A Farmers’ Guild?

He didn’t tell me about this. Was that why he asked about the announcement earlier?

Her gaze swept across the square.

The townsfolk’s eyes came in layers. Fear. Suspicion. Dismissal. Doubt.

Silvara knew those looks well. She had once stood on the other side of them—acting as a blade, a line drawn to restrain the filthy intentions of the man before her.

Her fingers curled slowly into a fist.

They have no right to look at him like that.

—

Silence settled over the town square once again.

The townsfolk remained where they were. No one spoke right away. Some exchanged cautious looks; others lowered their heads. A faint breeze passed through, stirring hems of clothing and lifting a thin veil of dust from the ground.

Lucas stood beside the table, one hand still resting on the rough surface. He waited.

Then—suddenly—

Fast footsteps broke from the front of the crowd.

Lucas stiffened slightly. His brow lifted as he saw a figure pushing forward with long, hurried strides.

He frowned.

Damn, he thought. I forgot to warn the old man.

Geralt stopped right in front of the table. He straightened as much as his back allowed and met Lucas’s gaze head-on.

"I want in," he said plainly. "The Farmers’ Guild."

Whispers rippled through the crowd behind him.

Lucas blinked once. His thoughts tangled for a brief moment.

He glanced toward the crowd, then back to Geralt. Letting out a short breath, he moved.

Stepping out from behind the table, Lucas came to Geralt’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder instead of looming above him.

"You all know him," Lucas said evenly. "Geralt. He works in my tomato fields."

Several people nodded right away. A few murmured his name.

"And you also know," Lucas continued, tilting his head slightly, "what those fields look like now."

The whispers shifted in tone. Voices rose. Someone mentioned the color. Someone else brought up the harvest.

Lucas went on, unhurried. "Anyone who joins the Farmers’ Guild will receive five tomato seedlings."

A single breath passed. Silence, brief but sharp.

"If the tomato seedlings run out," he added casually, "don’t worry. I’ve got other seeds."

The crowd stirred, livelier than before.

Geralt, who had stayed quiet until now, broke into a wide grin. He nodded vigorously and turned toward the townsfolk.

"You should trust the Young Master," he said loudly, confidence ringing in his voice. "He’s a genius alchemist."

Lucas shot him a sideways glance. How did this turn into that?

"You’re truly something else, Young Master," Geralt continued, warming up. "After tomatoes, you’ve already developed other superior seeds."

The whispers swelled into excited murmurs. Some people questioned each other. Others still hesitated—but their eyes were clearly alight.

Lucas held his breath for a moment, then slowly let it out. He didn’t stop Geralt.

He returned behind the table, his hand brushing against the stack of registration forms. His fingers tapped lightly against the wood.

The townsfolk still didn’t step forward. They listened—but no one crossed the line.

A faint irritation crept into Lucas’s chest.

He lifted part of the stack and gave it a small shake.

"This isn’t empty talk," he said. "These papers are real."

Several pairs of eyes followed the movement.

Lucas exhaled and raised the entire stack high.

"Forty-nine spots remain," he said loudly. "Those who wish to join have until tomorrow afternoon."

He paused, scanning the faces before him.

"You already know," he added, "where to go."

No one answered.

Lucas lowered his arm and slipped the papers back into his bag, his movements quick, almost rough.

"In that case," he said shortly, "I’m done here."

He turned without waiting for a response. His stride was steady—openly arrogant.

Silvara moved at once, following a step behind him. Her expression stayed calm, though her eyes flicked toward the crowd now and then.

Liona had already reached the open-roof carriage.

Lucas climbed in first. Silvara took the seat across from him, facing him directly. The space between them was small, yet neither spoke.

Liona snapped the reins.

The carriage rolled forward.

From afar, Lucas could hear the crowd growing noisy again, their voices fading as the carriage pulled away.

Liona glanced back over her shoulder, a small grin on her face. "Pretty lively."

Lucas let out a quiet chuckle, the corner of his mouth lifting just a touch.

"Of course," he said. "Common folk do love a good spectacle."

No one moved right away. The crowd stayed where it was, watching the empty space Lucas had left behind. Some folded their arms. Some lowered their heads.

As Lucian Voss’s back receded into the distance, sound slowly returned. Quiet at first, fragmented—like embers being coaxed back to life by a passing breeze.

"He’s serious, right?"

"Five seedlings... really?"

"What if this is a trap?"

An old man stared at the carriage moving away. "The tomatoes were real," he said softly. "Geralt, do you really believe he’d give out seedlings that good?"

Geralt laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Honestly, my old self would’ve doubted it too—same as you. But I’ve seen his brilliance with my own eyes."

A few townsfolk began pressing Geralt with questions, treating him like someone who knew hidden truths. Geralt, for his part, didn’t waste a single moment refraining from open admiration. He even reminded them of how the Young Master had once stood his ground against a Regional Knight.

The townsfolk couldn’t argue with that. They had seen it themselves and had to accept the truth—though Lucian Voss hadn’t won, he had still been formidable in that duel.

A mother pulled her child closer. "Would the Farmers’ Guild accept a widow?"

The square did not disperse immediately. People lingered, standing where they were, as if waiting for something unsaid to surface. Conversations stayed low, cautious. Decisions weren’t made yet—but something had shifted. The air felt heavier with the uncomfortable weight of possibility.

---

The carriage came to a stop in front of the manor, the sky fully dark by then. The lanterns in the courtyard burned dimly, their light stretching long shadows across the stone path.

Lucas stepped down first. As his feet touched the ground, he drew in a deep breath and rolled his shoulders and neck. A faint crack came from his joints—small, but relieving. He headed toward the door at an easy pace, the leftover tension from the town square already settling.

After a few steps, he realized the distance behind him hadn’t changed.

Lucas glanced back. Silvara was still following, keeping the same position as earlier that day. Not close. Not falling behind.

"Silvara," he said without stopping. "You should rest."

Silvara halted. She gave a brief nod, then turned, ready to leave.

"Silvara," Lucas called again.

She stopped without turning back.

Lucas stood there, one hand resting on his hip. He cleared his throat softly, as if searching for the right tone. "I... thank you. For everything so far."

Silence settled between them.

Lucas went on, his voice a little uncertain. "Thank you for training me back then. And... for that... helping me use the Loticentra."

The last part came out quicker, as if he wanted it over with.

Silvara nodded without turning around. "It wasn’t a big deal," she said flatly.

She walked on, leaving Lucas behind. Once she had gone a few steps, the corner of her lips lifted slightly.

Lucas remained where he was for a moment, then shook his head faintly. I really am hopeless with things like this, he thought.

He headed for his room and closed the door behind him. The sound of wood sliding into place was soft in the quiet space.

The moment the door shut—

[DING!]