Baron's Son with -9,999,999 Reputation Point-Chapter 152: No need to be some fairytale prince

Lucas looked at her for a few seconds longer than he realized. The woman’s face looked exhausted, as if she had walked a long way to get here.

Silence settled over the gate.

At last, Lucas let out a quiet breath and stood up. His voice this time was no longer as sharp as before.

"Of course," he said briefly. He raised the stack of papers in his hand. "Come back tomorrow morning."

The widow’s eyes widened. She froze for a fraction of a second, as if making sure she hadn’t misheard. Then her expression changed—restrained joy mixed with relief, her eyes glistening.

"Thank you, Young Master... thank you so much..." she repeated, bowing deeply again and again.

A few of the people who had remained began to whisper. The tension that had been hanging in the air slowly dissolved. One by one, they dispersed, seedlings in hand, their steps light, as though the night itself felt warmer than usual.

Lucas handed the last stack of registration papers to Liona.

"That’s it. Close the gate."

He turned and walked back into the Manor without looking back.

Outside, the gate guards began clearing away the table and lanterns. The soft clink of metal accompanied their hushed murmurs.

The sun had not fully set yet, but its warmth was already thinning. The crowd dispersed slowly, footsteps dragging, voices lowered. Relief mingled with uncertainty. No one celebrated. Yet something fragile had been planted—quietly—between fading light and the coming dusk.

"Young Master... he’s really different now," one guard muttered.

"Yeah. Still depraved," another replied quietly, "but... somehow he seems more mature."

They exchanged glances and lowered their voices further.

"But why would he accept a widow into his new guild?" the first asked, brow furrowed. "Farming’s hard labor."

"Probably lust," the other answered quickly, sighing. "Young Master is still Young Master."

The first guard fell silent, his jaw tightening.

"If it goes that far... I’ll report it to the Baron."

The guard beside him immediately noticed the change in his expression.

"Hey," he whispered, "you know that widow?"

The man hesitated, then slowly nodded.

The silence between them grew heavier than before.

---

As the last commoners left the gate, the manor seemed to inhale. The noise stayed outside, but its echo followed them in. Words left unspoken clung to the corridor walls, heavier than the dim orange light filtering through tall windows.

Lucas walked down the corridor toward his room. His steps were steady, one hand gripping the fully filled registration papers tightly. Behind him, Silvara followed with long strides.

"Why did you accept her?" Silvara finally asked. Her tone was flat, but clearly thoughtful. "A widow will be troublesome. A lot of problems could arise."

Lucas let out a small laugh. He stopped abruptly and turned to face her.

"In a world where even a woman can become a knight as strong as you," he said casually, "why shouldn’t a woman be allowed to join a farmers’ guild?"

He didn’t wait for an answer. Lucas turned back around and continued walking.

Silvara kept following.

"Even so—" she pressed on, "bringing a widow into a new system will invite gossip. Workload, protection, responsibility—"

Lucas sighed and quickened his pace slightly.

"Don’t worry," he said hastily. "I won’t behave depravedly."

Silvara blinked.

"Huh?"

Lucas paused, his face stiffening.

"I..." He scratched his cheek. "You’re already here."

Silvara froze for a second. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Then—

"Pffft—"

She struggled to hold back her laughter.

Lucas immediately bristled.

"Ah... forget it! Go get some rest!" he snapped, then hurried toward his room, almost like he was fleeing.

Silvara stopped in the corridor, watching his retreating back. Her smile spread without her noticing. Her cheeks felt warm.

"Weird..." she murmured softly.

"I didn’t even think that far."

----

Far removed from the flushed cheeks of the silver-haired woman.

The sky burned low, neither day nor night. Emotions cooled unevenly—some settled, others sharpened. While one heart wrestled with embarrassment and choice, another simmered with frustration elsewhere, unaware that the balance had already begun to shift.

Silas’s head was burning. He was in a foul mood.

Very foul.

His merchant carriage had come to a halt on the side of the dirt road, one of its wheels badly damaged. Nearby, several crates lay tilted, their seals broken, their contents scattered.

"Bastards..." he muttered quietly, his jaw tightening.

Lilia, the maid, stood beside him, alert, ready to act should any bandit dare approach her master.

The bandits he had hired to hinder someone else’s journey had instead turned on his own route. A crude, foolish sabotage, and clearly not part of the plan.

Worse still, there was little he could do.

Striking back would only draw attention.

Silas clenched his fist. Cheap bandits. Even when hired to be villains, they can’t be professional.

He didn’t know.

Not a single report had reached his ears.

That the Voss Farmers’ Guild had already been officially established.

That registration had taken place. That people had lined up, written their own names, and gone home carrying hope in their hands.

Silas’s carriage eventually moved again, but far more slowly than planned. Time was wasted. His patience wore thin.

Yet there was one thing that unintentionally saved him from something far worse.

Along the territorial border, Grimhelt Knights were conducting intensive patrols.

Because the seat of the Regional Knight was still vacant, and the area could not be left without oversight.

Several bandits who tried to approach again fled immediately before they could do any further harm.

Silas had no idea how thin the line was between himself and a much greater disaster.

He knew only one thing.

His journey had been delayed.

And his anger... had yet to find an outlet.

---

The bedroom door shut with a slightly louder sound than necessary.

BANG.

Lucas stepped inside, his face tight. Without thinking, he slammed the stack of registration papers onto the small table by the window. A few sheets slid crookedly, their corners bent.

"Fuck..." he muttered.

He took two steps forward, then dropped to his knees beside the bed, letting his body fall forward as he buried his face into the mattress, like he wanted to disappear.

"FUUUCKKK...!!"

The scream was muffled by the pillow.

"What the hell did I even say... idiot..." his voice came out hoarse, thick with embarrassment and self-loathing.

"’You’re already here’—what kind of line is that? Why can’t my mouth shut up for five damn seconds—"

He punched the mattress lightly.

Embarrassed.

Cringing.

And damn it... Silvara’s expression from earlier just wouldn’t leave his head.

Suddenly—

Ding~ ♪

Lucas froze.

"...huh?"

He lifted his head slightly, his face still half-buried in the bed. "Seriously? Now?"

His brows knitted together.

"You here to make fun of me too, System? Your timing is trash."

A transparent light appeared in the air, moving lazily, almost as if it were deliberately slowing down its animation.

---

[Ding! (≧▽≦)]

Wooo~ wooo~! Congrats~!

Lucas squinted.

"...why do you sound different?"

---

[Hehe~ don’t be grumpy, King~ (￣▽￣)ノ]

[ACHIEVEMENT CONFIRMED!]

🎉 Voss Farmers’ Guild officially established~! 🎉

EXP +800

Reason:

→ Successfully built a new organizational structure

→ Directly involved the local populace

→ Not just empty talk~ (＾▽＾)

---

"...huh?"

Before Lucas could even process that—

---

[Eeh, not done yet~ wait wait~ (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ]

PROGRESSION POINT +4900 !!

Here’s the breakdown~

• New members besides Geralt ✔

• Citizens beginning to trust Lucian Voss ✔

• Trust formed through benefit, not pity or fear ✔

Small note:

Interest-based trust = stable & long-lasting~ (｀・ω・´)

---

A status screen appeared, livelier than usual, even sparkling with small animated effects.

---

[STATUS UPDATE~!! (☆ω☆)]

Level: 9 ⬆

Strength: 12

Agility: 13

Stamina: 11

Mana: 14

Total EXP: 90 / 900

Total PP: 5100 ✨

---

Lucas sank onto the edge of the bed.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

A really long time.

"...so," he murmured softly, "my acting was still on point?"

[Yup yup~ absolutely~ (￣ω￣)b]

Lucas let out a long breath and leaned back against the bed. The tightness in his chest slowly eased.

"...so it wasn’t for nothing."

[For nothing? No way~ you were awesome today, King~]

He glanced toward the table, at the papers filled with names.

Real. Heavy. Full of responsibility.

Lucas closed his eyes.

"...a pain in the ass?" he muttered.

"Maybe."

He opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling.

"But I chose this."

Suddenly—

Ding.

A new panel appeared.

Blank.

Lucas blinked.

"...huh?"

"...error?"

A few seconds passed.

Then text slowly appeared, as if deliberately dragging out the moment.

---

[King...]

[You have opened your heart.]

[I... am proud of you.]

[ლ(◉❥◉ლ)]

---

Lucas went silent.

Then—

"...you asshole," he muttered quietly, his cheeks burning.

"You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?"

The panel blinked lightly.

[Hehehe~ ♡]

The light outside dimmed to amber. Not dark enough to hide, not bright enough to escape. Achievements faded, numbers vanished—but the feeling lingered. This wasn’t triumph. It was the quiet weight of realizing that something irreversible had just begun.

The fading light brushed the window frame. Lucas stood still, Silvara’s expression resurfacing in his mind—controlled, stubborn, yet quietly fragile. He exhaled.

Fine.

I don’t need to be some fairy-tale prince.

I just need to make her feel... comfortable.