Lord of the Truth

"Lord Hedrick, a thousand years isn't that long in the grand scheme of things. Just coordinate with Lord Morval—he'll surely find you another one. After all, it's merely a planetary displacement artifact, nothing too rare."

"Haha, it's only an auction, Lord Hedrick! No need to let your emotions flare up this much over such a trivial matter."

"That's right, Lord Hedrick. If you wish to continue bidding, by all means, do so. No one is stopping you!"

"If your pockets are deep enough and you've got enough pearls, then victory will be yours without a doubt—heh heh."

Robin could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as those words echoed around the chamber. The ones speaking—all of them were high-ranking individuals from the Cloud Dwellers, and not a single one of them was hiding the smirk curling on their lips. Their voices dripped with false politeness, barely masking the satisfaction they clearly felt. It was obvious they were enjoying the moment, taking great pleasure in seeing Lord Hedrick publicly mocked or provoked—perhaps because of some past grudge, or maybe just for the sport of it.

"Oh no… this isn't good. Not good at all," Robin muttered inwardly, his expression growing more uneasy by the second. "That man, Hedrick… he reminds me all too much of his younger sister. And if she was anything to go by, then this mockery won't pass peacefully. That girl… she was willing to throw away everything, charge headfirst into death, just for the chance to strike back at me in the Young Belt—over nothing more than a minor insult where no one heard it!"

Robin's ominous premonition didn't have to wait long before becoming reality.

Lord Hedrick slowly turned his head, sweeping his gaze across the room. His eyes bore into every face, as though branding their features into his memory. These weren't just common nobles—every single one of them hailed from powerful bloodlines, emperors of ancient empires, or figures with prestigious legacies rooted deeply in the Middle Belt.

Then, finally, he spoke—his voice calm, low, but sharp as a blade:

"...It appears that my silence throughout the long centuries has made people forget who I am. But that's alright. The days ahead are many, and fate always finds a way to bring paths together. Our time will come."

"Lord Hedrick, you're overreacting. It's just a fourth-grade planetary item, nothing worth holding grudges over!"

"Hahaha, come now, there's no need for subtle threats, Lord Hedrick. We all stand on equal footing here—no one is beneath the other!"

"SILENCE." Lord Hedrick's voice suddenly thundered as he struck his knee with force, and his finger extended accusingly across the assembly. "I don't want to hear another word from those unworthy of even a passing glance! You're right—no need for subtle threats. So listen to this direct one: Let every monkey stick to his tree, and every rat retreat to its hole—because if you don't, I'll burn the trees down and collapse every hole!"

SILENCE.

A suffocating stillness fell upon the grand auction hall. It was as though time itself had frozen. Those who had dared mock or taunt Lord Hedrick just moments ago sat stiffly in their places, several of them rising from their cloud platforms in outrage. Their eyes blazed with fury, and their teeth clenched so tightly it was audible—a symphony of rage on the verge of eruption...

But no one said a word.

"…" Rinara, Elinor, and everyone seated below held their breath. The atmosphere had turned unbearably heavy, as if a storm was looming right above their heads.

When Lord Hedrick claimed that the world had forgotten who he was, he had not spoken in arrogance or jest.

Hedrick, firstborn of the mighty Distra family… When he came into the world, his father had only just uncovered a Galactic Seed and had begun his conquest to gather planets under his banner.

This main in front of them right now raised armies, wielded power like a tempest, and drenched the stars in blood. Entire civilizations were wiped out, empires crushed to rubble, and powers that had stood proud for millions of years were turned to ash at his hands.

From the very moment Hedrick was born, the winds of war began to shift. By the time he came of age and assumed command of the legions, his father—once a fearsome conqueror who personally led campaigns across star systems—never again set foot on a battlefield. He no longer needed to. Hedrick became the sword and shield of House Distra for a very long time.

It was Hedrick who carried the weight of conquest, who led fleets like a conductor leads a grand symphony of destruction.

He was the one who shattered old alliances and forged new empires in their place, all under the sigil of Distra.

Planet by planet, moon by moon, he carved out a domain so vast and rich in resources that even the elder races turned their gazes. He handpicked entire worlds—not for beauty or population, but for the raw power hidden in their cores—and added them to his father's artificial galaxy, building the foundation of a machine that would feed wars for millennia.

And in the span of a few thousand years he earned the name whispered in fear across galaxies: The Spawn of Destruction.

The Behemoths felt fear, his father just became one of them and the son is just a dangerous! The ancient houses saw the shadow that his name cast upon the future. And so, behind curtains of velvet and veils of diplomacy, they began plotting his fall. Assassins were sent. Traps laid. Galaxies stirred.

But Hedrick never fell.

Every blade sent to end him became a lesson in futility.

Every scheme unravelled in his hands like a child's knot.

He rose from each attempt stronger, more terrifying.

And when he wasn't conquering, he trained his younger siblings—imparting to them his savage brilliance in war and combat, shaping them into generals worthy of their bloodline.

And so, the mid-belt watched, breathless, as House Distra rose—no longer just a new force, but a fate.

Until, inexplicably, he separated from his father.

He moved into a distant sector and founded an empire of his own— Might be less mighty, but no less feared.

No one knew for certain why he did it. Whispers spoke of ambition, of betrayal even.

And just after him, one by one, his siblings were sent away too to build their own Empires like their elder brother.

As for how that turned in the end, everyone know.

"Hahahaha! Bravo, Hedrick! Keep piling up enemies—glorious! Absolutely glorious! Hahahaha!!"

From across the great auction chamber, Lord Zarion laughed with madness in his eyes and venom in his voice. He clapped slowly, mockingly, like one applauding a fool for dancing into his own grave.

"Even if the seed from Young Sector 101 reaches you intact… you won't hold it for long, will you? Hahaha!"

To him, this wasn't just amusing—it was the best possible outcome.

For the truth is cruelly simple: a galactic seed, upon emerging, can only be claimed by two things. Power... or allegiance.

Raw, unrelenting power to protect it, or the united support of the great forces of the universe.

But Hedrick didn't have the first yet. While in his pride, in his defiance, was burning the second. One after another, powerful allies turned into bitter foes.

Not even his own father would stand with him now.

So what did that leave him with?

Would he fight alone, facing the wrath of an entire sector with just his empire at his back?

It was madness. A single millennial empire couldn't stand against everyone.

No one would allow a man like Hedrick to take the seed and birth a galaxy in his own image.

"No one… NO ONE will stop me from seizing power."

Lord Hedrick's voice was low, unwavering, as he raised his hand—not in desperation, but in calm, calculated defiance. He dismissed Zarion's words as though brushing dust from his cloak.

Of course, he understood the message.

His followers in the Young Belt of Sector 101 were the ones who discovered the galactic seed. They were the first to lay eyes on it, the first to raise defenses around it.

And now, they were the first to suffer.

Those who kept watch over Hedrick's affairs pieced together the truth—and they did not stay silent.

The secret was no longer a secret.

The news spread like a starburst. And with it, the vultures came.

Since that day, the skies of Young Sector 101 have not known peace.

His followers, once devoted to strengthening themselves, were now entrenched in war—facing raid after raid, siege after siege from all of Hedrick' enemies' followers!

And so it was Hedrick himself who now supplied them with weapons, armaments, and the precious pearls—every resource he could smuggle past the restrictions of the Young Belt.

His wealth, once seemingly endless, now bled out like a wounded beast—all to protect a seed that might never reach him.

But the dream was too precious to abandon.

The war for the galaxy seed had already begun.

And then, as silence fell over the bidding arena once more, Hedrick raised his hand and calmly entered a number into the console before him:

<3.1 billion energy pearls.>

He brought his hand down hard on his knee, voice like thunder rolling across the stars:

"So be it… let the competitors compete."

"…"

Lord Zarion's face twisted—uncertain now.

The price was climbing too high, slipping through his fingers like sand. But he couldn't let Hedrick claim the artifact. Not this artifact.

Not at any cost.

Grimacing, he entered a new bid:

<3.2 billion energy pearls.>

Just as Hedrick's hand moved again, pain flashing in his eyes but resolve unwavering; A new voice pierced the atmosphere like a blade.

"Forgive me, Lord Hedrick… but I desperately need that artifact. I cannot allow it to slip through my fingers today."

And then the screens lit up in unison.

<5 billion energy pearls.>