Lord of the Truth

<...A billion energy pearls>

"I see Lord Sindal has graced us with his presence today!" Lord Morval placed one hand atop the other in a composed yet subtly respectful gesture.

"Hah hah!" echoed a loud, hearty laugh from one of the floating clouds above. The source was a short figure with a long, flowing beard that danced slightly in the wind. His eyes sparkled with mischief and insight. "I merely spoke up to lend a hand, to nudge the process forward a bit—get to the real auction. I'm quite eager to see the next item."

A heavy silence fell.

The stands, which only moments ago blazed with the intensity of fierce competition—where nobles and powerhouses alike had fought to shine for even the briefest of moments—fell deathly silent once more.

"...." Renara, who had just raised her hand to place a bid of 200 million, let out a long, weary sigh as she slowly lowered it. "Heh~ Just as I expected. We've wasted our entire day on nothing but illusions," she muttered with a bitter smile.

"It's alright," Elinor replied, gripping her sister's hand firmly to keep her rooted. "I want to see who ends up getting that tool… and more importantly, I want to see what that mysterious new item is!"

"..." Rinara gave a small nod. Truthfully, she had never intended to leave—there was too much at stake to turn away now.

And just like them, the rest of the crowd fell into an unspoken agreement. They stared silently at the central platform. No one moved. Not a single soul dared leave.

Even though it was now clear that the auction had ended for most of them—financially, at least—not one participant stood up to exit. The allure of the unknown was simply too great.

Then, from another cloud high above, a figure leaned forward and calmly entered a new number into the control panel hovering before him.

<1.2 billion motes>

"Hehh~" Rinara couldn't help but let out another long sigh.

With a single casual bid, that person had essentially doubled everything the other participants had been fighting tooth and nail over.

Even though she ruled over an empire with a proud lineage stretching back over 7 million years, the truth remained clear and bitter: the gap between her empire and the true sovereign powers of the Middle Belt was like the chasm between heaven and earth.

"Hmm, I didn't plan on bidding for that item today," another voice from a different cloud called out with amusement, calm yet filled with old confidence. "I simply came for a change of scenery, really~ But your presentation was quite captivating, Lord Morval. I happen to have a few enemies I'd like to irritate with that little toy—hahaha!"

And with that, he casually placed his own bid:

<1.4 billion motes.>

"He wants to annoy his enemies, so he's prepared to drop 1.4 billion pearls on a fourth-grade planetary artifact? Has the world gone completely mad? Or are we the ones drowning in poverty without even realizing it?!" Elinor whispered sharply to her sister, her pride stung. In that moment, her own personal fortune suddenly felt... insignificant.

"That man is Royal Soul Master Afagan," Rinara said softly, her tone tinged with awe and resignation. "He has lived longer than our entire empire. He's one of the ancient monsters that still roam the Middle Belt."

"If that equipment is not of great importance to you, Lord Afagan," a sudden voice thundered across the entire space, striking every ear with force and clarity, "then grant me the right to claim it. It holds great meaning to me."

As those words faded, a new number blinked into view on the display:

<1.5 billion motes.>

The voice was strange—filled with vitality, strength, and something ancient.

It resonated not only through the air but through the hearts of all present, drawing the attention of millions toward a single direction among the sea of robed figures.

There, high above the arena on one of the floating clouds, sat a young man who appeared no older than his early twenties. His presence alone was enough to draw subtle glances, though his appearance was not especially flamboyant. His hair fell in unruly, scattered strands—neither long enough to flow nor short enough to seem neat. It hung in a wild disarray that partially obscured his face, making it difficult to discern the expression in his eyes beneath the shadow of his locks.

His beard was equally unkempt, grown just long enough to brush the top of his chest. It wasn't sculpted with care, but bore the look of something only trimmed occasionally, just to keep it from getting out of hand—then left to grow as it pleased. Everything about his grooming spoke of someone indifferent to appearances, someone who cared little for how others perceived him.

Yet, despite the disheveled look and the aura of quiet detachment, the way he sat told a different story. His back was perfectly straight—not stiff, but poised with natural strength. He exuded the raw, composed dignity of a lion seated on its throne, watching over its kingdom. There was no arrogance in his posture, only unshakable self-assurance.

Then he spoke.

And with the first word that left his lips, the atmosphere shifted as if the very air had bowed to his voice. His tone was deep, unwavering, resonating with a strange vitality and clarity, yet heavy with a kind of pressure that bent the will of those who heard it. There was no room for negotiation or challenge. Just by speaking, he had seized the entire space.

In that moment, it no longer felt as if Lord Morval was the master of ceremonies. The spotlight, the control, the center of gravity—it all shifted to this young man. He was the axis around which the event now revolved.

Roben's eyes fluttered in shock. That guy, he was a human!

Lord Morval immediately turned toward the source of the voice. A broad smile bloomed across his face as he opened his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"Haha! I see that Lord Hedrick has chosen to grace us with his voice today. Wonderful, absolutely wonderful!"

The next response came swiftly, not from the so-called Lord Hedrick, but from another cloud. The old man known as Afagan—the Soul Master whose age exceeded empires—let out a hearty laugh, his voice weathered but good-natured.

"If Lord Hedrick desires the item to such an extent," he said with a respectful bow of the head, "then I shall withdraw from the bidding. I see no reason to contend further."

"Thank you."

The young man—Hedrick—replied calmly, his tone steady and resolute. He didn't glance to the left or the right. He didn't scan the crowd or acknowledge their stares. He simply spoke, and his words carried like the ringing of a ceremonial bell through the hearts of all.

Silence followed. Heavy. Unbroken. Absolute.

"Sister..." Elinor's voice trembled with confusion and a hint of unease. She pointed discreetly toward the mysterious human figure seated high on his cloud. "Who is he exactly?! It's been nearly a full minute since he spoke, and no one dares to utter another word. Why does he have this kind of authority?!"

Rinara's eyes remained fixed on the young man. She didn't answer right away. Her heartbeat was erratic, and she felt an invisible pressure tightening around her chest. Finally, she whispered,

"I... I have a few theories. But I don't have the courage to voice them."

She exhaled sharply. "This auction is no longer about wealth or riches. It has become a war of power—pure, unfiltered dominance. The one with the highest standing will now win, not the one with the deepest pockets. And if that human wins... then my suspicions will become certainty."

Suddenly, a new number flashed across the central crystal screen.

<1.6 billion>

"Whoaaa!!"

The crowd gasped in unison. Their heads turned sharply to one particular cloud on the far side of the arena. Dozens of eyes widened, as if seeing a ghost.

For the first time, Hedrick moved. Slowly, deliberately, like a mountain shifting, he turned his head in the direction of the new bid. His hair fell slightly to the side, revealing just enough of his eyes to send a chill down the spines of those watching. Though his gaze remained mostly hidden, the oppressive weight of his focus crashed down on the entire arena like a thunderclap.

His voice followed—a low growl that carried immense force.

"Zarion... Are you looking for trouble today?"

The one he addressed sat calmly on a nearby cloud.

Two large, branching horns extended from his head, reminiscent of a stag's crown. His skin, at first glance, appeared smooth and close to human, but a closer inspection revealed fine scales layered like armor across his entire body. His nails were replaced with hidden claws, and when he grinned, sharp fangs flashed visibly between his lips.

"Hahaha! Why so serious, Hedrick?" Zarion laughed, showing no fear. "It's an open auction. I simply want the tool. It's as simple as that. Fair competition, nothing more."

Elinor gasped and pointed again. "Wait—I know that one! I've seen him before. That's Zarion—the eldest son of Zavaros the Savage!"

Then, suddenly, something seemed to click in her mind. Her expression froze, and she slowly turned back toward Hedrick, voice trembling.

"Then that means… that human… he's...?"

Rinara's entire body tensed. Her hands clutched her cloak tightly, knuckles pale with pressure. She nodded slowly, her voice no louder than a whisper.

"Yes... most likely, he's the one you're thinking of...

Hedrick—firstborn son of Helmor the Destroyer. The Millennial Emperor. Heir to the House of Destra."