Baron's Son with -9,999,999 Reputation Point-Chapter 151: May I ....

The carriage thundered forward, cutting through the dry dirt road and leaving a plume of brown dust in its wake. Lucas sat on the hard wooden seat, his back straight, eyes fixed forward with a gleam that was hard to read. Beside him, Silvara remained alert, her fingers occasionally brushing her waist to make sure her dagger was still in place, even though Liona had assured them that the common folk there were eagerly awaiting the depraved man sitting next to her.

As the main gate of Voss Manor came into view on the horizon, a low, restless noise began to reach their ears.

When the carriage slowed before the gate, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of astonishing. Dozens, perhaps nearly a hundred commoners had gathered. They pressed against the sturdy iron fence, their faces tense yet full of hope. The atmosphere reminded Lucas of crowds waiting for a flash sale with fifty-percent discounts, full of jostling elbows and wild eyes searching for an opening.

Lucas looked over the crowd, his smile slowly widening. Ah, what a beautiful sight, he thought. This was far better than he had imagined. The number of people reminded him of an embarrassing memory from months ago, when he had been publicly judged over a ridiculous rumor that he preferred men’s backsides over women. The difference now was that they carried no collective judgment, only a hunger for change.

"Open the gate!" Lucas shouted, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise.

The gate guards, who had been sweating as they struggled to hold back the crowd, immediately pulled the lever. As the iron doors slowly opened, the people nearly surged forward, but the sight of Lucas standing tall atop the carriage made them hesitate.

Lucas jumped down with a movement surprisingly elegant for someone who had spent the day in muddy fields. He turned to one of the guards, who looked utterly confused.

"You, bring a wooden table here. Now," Lucas ordered sharply. His gaze then shifted to Liona. "Liona, get all the ink. Quickly."

Lucas knew these people well. If he simply handed out registration papers, they would take them home and fill them with charcoal or dirt, rendering them illegible and impossible to archive. Everything had to be done under his supervision.

"Everyone, take five steps back!" Lucas barked, his voice carrying unquestionable authority. "Anyone who crosses the imaginary line in front of this table forfeits their right to speak!"

The crowd fell silent. They exchanged looks, then obediently stepped back, muttering under their breath.

Soon, a heavy teak table was placed in the middle of the entrance road. Liona arrived carrying medieval-style writing tools. But something was still missing. Lucas turned to Silvara, who had been standing there watching with a furrowed brow.

"Silvara," Lucas called. "Go to my room. In the drawer of the desk beside my bed, there’s a stack of registration papers I prepared earlier, and small pouches containing seeds I stored inside a bag. Bring everything here."

Silvara looked at him flatly. "You’re sending me into your private room just to fetch seeds?"

"Hurry, before they start eating each other out of impatience," Lucas replied, gesturing toward the restless crowd.

Silvara snorted but moved quickly, disappearing through the grand doors of the Manor.

As soon as she left, pressure from the crowd surged again. A few people began shoving, trying to push to the front.

BANG!

Lucas slammed his palm down on the table so hard the ink bottles rattled.

"LINE UP!" Lucas roared, his eyes narrowing sharply. "Form an orderly line, or I’ll cancel everything right now. I don’t need farmers who can’t follow basic instructions. If you can’t queue, you can’t manage land properly."

Silence instantly fell over the Manor’s entrance. The crowd froze. Lucas understood well that if he acted too friendly or soft, they would think he was pretending and would not respect his decision. To these commoners, arrogant firmness was a form of power they understood.

Meanwhile, on the second floor of the Manor, two figures watched through a large glass window. Baron Voss stood with his arms crossed, while his wife, the Baroness, stood beside him, her expression a mix of worry and pride.

"Don’t you want to help him, dear?" the Baroness asked softly, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. "Look at that crowd, they could turn violent."

Baron Voss chuckled quietly, a low sound rarely heard these days. "That boy... he’s proven he’s no longer a child who needs his hand held. He can handle this himself."

He took a small sip of wine, his eyes never leaving his son as he managed the crowd. "I don’t want to interfere too much. This is his stage. If I step in now, they’ll think this success is mine, not his. Let him build his own authority."

Below, Silvara returned, slightly out of breath, carrying a stack of parchment and a box filled with small seed pouches. Lucas nodded to her and began the registration.

"One by one! State your name, the size of your land, and your farming experience. Write it here," Lucas ordered, pointing to the paper.

The villagers wrote with stiff hands, eyes flicking up every few seconds, fear and hope tangled tightly together. This was the same man they once mocked behind closed doors, the noble they spat curses at in whispers. Now, those same mouths stayed shut, replaced by cautious breaths and fingers that trembled as they dared to believe.

Every name written felt heavier than ink. Shame lingered in their silence, memories of cruel jokes and venomous rumors pressing down on them. Yet hope pushed back, fragile but persistent. Lucian Voss stood before them unchanged in title, but utterly different in presence, forcing them to confront how easily contempt turns into need when power finally listens.

The people stepped forward in an orderly line. The queue grew longer. Each farmer who registered received five seedlings as an initial sample. Faces that had been tense softened as their fingers touched the texture of the seeds. They held them as though they were pure gold.

However, when it came to the ninth person, Lucas reached into the bottom of the wooden box.

Empty.

"The tomato seedlings are gone," Lucas said flatly.

The long line erupted into noise. Disappointed murmurs and panicked voices rose. "What? Gone?" "We waited so long!" "What about us?"

Lucas stood up from his chair, staring at them with the disdainful gaze he had honed over years as an arrogant noble.

"Silence!" His voice crushed the uproar again. "Who said I only have tomato seeds?"

He lifted a blank registration sheet. "Do you think I only care about tomatoes? I have formulas for wheat, barley, and other vegetables, their quality no less than the tomatoes. If you’re here because you believe in my methods, stay in line. But if you’re only chasing the tomato trend, go home now. I don’t have time for people without vision."

Not a single person moved. Instead, Lucas’s words stirred memories of Geralt’s stories. Geralt had always spoken passionately of how Young Master Voss was a genius who had discovered the secret of the land, not someone relying on luck alone.

"We’ll stay, Young Master!" a man shouted from the middle of the line. "We want to learn!"

Lucas sat back down, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. "Good. Continue."

The registration went on until the sun fully sank beyond the horizon. Liona had to light several lanterns on the table so the writing could continue. One by one, the registration sheets filled up and were added to the growing stack labeled "Voss Farmers’ Guild Members."

Eventually, the last sheet was used.

Lucas let out a long breath, stretching his stiff back. "That’s it. No more paper. Go home, all of you."

But just as he was about to stand, a woman stepped out from the shadows. She wasn’t wearing mud-stained farmer’s clothes, but a worn dress covered in patches, still kept clean. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen.

Lucas, still in his cold "Lucian" mode, looked at her with a sneer. "Leave. The papers are gone. You’re late."

The remaining onlookers turned toward her, pitying but too afraid to challenge Lucas’s decision. The woman didn’t move. She clenched the hem of her dress, her fingers trembling violently under the dim lantern light.

"What is it now?" Lucas asked more sharply, as though his patience had run out.

The woman bowed deeply, her shoulders shaking slightly as if gathering every last shred of courage she had. Her voice came out very softly, nearly swallowed by the night wind. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"May I..." She paused, swallowing hard before continuing.

"May a widow register for your farmers’ guild, Young Master?"

Lucas froze. Silvara, standing behind him, went still as well. The question was simple, yet it carried the heavy weight of an imperial social system that often cast aside unprotected women, especially those without sons to offer as future soldiers.