Lord of the Truth

A Short While Earlier…

"Oh no… Ohhh no!!" Robin clasped his head between his hands, his voice a strained whisper as his eyes widened in disbelief. The verbal inferno between Lord Hedrick and Lord Zaryon was reaching critical mass—each word between them felt like a tremor shaking the very foundation of the hall.

Not long ago, his only worry had been whether his credits would be enough. But that concern had been swept away like a leaf in a storm. The real danger was no longer about the price—it was about survival. How, in all the spiraling heavens, was he supposed to bid against two monsters like these?

Mere minutes ago, the auction had felt manageable. Intense, yes—but still a financial affair. Robin had been confident, even if cautiously so. He remained cloaked and concealed, perfectly hidden among the hundreds of clouded observers, his mask and anonymity shielding him from prying eyes. As long as he remained just a number on a screen, he could participate carefully.

But everything changed the moment the fairy at his side whispered their names.

He'd felt as if something cold and ancient had reached into his chest and gripped his heart with frostbitten fingers. And then came the real horror—the fairy didn't just tell him who they were… she explained why they were here. What each of them wanted. What was at stake. And how close this auction is to igniting an actual cosmic war.

"I shouldn't be here… I really shouldn't be here…" Robin muttered, beads of sweat forming beneath his mask despite the fact that there was no air in this soul-bound realm.

Desperately, he glanced around at the other cloud-seated figures. Maybe—just maybe—one of the other lords or power-holders would step in. A third bidder, a wild card, could fracture the duel into something more manageable. A money fight, a gamble of resources. Something Robin could win.

But no such miracle arrived.

Every other participant sat motionless. Some leaned forward, brows furrowed with intensity, trying to calculate the fallout of the Hedrick-Zaryon conflict. Others leaned back, lips curled in amusement, watching like gleeful arsonists hoping to see the fire spread to the rafters.

"Damn it, no one's moving! No one wants to toss themselves into the furnace…" Robin pressed his fingers to his forehead until they ached. This feeling… this raw helplessness—it had been centuries since he'd felt like this.

That was when Lord Morval stepped forward, trying to mediate, trying to bring reason back to the floor. He made a generous offer—whoever backed down would receive a lesser displacement device within two millennia.

But neither titan would yield.

The fairy fluttered excitedly, her wings buzzing like a tiny thunderclap. <If Lord Morval can secure another artifact in just two thousand years, you could be on the list to buy it too! You wouldn't even need to fight now. This is perfect!>

"I don't have two thousand years," Robin hissed, his voice low. He shook his head and gritted his teeth. "And besides—I still don't know what Lord Morval will demand in return for lifting the Curse of Eternal Stillness. What if… what if he asks for something I can't give? What if I end up owing him more than I can pay?"

The weight of that thought settled on him like a mountain.

He stepped back inside his mind, away from panic, toward resolve. His eyes sharpened behind the mask. His breathing slowed.

"No. I can't afford hesitation. Not now... If I wait, the second mission will end before it begins."

<Wait! Please—just wait a little longer!> the fairy pleaded, her glow flickering with urgency. <Let them finish yelling, wait until one shows weakness. If you jump in now, you could be crushed between them!>

Robin appeared that he an no longer hear anything. And with that, he made his choice.

He raised one hand, fingers trembling for a brief moment, and placed his bid without second-guessing.

Then the silence fell.

Woooosh—

Wooooosh—

WOOOOOSH—

A cascade of reactions erupted across the auction hall.

"Huh? Who the hell was that?!"

"Wait… that's—that's the one who bought the Scythe of Dimming!!"

"Impossible—who would dare insert themselves between them?"

"That person… must be a Behemoth. Or a lunatic."

Robin's heart pounded like a drum in his chest. He couldn't feel the air—because there was none. He couldn't hear his breathing, his mind was screaming.

But worst of all...

He felt it.

Two titanic gazes. Cold, ancient, wrathful.

The piercing stare of Lord Hedrick. The seething glare of Lord Zaryon.

Like twin divine storms, their attention turned toward his cloud—number 100—and bore into it as if trying to rip the very identity from his soul.

"Hoo... Hoo...!"

If Robin hadn't been deathly afraid that fleeing might void his bid—and potentially mark him as prey—he would've already leapt from his cloud and got out of the Soul Society already.

Then came that voice—calm, low, impossibly steady.

"You… who are you?"

Robin's breath caught in his throat. He turned his head slowly, unwillingly, as if resisting the pull of gravity itself.

And there—on the adjacent glowing cloud—sat Lord Hedrick.

His body, tall and muscular. His long, unbound hair drifted weightlessly around him like strands of snow. But it was those eyes that locked Robin in place, wide open now, their pupils like black holes threatening to consume anything that dared meet their gaze.

"Kiiieeeeh!!"

Robin's soul nearly leapt from his body.

And yet... Lord Hedrick didn't shout. He didn't growl.

The question was soft. Too soft.

And then, as if the situation weren't already unbearable, a burst of mocking laughter echoed from Robin's left.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Lord Zaryon.

Reclining arrogantly on his cloud like a noble on a throne of thunder, Zaryon clapped his hands together, "Ahh, brilliant. Absolutely brilliant,"

Robin didn't respond to Lord Hedrick.

He couldn't.

His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. His limbs were frozen. And his heart had become a war drum in his chest.

"Good.. Good.." Suddenly, Hedrick broke eye contact and turned his gaze forward, toward the raised central platform. His words rang out, slow and deliberate: "Lord Morval."

"The Soul Society has always been respected, not for its wealth nor its reach—but for its neutrality. For millions of years, your name stood above suspicion, above alliances. That's the only reason any of us tolerate you. That's the only reason we play your games."

He paused, his voice dropping an octave.

"Are you now so eager to burn all that credibility today?"

Lord Morval remained still for a moment. His expression—usually unreadable—now flickered with something like frustration. Perhaps even anger.

"Lord Hedrick, please. We understand your nerves may be strained, but this—"

"Don't patronize me."

Hedrick's voice cut like a blade of ice.

"Explain. This cloud—number 100—who sits upon it? Every single one sitting on a cloud is showing themselves. I know them. All of them. But this one?"

He extended a single, accusatory finger toward Robin's location.

"This one wields a balance of three billion pearls... and no name. No voice. No face."

His voice dropped lower, into a tone that felt like stone grinding against stone.

"So tell me, Lord Morval— Have you invented this bidder to manipulate the outcome?"

A hush fell across the entire realm. Even the swirling mists that formed the clouds seemed to still.

Some of the seated nobles glanced at each other nervously. A few turned pale—well, paler.

But Lord Morval remained still. Then, with slow, dignified precision, he raised a hand, his long silver sleeve trailing behind him like the edge of a comet.

"I will say this only once."

"The bidder in Cloud 100 is as real as you or I. That he remains masked is his right. That he chooses silence is his strategy."

His voice turned sharp and cold.

"Lord Hedrick, this approach will not work. We will not reveal the identity of a bidder who has chosen to remain hidden. Think what you will!" Lord Morfall waved his hand vigorously.

The dignity and reputation of Soul Society must never be shaken.