Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1035: Deal with the snake



"..." After Pythor's declaration, Robin fixed his gaze on Amon, doesn't know how to think of this.

Pythor's words weren't without merit. The battle between the Great Serpent Empire's main army and the demons was, by all accounts, already decided. The numerical difference was insurmountable. But one thing still lingered- a chance. It lay in the meticulously crafted plan left by Sakaar and Amon's flawless execution.

"To be honest, this front is dead in my eyes. It's only a matter of time before they kill them all and return to besiege the city," Pythor waved dismissively, turning his sharp eyes back to Robin. He then gestured toward another battlefield. "And that's not the only front I've bet on. Your trusted powerhouses won't last long either."

The direction Pythor pointed led to the battle between Marshal Serbal and Caesar. Though the skirmish was still ongoing, Caesar was undoubtedly the worse off. His armor bore dents in multiple places, and a thin trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. Engaging with Sirbal's mighty greatsword was no trivial matter.

As for Marshal Sirbal, though his features betrayed deep-seated annoyance and innate loathing, there was no visible sign of injury on him.

"Indeed, some battles won't last long!" Robin chuckled as he observed Caesar's struggle. Then, he pointed to another, more chaotic battlefield, where Richard fought against Marshal Xanox and Marshal Lacross.

This battle was second only in ferocity and destruction to the duel between Sakaar and the Soul Creature Hoffenheim against 400 high-level martial emperors!

"You're not going anywhere!!" Richard's expression was not one of a man fighting a life-and- death battle against two marshals. Instead, it reflected sheer irritation-like someone chasing two mischievous monkeys who had stolen from him.

The marshals, for their part, only added to this impression. They unleashed their full arsenal without restraint, holding nothing back. Yet the bull of a man before them treated their efforts as though they were mosquito bites. The sheer force of his punches and the energy surging from his steps as they struck the ground defied reason. He seemed like a condensed storm of rage and might in human form.

"Hmmm, what a fine lad. Is he your son?" Pythor narrowed his eyes slightly.

Robin nodded with a confident smile. While the Flame of Life law granted Richard a significant advantage, he was still up against two marshals with thousands of years of experience. Each of them was stronger than him in terms of raw levels and wielded a minor destruction-path law. Alone, the Flame of Life wouldn't suffice against opponents of such

caliber.

But Richard's movements were sharp, precise, and deliberate. His reaction time, decision- making, and energy management bordered on perfection. He neither wasted energy recklessly nor held back to the point of vulnerability. Occasionally, he even left parts of his body exposed, baiting one of the marshals to attack, only to counter with devastating retaliation.

This wasn't a desperate fight-it was a calculated storm.

While Richard fought with meticulous precision, each decision calculated down to the smallest fraction of a second, Robin's gaze lingered on his son. The pride he felt was evident in his smile, but it was fleeting, dimming as his eyes filled with a sad resolve.

What had Richard endured in his less-than-sixty years of life to gain such combat expertise and display such unrelenting ferocity against himself and his enemies?

"... Yes. Yes, he is my son," Robin finally said, exhaling deeply. "And I am deeply proud of him." His tone carried a weight of unspoken truths. Despite Richard's recent attempts to reintegrate with his family, the scars of his early years would remain with him forever.

"Fascinating..." Pythor muttered, his eyes fixed on the green flames Richard wielded. "That green flame your son uses-it's not just any branch of fire-path laws. And the melancholic black flame your other son uses carries the same unique impression. What exactly have you bestowed upon them? Is it some martial technique, or..." Bythor's voice slowed, his piercing gaze meeting Robin's, "...A merged law?"

Robin returned the gaze calmly. "What's the difference? Isn't one part of the other? Techniques derived from laws, laws used to create techniques-whether for attack or defense. We don't often use the term 'martial technique,' but that's what I understand it to mean. The manipulation of laws to craft abilities. Or do you have another definition?" "Hmm?" Pythor raised an eyebrow, his curiosity tinged with incredulity. "It's odd for someone of your stature to be so ignorant of such a fundamental distinction." A moment later, realization dawned on his face. "Wait... don't tell me you've never been to the mid- planetary belt, have you!?"

"You got me." Robin replied with a shrug, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. It didn't bother him much personally, but Pythor's reaction made him feel like a farmer who had never set foot in the city.

"A planetary emperor who serves under an Overlord... yet you've never visited the middle planetary belt?" PBythor leaned forward slightly, his disbelief palpable. "How do you even send tributes to your Overlord if you've never been there? Do you dispatch some blind, deaf, and mute messenger to deliver offerings?"

"Hmm, I think my Overlord either doesn't care for resources or doesn't need anything from me. He only requests specific tasks from time to time," Robin explained, shrugging again. In comparison to the conditions imposed on Pythor and his Serpent Empire, Robin couldn't help but feel his Overlord -the All-Seeing God- was either extravagantly wealthy or supremely indifferent to material wealth.

"Bah! I never thought I'd envy someone serving a different Overlord," Pythor scoffed, leaning back against his throne with a grimace. "Though you're still provincial, having never stepped foot in the mid-planetary belt, I can't help but envy you a little."

Pythor's lament was genuine. For someone who surrendered over 95% of his resources to a higher power, Robin's words were a dagger to the heart. Extracting gold from the earth's depths only to hand it over to another for ten thousand years would test anyone's sanity. His heart bled every time tributes were due or when his higher master demanded urgent support. "Now, about that martial technique and merged laws..." Robin gestured calmly, steering the conversation back on track. "Is there truly a difference between them?"

"Oh? Are you looking to learn, dear planetary emperor? It's not out of question though, hmm what should I ask for a payment?" Pythor's lips curled into a wide grin. "...Very well, I will tell you on one condition-you must let me strike you once at the start of our duel. And, of course, you're not allowed to evade."