Lord of the Truth

"Human? What does he mean by 'Human'?"

The question rang out in disbelief, as if the very notion was absurd.

"Quick, check the control panel—look at cloud number 100! That individual… his codename is 'Human'!"

A hush swept the room, broken only by gasps of realization.

"Could it really be him?"

"Who else could it possibly be? The Soul Society never allows the same codename to be used twice."

"By the heavens... the Truth-Chosen known as 'Human' is the one daring to challenge Lord Hedrick himself!"

"Haha! What magnificence! What splendor! The greatest auction in the last few thousands of years has come down to a clash between two humans! Such glory is unheard of!"

In mere moments following Lord Hedrick's declaration, a tidal wave of excitement erupted throughout the hall. The silence that had preceded it shattered like fragile glass. Those who had delayed in activating their control panels now scrambled frantically, fingers flying across keys, anxious to see the truth with their own eyes.

Renara, ever poised, let her lips part slightly in stunned silence. This single individual, after all, had been one of the primary causes behind the depletion of her treasury over the last hundred years.

Much of the modern era's warfare had evolved to rely heavily on complex arrays, mystical talismans, and advanced martial arts—all inventions and refinements introduced by none other than the enigmatic 'Human'.

"This is what it means to be Truth-Chosen…" she murmured. "A single man who flooded the entire Middle Belt with his innovations. Not that empty title-holder Robin Burton, we only managed to take one big law technique out of him. Pathetic."

Elinor's eyes shimmered with an unnatural brilliance, filled with both envy and admiration.

"I can't help but wonder—how far has his fortune reached by now?" she whispered, half to herself.

Strangely enough, amidst all the wild speculation and excited chatter, not a single soul voiced surprise or suspicion regarding the source of Human's immense wealth. No one questioned how he could afford to stand toe-to-toe with the highest of nobles and ancient powers.

And why would they? The array known as 'Colonizing the Uncolonizable' alone had sold in astronomical quantities. Each blueprint for production went for no less than 8 million pearls, while individual units fetched 100,000 pearls each—an accessible yet lucrative sum. That's not even considering the dozens upon dozens of talismans crafted within the great factories of the Spirit Society and sold in the millions across all belts and factions. Add to that the extensive list of martial techniques—ranging from Level One to Level Three—that had been bought and traded like gold across the realms.

Truth be told, one of the primary reasons so many factions were now desperate to uncover Human's identity was the simple desire to calculate the true extent of his fortune.

Five billion Pearls?

No, he should have more.

And none of them dared call it an exaggeration.

Now, under the piercing, all-seeing gaze of Lord Hedrick, Robin turned with slow grace toward the masked figure before him. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips beneath the cold silver of his mask.

"Greetings to you, Lord Hedrick," Robin said calmly, his tone laced with both respect and intent. "I would have greatly preferred to meet you under more favorable circumstances. However, fate rarely gives us the luxury of choice. That said, I do not believe we must turn this into a battlefield. Perhaps there is a middle ground—an agreement that would satisfy both parties."

Then, with deliberate force, he clapped his hands once—sharp, commanding.

"Allow me to offer this proposal: your Galactic Seed has not yet ready, correct? In that case, I would like to purchase the equipment today. Afterward, I shall loan it to you for a number of years—we can determine the duration together. Just inform me of the exact date when the Galactic Seed will awaken, and I will ensure the tool reaches your hands beforehand—along with a fitting gift."

A strange smile crept across Lord Hedrick's face. It was neither mocking nor amused—just… unreadable. "Indeed," he murmured, "the will of fate moves in mysterious ways…"

"What exactly is happening here?!"

Lord Zarion rose to his feet with a fury that rippled across the room like a storm tide. His voice boomed with indignation, and he thrust an accusatory finger in Robin's direction.

"This is supposed to be an honorable auction! A contest of will and wealth, governed by rules and fairness—not favoritism! What do you mean by lending him the tool?! Is this how you humans operate now? Because you're both from the same race, you think you can collaborate behind closed doors, rig the outcome, and exclude the rest of us?! Such disgrace! Such treachery!"

The atmosphere turned dense. Whispers flickered like sparks in dry grass. But Robin remained calm—or at least, he tried to be.

He straightened his back, adjusted his stance, and responded in a low, respectful tone, carefully measured to avoid escalation.

"Lord Zarion, I assure you, I bear no hostility toward you, nor do I seek to earn your ire or make you an adversary. The reason I addressed Lord Hedrick is simply because he was the one actively engaged in the bidding. That's all there is to it."

He was walking on a blade's edge now, fully aware that any false step could plunge him into political chaos. The last thing he needed was to get entangled in the festering racial tensions that still lingered beneath the surface of interspecies diplomacy. And yet, here was Zarion, trying to stir that very pot.

"Lies! Hypocrite!"

Zarion's voice cracked like a whip as he turned his gaze back toward the stands. The elevated seats were packed, mostly with Shapeshifters and Morphians—his kin.

"Do you all see this? Do you accept it? Two humans standing together, conspiring before your eyes! Working in secret to ensure we—all other races—walk away with nothing! And yet you remain silent?! Where is your pride? Where is your fury?!"

"....."

Not a word was spoken in reply.

Because, truth be told, no one cared.

Not really.

Racial rhetoric was for the masses—for the hot-blooded youths and the powerless—tools to distract them from asking the real questions. To keep them busy with infighting while those above moved in silence.

Q: Why is nearly every imperial credit funneled into the military while cities starve and droughts rage?

A: Because the evil humans are plotting to destroy us. We must wipe them out before they multiply further.

But such dogma didn't apply to the true elite—the lords of force and fortune.

Not to someone like Lord Hedrick, whose power could shatter mountains.

And certainly not to someone like Human, whose wealth alone placed him far above the boundaries of race or blood.

No one would dare treat them as mere "humans."

They were peers—perhaps even superiors.

Yes, Human was still considered limited in combat might. As a Truth-Chosen, he had yet to demonstrate world-shaking strength. His creations, while widespread, remained within Grade Three limitations. But that mattered little.

But wealth —true wealth— had a gravity of its own. Enough of it could bend nations, dictate policy, reshape entire economies.

That alone made him worthy of being called Lord.

Robin let out a deep breath, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity as he addressed Zarion once more.

"I regret that you feel this way, Lord Zarion. That was never my aim. I do not come here with prejudice or hidden agendas. This is simply business—plain and simple—and I'd rather avoid animosity if I can."

He then turned to his right again, where Lord Hedrick sat with that ever-watchful gaze.

"Now, Lord Hedrick, what do you say to my proposal?" Robin asked, voice steady and firm.

"This way, you'll receive the tool exactly when you need it—and without spending a single coin. I'll consider your withdrawal from the auction a rental agreement. It spares us both the headache of a bidding war."

He paused, then added with a slight shrug,

"Naturally, I don't wish to keep raising the bid until it reaches twenty or thirty billion. That kind of escalation would significantly drain my reserves—and I prefer to avoid that if possible."

The room shifted.

Dozens of gazes turned toward Robin—sharp, curious, almost hungry.

Twenty or thirty billion would hurt his savings?

Then how much did he truly have stored away?

Had this man—this so-called 'Human'—truly consumed the wealth of the entire Middle Belt in just a century and a half?

Was that even possible?

Lord Hedrick's expression didn't change much, but his eyes gleamed with interest—keen, intelligent, dangerous.

He studied Robin from head to toe, reading his posture, his heartbeat, the strain beneath the composure.

"You seem quite desperate for this tool," Hedrick remarked.

His voice was light, but it carried the weight of understanding far beyond what his words implied.

"To an outside observer, it might look as if you possess a Galactic Seed of your own."

Robin let out a nervous chuckle, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Haha… You have a unique sense of humor, Lord Hedrick," he replied, trying to sound relaxed.

"Me? Someone like me, nearing something so monumental? I could only dream of it."

He paused, then spoke with more weight.

"Truth is… I simply need it for a new innovation I'm working on. Something fragile. If I don't get the tool today… the idea might disappear from my mind forever. It's one of those fleeting sparks, you know?"

There was a long silence.

"I see…" Then, for the first time in what seemed like ages, Lord Hedrick lifted his chin slightly, revealing a smile—subtle, but unmistakable. "Then I imagine the Spirit of Planet Nihari will be quite displeased… to learn you intend to abandon her."