Baron's Son with -9,999,999 Reputation Point-Chapter 143: Speech

Lucas kept walking without looking back. His steps were steady, as always, but the small distance behind him never truly disappeared. Silvara followed him back to the fields, maintaining the same gap—too close to be called coincidence, too far to be called walking side by side.

Afternoon slowly crept in. The sun tilted, shadows stretching between the rows of crops. The air warmed in a calm way, without any hurried wind. Lucas stopped at the same spot as earlier that day.

"Start the second watering," he said shortly.

Silvara took the Loticentra from Lucas’s hand and placed it in the middle of the field.

The Loticentra moved smoothly, rotating, dividing the flow to each plot. The soil absorbed it slowly, a neat, wet sound.

Silvara stood a few steps in front of Lucas.

Lucas glanced briefly. "You can sit."

Silvara shook her head slightly. "It’s fine."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her shoulders tensed, then dropped a little, then tensed again. Her gaze lingered too long on a single point, then moved away quickly.

The watering went on without issue. The Loticentra completed its final rotation and vanished. Lucas lowered his hand.

Not long after, the sound of horse hooves approached.

"Young Master, Lady Silvara," Liona’s voice came first. She dismounted and walked closer with light steps. "Done?"

"Almost," Lucas replied.

Liona peeked at the field plots and nodded in satisfaction.

Lucas rubbed his palms together. "Later, from the manor straight to the town square."

Liona’s eyes immediately lit up. "Seriously? I get to drive the carriage?"

"If you want to."

"Of course I do." Liona grinned widely.

Silvara stood in front of Lucas, staring at the ground again. Her fingertips pressed together, then separated. She didn’t look up as Liona passed beside her.

They headed back toward the manor.

The return trip was quiet. The door opened, a cool corridor welcoming them. They entered without speaking.

In the small hall, the Baron was already waiting. His posture was neat, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Lucas stopped. "Of course."

The Baron nodded, then handed over a neatly bound stack of papers. "Fifty pages. Initial copies."

Lucas accepted them. "Thank you."

"I hope you can bring many members," the Baron said, looking straight at him. "I’ll leave after you do."

Lucas fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."

The Baron gave a thin smile and walked away. His steps were calm, unhurried.

Lucas watched his back for a moment, then turned toward his room.

The bedroom door opened. The air inside was unchanged. The wooden drawer in the corner looked the same as before.

Lucas walked over, opened the drawer, and took out the seed pouches one by one. He placed them into a small bag. The papers from the Baron were slipped in last.

As he closed the drawer, he realized—

Silvara was standing inside the room.

She wasn’t leaning or sitting. Just standing near the door, as if she’d forgotten the door was there.

The space between them felt heavier than distance alone. It wasn’t silence that unsettled Lucas, but the way Silvara waited—still, attentive, as if bracing for something unnamed. He had faced crowds and blades without hesitation, yet this quiet expectation made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

Lucas turned. "You followed me all the way here?"

Silvara lifted her head. Her eyes were sharp, but there was hesitation in them. "You said earlier... ’and for you.’"

Lucas drew in a breath. His shoulders lowered slightly. "That."

Silvara took half a step forward. "What did you mean by that?"

Lucas didn’t answer right away. He shifted the bag on his shoulder, then set it on the table. His fingers touched the edge of the wood.

"There are things that can’t be forgotten," he said quietly. "What happened in that cave."

Silvara froze. Her chest rose and fell, once, twice. "I thought... you didn’t care."

Lucas turned and looked at her for a moment. "I do care."

Silence fell. Not heavy, but tight.

"Then," Silvara said more softly, "what about the responsibility?"

Lucas frowned. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I... don’t know yet."

He exhaled. "I’ll think about it later."

Silvara waited, as if there would be more. There wasn’t.

Lucas picked up his bag. "We have to leave."

He stepped out without waiting. His pace was fast—slightly too fast.

Silvara stood there for a moment, then followed.

The carriage was already waiting in front of the manor.

As the manor gates came into view, Lucas felt something inside him settle. Whatever uncertainty remained would have to wait. Out there, he wasn’t Lucas with doubts or unfinished thoughts. He was Lucian Voss—the name people feared, watched, and listened to, whether they wanted to or not.

Liona sat in the driver’s seat, her smile still bright.

"Finally," she said. "Get in."

Lucas climbed in first. Silvara followed, sitting across from him. The carriage started moving.

The road to the town square was filled with people. By the time they arrived, a crowd had already formed. Faces turned toward them, quiet whispers rising.

Lucas stepped down. Silvara followed. Liona pulled the carriage aside.

Lucas stood there, facing the crowd. His breathing was steady.

He stood at the edge of the town square, letting the crowd’s murmur run its course. Footsteps. Whispers. A dry cough here and there. Sandals scraping against packed dirt. No one was shouting.

The crowd didn’t know what to expect, only that something was about to happen. They had learned to read moods more than words—tone, posture, silence. When Lucian Voss stood still instead of shouting, unease spread quietly. This wasn’t familiar cruelty. This felt deliberate.

He turned to one of the local guards stationed near the flagpole.

"A table," he said. "Flat."

The guard blinked, then signaled. Two men moved at once. A wooden table was dragged out from beside a small storage shed and set in the middle of the square. It was old, its surface scarred with scratches, one leg shorter than the rest. A stone was shoved underneath to steady it.

Lucas stepped forward. His hand rose—then slammed down on the tabletop.

Thud.

The impact echoed, sharp enough to slice through the whispers.

"Listen to me," Lucas said, his voice even. "Common folk."

No jeers. No applause. Just silence, waiting.

Lucas scanned the faces before him. Farmers with calloused hands. Laborers with sagging shoulders. Mothers clutching empty baskets. A few men stood with arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

"You’re hungry," he said. "And not just today."

People shifted. Someone swallowed hard.

"You’re broke." Lucas lowered his hand, his fingers resting on the edge of the table. "Stuck living a miserable life as common folk."

A man in the front let out a low grunt but didn’t argue. A woman pulled her child closer to her side.

Lucas let the pause stretch. His breathing stayed calm. He didn’t raise his voice.

"You can blame anyone you want," he went on. "The weather. The landlords. The market."

He shrugged lightly.

"You can even blame God—for making you born as common folk."

A few whispers broke out, quickly crushed by sharp looks from others.

"Or," Lucas said, leaning forward just a little, "you can be grateful to me."

He stopped, letting the words sink in.

"Grateful that I’m bringing a way out."

Eyes began to sharpen on him. Not friendly. Not trusting. Just searching.

Lucas reached into his bag and set a stack of papers on the table. At the same moment, the distant sound of wheels rolled in.

Lucas turned.

The Baron’s wagon entered the square, horses groomed, wheels rolling smooth. People stepped aside to clear a path.

Lucas exhaled softly. The corner of his mouth curved upward.

"It’s time."

The wagon wheels came to a stop at the edge of the town square.

The Baron stepped down without much ceremony. He looked at the table, then the crowd, then Lucas.

"What are you planning now?" he asked.

Whispers broke out at once. Some townsfolk stepped back. Others glanced toward the soldiers, faces pale.

"You’re causing a disturbance," the Baron went on. "In a public place."

Lucas didn’t answer right away. He glanced around briefly, then met the Baron’s gaze again.

"Tsk... I’m doing this for their lives," he said. "I’m going to make things better for them."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that? Get a grip, Lucian," the Baron shot back.

Lucas gave a small nod. "By creating a Farmers’ Guild."

Several people flinched at the words.

The Baron stared at him. A long moment passed. Then he let out a short breath.

"You idiot," he said. "Do you think building a guild is that easy?"

Lucas didn’t argue. "Yeah."

The Baron clicked his tongue softly, clearly putting on his annoyance.

"You haven’t explained anything clearly," he said.

Silence followed. The crowd grew more restless. They didn’t understand the argument, but they knew it was about authority.

The Baron rubbed his face briefly. "I don’t want to deal with this right now."