Lord of the Truth

To this very day, people across the Middle belt remain perplexed—some even fascinated—by the bizarre, almost unnatural dynamic between the head of the Distra family, Helmor, and his enigmatic firstborn son. It's a relationship cloaked in silence, distance, and speculation.

Some of the more insightful sages and historians believe that Helmor carries a deep, unresolved guilt toward his son—guilt born of something buried, something long past but never forgotten. Because of this, they say, he allows Hedrick to live as he pleases, without interference or oversight. On the other hand, a different school of thought claims that Hedrick, the first son, is far too dangerous, too powerful, and perhaps too ambitious. These scholars assert that Hedrick is the most likely heir to rise as the next Behemoth of the Mid-belt, and that Helmor's hands-off approach is not out of mercy—but necessity.

Then, after a cataclysmic event that shook the family's fate, came the birth of Helen—the current fifth and final child. Helen was born with an innate brilliance, a frightening talent that outshone even the legends of her older brothers and sisters, whether dead or alive. Whispers say she followed in her eldest brother's footsteps, choosing to sever all dependency on their father entirely. Yet, paradoxically, she still attends the mandatory family assemblies alongside her remaining three siblings, paying the required "life tax"—a term cloaked in mystery and burden. Her presence remains an enigma, her intentions unreadable.

All in all, the Distra bloodline is a tangled web of contradiction and secrecy—a family that is just as strange as they are powerful.

"Hedrick... the next Behemoth..." Rinara whispered, her voice taut with unease. "Thankfully, he doesn't walk directly in his father's path. If he did, the Distra family would have long since consumed another sector, and the balance between the ruling Behemoths would've collapsed completely."

Her heart stirred with anxiety. The idea that Zavaros the Savage had become entangled in a hostile standoff with the monstrous Distra family due to the recklessness of his second son was a chilling thought.

"I truly hope Lord Zaryon reconsiders. If he keeps pushing, this won't end in anything but calamity."

Zavaros the Savage was no ordinary figure. He was an ancient titan in the cosmic landscape, a legendary being whose direct support led to the founding of the Nine Paths Empire over seven million years ago. His name alone echoed across star systems like a thunderclap of authority and reverence.

If a war broke out between Zavaros's galaxy and the vast empire of House Distra, the Nine Paths Empire itself would be pulled into the fray, unable to stand idle.

And not just them. Every power, sect, and system that had ever once received the support, patronage, or favor of Zavaros's galaxy would be compelled to choose a side. Likewise, all the forces under the Distra family's dominion—including the five children and their terrifying retinues—would be called to war. It wouldn't be a mere skirmish or border clash. No, this would be a war of cataclysmic scale, a brutal, endless campaign that would not only tear the Midbelt apart, but reach deep into the young belt itself!

"Why in the cosmos would Lord Zaryon back down for anyone?" Elinor said coldly, her tone sharp with frustration as she shot a glowing glance toward Zaryon, her eyes gleaming like twin stars.

"In terms of standing, he's not beneath Lord Hedrick in the slightest. As for strength? I highly doubt he's any weaker. He descends from the bloodline of a true dragon. Even financially, they're nearly equal. Hedrick rules a Millennial Empire, while Lord Zaryon governs an entire galactic arm, home to thousands of thriving planets. The tax revenue alone from those worlds flows straight into their private treasuries!"

She gave a graceful laugh, soft and elegant, but with a sharp edge. Her eyes sparkled mischievously, like polished jewels that had seen too much.

"Granted, neither Lord Hedrick nor Lord Zaryon has direct access to their fathers' true vaults. Still, if I'm not mistaken, each of them commands a personal fortune of several billion Daras. Possibly even nine or ten billion! That number on the auction screen right now... it must be agonizing to both of them. No wonder the dispute between them is heating up so quickly."

"At this stage of the auction, the price has already long surpassed that of a Fourth Grade Planetary Displacement Tool," Rinara added quietly, watching the exchange unfold with wary eyes. "The Soul Society is satisfied—the bid is too high to claim sabotage or manipulation now. It's no longer about desire. This is about need. It's about who among them can project enough pressure to drive the other away. This has turned into a psychological battlefield."

She then leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

"Rumors have been swirling for the past few centuries... they say that Hedrick has found a galactic seed hidden deep in his dominion—the young sector known as Sector 101. Ever since, he's begun mass mobilization of his forces, strengthening planetary defenses and military production lines, preparing for the eventual construction of an artificial galaxy. The moment the seed ascends to the mid belt... he'll initiate a galactic formation."

"What?!" Elinor shot up, her expression shaken. "The Distra family's going to obtain another galactic seed?!"

She clenched her fists, her brows furrowed tightly. Her eyes turned sharply toward the dark, horned youth seated below.

He sat still, but the intensity in his gaze hadn't dulled in the slightest. His eyes, fierce and calculating, met Hedrick's with unwavering defiance.

"...No wonder Lord Zaryon is trying to stop him," she muttered. "He has every reason to."

Galaxy Seeds—those mysterious, universe-altering entities—are undeniably rare. But not so rare that they can be counted on the fingers of one hand. No, the true scarcity lies in their survival. The moment a seed emerges within the contested Midbelt planetary zone, chaos erupts. Armies mobilize. Alliances shatter. And more often than not, the seed is obliterated in the flames of war before anyone can even begin to harness its power.

And now, all signs point to Lord Hedrick making an aggressive move: he intends to either shift his empire's capital to the seed's coordinates the moment it ascends, fortifying it with an unprecedented concentration of power—or worse, he may be planning to relocate the seed itself into the most heavily protected star zone under his rule. Either way, once that maneuver is complete, only a direct intervention by a Behemoth could hope to wrest control from his hands.

"...Which is exactly why I fear disaster will strike before the sun sets on this day," Rinara whispered gravely, her voice low and heavy with worry, brows drawn together. "No matter who wins—Hedrick or Zaryon—the one left empty-handed will not walk away peacefully. That's not the kind of war we can afford."

An unsettling silence fell over the auction arena—one that even the weightless expanse of the Soul Society could not soften. The sheer pressure of unspoken conflict was enough to make lesser beings tremble.

Then, like a diplomat dancing on a blade's edge, Lord Morval stepped forward with grace, arms raised high, donning a smile that looked far more fragile than genuine.

"Hahaha, dear sirs, please! Let's take a breath and compose ourselves," he said, voice raised in a feigned cheeriness. "Lord Hedrick, Lord Zaryon—this is, after all, just an auction. A trade. A sale of a single, if powerful, artifact. Let's keep it in perspective. Whoever of you most urgently needs the device—may he win it today. And I will personally see to it that the other receives an alternative piece of Planetary Displacement Equipment within the next two millennia—at least of third-tier quality. What say you both to this compromise?"

"I have no intention of waiting any longer," Hedrick responded immediately, slamming his gauntleted fist into his thigh with a clang. "I've waited 300 years since the day this artifact was first announced. I won't tolerate a single day's delay. Let those who can wait!" His eyes glinted with fiery intent. "My bid: 1.8 billion Pearls."

"Haha, spoken like a man of purpose!" Zaryon laughed, reclining even deeper into the ethereal cloud that carried him, casually raising two fingers as if this were a tavern game. "Indeed, Let the patient ones wait. I raise the bid to 1.9 billion Pearls."

The reaction was immediate.

From the stands of glowing clouds and floating platforms, millions of onlookers gasped audibly—despite the lack of air in the Soul Society. Many clutched at their chests or held their breaths out of pure instinct, the number alone enough to stir awe and fear alike.

"ZARYON!!" Hedrick's roar echoed like a divine thunderclap, causing tremors in the arena's foundational glyphs. He didn't move a muscle—but the sheer weight of his voice sent soul shockwaves across the tiered balconies. "Are you betting that I won't march my fleets into your miserable galaxy arm and reduce it to star dust?! Keep pushing me, Zaryon. Test me again. The result will not be to your liking."

"You all heard him!" Zaryon replied dramatically, raising his hands in mock horror. "That barbarian just threatened my life in a sacred space of commerce!" But then, with a sudden turn of expression, his features twisted into a smirk, his eyes glinting with malice. "Go ahead, Hedrick. Attack me. Come into my territory and see how far you get. You won't be as lucky as your father was back in the day!" He then extended a finger toward the bidding board above Lord Morval. "I raise the bid once again—2 billion Pearls! I want to see how far this hound dares to----!"

Zaryon's hand froze mid-air, his expression quickly shifting from smug triumph to stunned disbelief.

His finger, now trembling slightly, was pointed toward the board—but the number it displayed was not 1.9 billion, nor 2 billion.

It was 3 billion Pearls.

Eyes wide, Zaryon whirled around, preparing to lash out at Hedrick, fully intending to brand him insane, reckless, a warmonger beyond redemption.

But instead—he paused.

Hedrick wasn't even looking at him.

The imposing warlord was staring off toward a distant corner of the coliseum—his expression filled not with pride, nor with anger, but with confusion.

Deep, honest confusion.

Because at that very moment, another bidding cloud had activated. Another player had silently entered the fray while the two giants clashed in open view.

The crowd stirred in anxious murmurs.

A new light glowed in the arena.

It was Cloud Number 100.