Lord of the Truth

"This..." Robin's gaze locked onto the list of incoming friend requests glowing before his eyes. And to his great surprise, sitting boldly at the very top of that list was none other than Lord Zarion himself!

Robin instinctively turned his head toward the man, only to find Lord Zarion already looking in his direction, wearing a composed yet genuine smile. The noble lord even nodded slightly, a courteous gesture filled with goodwill. Clearly, the confrontation that had occurred earlier between Robin and Lord Hedrick had, in some way, earned Lord Zarion's respect—or perhaps it had simply shifted Robin in his eyes from being a nobody to someone worthy of notice. Or maybe it was the old adage playing out again: "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Whatever the motivation behind it, Robin saw no reason to reject the request. He offered a respectful nod in return, pressing a hand to his chest in a traditional gesture of acceptance, then went ahead and tapped the button to confirm the connection. With that settled, he began to scroll down the ever-growing list...

Lord Monran, hailing from the illustrious Starlight Dusk Academy... Lord Morval, the enigmatic overseer of the Soul Society... Robin's eyes scanned the names, lifting the list higher with a flick of his fingers. Among the thirty or so individuals around him, he noticed that four or five carried the title of "Lord"—a clear indication of their status and influence—and all of them had extended him friend requests.

One particularly notable name stood out: Lord Amaleek, Royal Soul Master. He had attached a short message alongside his request:

"I would truly enjoy the chance to meet and discuss our intersecting interests. Perhaps one day, we might aid one another."

Robin couldn't help but smile. Without hesitation, he accepted all the requests from those who bore the title "Lord." He figured that if things didn't go well with Lord Morval later on, Lord Amaleek would certainly be worth reaching out to as a backup.

As for the rest of the requests—they came from individuals who lacked any formal noble title. The fairy hadn't provided additional context about their status, and their labels were simply aliases followed by their names. For instance: Planetary Empress Rinara.

"Hehe..." Robin chuckled lightly when he saw that name among the tens of thousands, a rare note of amusement breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor. He tapped Accept on her request, then muttered,

"Keep the rest of the requests pending for now. I'm not in the mood to dive into random conversations with strangers. But I've got a hunch… they'll prove useful someday."

Suddenly, Robin's expression shifted. He cast a discreet glance to the right, eyes narrowing slightly.

"...That one person didn't send a request. Didn't he care for what I offered? Strange fellow."

The fairy replied almost instantly, her voice like a whisper within his mind:

<Lord Hedrick is known to be a man of very few words. If he is greeted with speech, he replies with action. The fact that he even exchanged words with you earlier is already quite rare.>

"...So what you're saying is... he's now cooking up some practical way to return the insult? Wait, I thought it was over when he stopped bidding!" Robin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Am I truly cursed to attract enemies from House Destra at every step I take? What kind of miserable luck is this…"

After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, Robin spoke again:

"...Hey, fairy. How do I send a friend request to someone?"

<Simply open the control panel and look at the person you wish to connect with. You'll see a small icon in the top-left corner—tap it.>

With that instruction in mind, Robin zeroed in on

Lord Hedrick, who was standing not too far off. He tapped the icon and murmured to himself:

"...Like this?"

<Exactly. The request must have reached him by now.>

The fairy responded with her brows slightly furrowed, clearly puzzled by Robin's choice.

"No need for confusion," Robin said, noticing her reaction. "I'm doing everything I can to build peaceful bridges. The last thing I need right now is more conflict—I've got enough on my plate as it is."

Though his face remained turned toward the central platform, Robin's sharp eyes remained fixed to the right, subtly watching Lord Hedrick's every move, searching for any sign of a reaction.

At that precise moment, there was movement—subtle, calculated. Lord Hedrick, ever the embodiment of restraint, raised a single finger, directing it toward a translucent interface only he could see. His eyes lingered on it for a heartbeat, as if considering something… then, without so much as a twitch of emotion, he returned his attention to the central platform, his posture calm and undisturbed. It was as though nothing had happened at all.

Robin's eye twitched. A flicker of disbelief crossed his face before it turned into frustration.

"That son of a bitch didn't accept the request! He just looked at it… and ignored it!"

His hand shot to his thigh, fingers digging into the fabric as he clenched hard, his jaw tightening. Then, shaking his head violently, he muttered through gritted teeth:

"Whatever. Whatever! Just another fresh headache tossed onto the mountain I already have to climb. I will see the end of that cursed family. One way or another."

The fairy's voice whispered again into his ear, soft and steady amidst the storm building in Robin's chest:

<Actually... I don't think your relationship with Lord Hedrick is doomed. Not entirely. If anything, I doubt it will worsen from here.>

Robin's head tilted slightly, confused.

"What makes you say that?" he asked sharply.

"He dropped the gear without a word and now he won't even acknowledge me—he's obviously planning something. Either he'll come to reclaim what he lost by force, or he's already scheming some quiet revenge!"

His brows furrowed as suspicion bloomed like thunderclouds in his mind.

<I don't know about that,> the fairy replied cryptically, a strange curve lifting her lips.

Her expression grew subtly mischievous.

<Anyone who truly knows the real history of Lord Hedrick—and the reason he broke ties with his father—would tell you the same.>

Robin narrowed his eyes, silent for a moment.

He remembered how earlier, when she had been explaining Hedrick's background, she had intentionally avoided the reason for the rift with his father. She had told him that it was part of a dark chapter of history locked behind generational censorship—forbidden knowledge sealed away from the newer bloodlines. There was no use pressing for more. Whatever it was, it was deemed too dangerous to speak of openly.

Rustle. Murmur. Hush—

Meanwhile, the colossal arena still roared with energy. Thousands of voices, like waves crashing against stone, buzzed with excitement and speculation. Some debated the absurd price that had been offered for nothing more than a grade-four artifact, a sum so enormous it could rival the combined vaults of ten ancient empires. Others dissected, word by word, the flaming conversation that had erupted between a mere human and the silent juggernaut that was Lord Hedrick.

Already, down in the audience, wild theories were being spun—some fantastical, others dangerous.

Then, cutting through the chaos like a blade:

"Everyone, please—silence."

Lord Morval raised both of his hands high, then gestured downward with calm authority, his palms facing the ground.

The effect was immediate.

Just three words from him—and the entire crowd fell still.

People sat back in their seats, whispers faded to nothing, and even the tension in the air seemed to pause. Two words were enough for this man to command the absolute attention of millions.

The drama, no matter how explosive, had been set aside—because now, something greater was at hand.

Thump. Thump.

Everyone knew what came next.

What they were about to witness was something far beyond their usual scale of comprehension.

A priceless relic, so powerful, so rare, that it defied valuation—was about to be sold.

Events like this simply didn't happen in their lifetimes. For the overwhelming majority of those present, this moment would be the only time they would ever gaze upon an SS-rank item, let alone see it change hands.

Countless eyes widened, each face turned upward, unblinking.

Even the Lords on their floating clouds began to shift, their previously casual postures straightening, expressions growing serious. Something was coming. Something important.

"…Very well then."

Lord Morval's voice rose again, steady and noble.

"I believe we've given everyone ample time to summon whoever they wished and to deposit whatever resources they felt necessary."

He smiled, and with a flick of his wrist, lifted his right hand high.

Suddenly, a massive tome, ancient and pulsing with hidden energy, materialized out of thin air. It fell into his waiting palm with a weighty thud, the sound echoing across the stone and sky like a drumbeat of fate.

"Wooooah!"

Gasps erupted throughout the stadium. Millions leaned forward, eyes gleaming. Every soul in the arena—noble, common, human, or spirit—tried to pierce the surface of the mysterious book with their gaze, desperate to uncover its secrets.

Even the Lords above were visibly stirred. Their eyes narrowed. Their focus sharpened. Postures straightened as if they had just been summoned to war.

Lord Morval paused deliberately, letting tension and curiosity twist into a fever pitch. A full ten seconds passed. Then twenty.

And then—he spoke.

His voice was clear, slow, and full of weight:

"I present to you…"

He raised the tome higher, letting the golden runes on its cover shimmer under the ethereal lights.

"Breath of the Ages… A Fifth-Stage Martial Art!"