Lord of the Truth

"And now," Lord Morval proclaimed, his voice calm yet thunderous, spreading across the great arena like the tolling of an ancient bell, "I present to you... A fifth-stage martial art: Breath of the Ages."

S I L E N C E.

An eerie, absolute silence fell upon the colossal auction hall—a silence so profound, it felt as though time itself had frozen in reverence.

Eyes blinked in disbelief. Minds raced to comprehend the magnitude of what had just been spoken.

And then, slowly—inevitably—like ripples in still water, the weight of the announcement began to spread.

First came the widening of eyes. Then the quiet rising of bodies, one after another, as if pulled by an invisible gravity.

Then—

RUMBLE. RUMBLE. RUMBLE.

A crescendo of sound erupted like a tidal wave crashing against the walls of the cosmos.

"Heh~"

Robin couldn't help but smile, his expression tinged with satisfaction as he stood in the eye of this storm of awe and disbelief. He listened closely to the ever-growing waves of commotion sweeping the plaza like a gathering tempest.

He could feel the electric tension saturating the air—the mixture of awe, desire, and confusion.

Yes.

This was the desired effect.

This was the storm he had come to unleash.

When the curtain began to close on the 170-year arc of his public dealings, Robin knew he would soon step back into the shadows. It was time to disappear, to rest, to recede from the prying eyes of predators.

But he had no intention of leaving quietly.

No, he would not vanish like smoke in the wind. He would leave behind a thunderclap, something so thunderous it would echo long after he was gone.

He pondered…

What should he offer?

A fourth-stage creation, perhaps?

Up until this moment, he had deliberately avoided publicizing his involvement with stage-four laws, especially to avoid provoking characters like Thorn-Head or Dog-Face.

Robin had hoped to calm the flames around him, not stoke them.

But in the end, someone had betrayed him anyway.

And that betrayal burned away the last reasons to hide his capabilities.

No point holding back anymore.

But then... Why stop at stage four?

Ever since arriving in the Middle Belt, Robin had gained full comprehension of every tier-five law he could see.

And if the aim was eternal remembrance—not mere commerce, but legacy—then the prize had to be of tier five or higher.

Nothing less would suffice.

So what should he sell?

A formation array?

No. Too dry. Too technical. It wouldn't deliver that moment of awe—the moment that sears itself into the soul.

It wouldn't satisfy the artist in him, or the glory-seeker.

What about a Merged law?

Tempting.

But flawed.

The first problem was simple yet fatal: the elites wouldn't use it.

Each of them had already walked far down their own path. None would abandon their foundations to realign their essence to a foreign principle—if that was even possible.

The second problem was worse.

If he shared a merged law, it could become a seed—the seed of a future army, one wielding a new type of power.

And if such an army ever aligned itself against him...

That was a future he would not risk birthing with his own hands.

And so, he settled on an alternative:

A fifth-stage martial art.

Martial arts were simple, clean, and universally executable.

A fixed set of movements. An established pattern of energy and force.

Once learned, they could be activated regardless of the wielder's affinity—be it water, fire, lightning, or space, everyone can execute a martial art if comprehended.

Even someone whose entire path was forged from water could execute a flame-based martial art, so long as they followed the proper patterns.

That made them perfect for the job.

Valuable. Flexible. Powerful.

Something even the elite could use—without shifting their foundation.

It was a tactical enhancement, not a strategic upheaval.

Moreover, it wouldn't shift the cosmic power balance.

It wouldn't create an empire-ending army.

But… a fifth-stage martial art?

That was still playing with fire.

The moment such a treasure surfaced, the World Cataclysms might turn their gaze toward him.

But the Nexus State Being and those above might not be interested!

And so he made a mad decision.

A brilliant one.

A masterpiece that satisfied Robin the Researcher and Robin the Glory Seeker, both at once.

"Silence, please!"

Lord Morval's voice rang out again, calm and commanding. He raised his second hand now, calling for order.

"This is the first time in over a million years that a fifth-stage martial art has been offered for sale. This is a historic moment, one that may never come again in your lifetimes. It would be a tragedy to miss even a fragment of it by talking to those next to you!"

"Haha! You're absolutely right, Lord Morval!" Lord Amaleek laughed, a deep, rich sound echoing through the clouds, his golden cloak fluttering in the wind.

He gestured toward the platform below.

"Please, do go on. What exactly does this martial are do? What is its nature?"

To beings like Lord Amaleek, Lord Hedrick, and the rest of the Lords, such a technique was not a necessity, but certainly a welcome advantage.

Even if it was "just" a stage-five art, its utility was undeniable.

For them, it was like giving a master swordsman a second, hidden dagger for moments of crisis.

A small thing, but one that could mean everything in the right moment.

So yes—they were interested.

Curious.

Eager to learn what kind of art this was, and who among them would claim it.

But they would not bleed for it.

Even without this dagger they can still move on with their lives.

"Now then, I ask for your full attention…"

Lord Morval's voice rang out once more, this time steadier, colder, and carved with a sharpness that pulled all eyes back to him.

"The martial art known as Breath of the Ages only came into our hands earlier today. Upon its arrival, it underwent a rigorous and layered examination by our experts. We detected the presence of numerous law patterns."

He raised one hand, gesturing slowly as if tracing unseen sigils in the air.

"But despite the apparent complexity we eventually traced all of them back to two singular, fundamental sources."

He paused then, allowing the silence to thicken, as if preparing the crowd's collective heart for a revelation meant to change the weight of the world.

"…This martial art… is constructed upon the fusion of two of the most sacred and primal pillars of existence. The first—The Fundamental Major Law of Time. The second—The Fundamental Major Law of Life."

"…What…?"

"Time and… Life?! That's… insane!"

"No! That's not just rare—that's forbidden! That can't be real!"

Gasps. Screams. Whispers. Wild, incoherent babbling. The hall, once again, collapsed into a maelstrom of sound.

Shock began to fracture even the minds of the nobles. Some covered their mouths. Others stood in disbelief.

"SILENCE."

This time, the command came like an executioner's blade falling on the crowd.

It wasn't Lord Morval who had spoken.

It was someone seated above the clouds, on one of the most ornate of floating thrones.

His voice did not shout—it didn't need to. It was Absolute.

The auction hall froze. Not from fear alone—but from recognition.

Then that man spoke with the same tone, "Lord Morval, is there something wrong with your introduction? The Fundamental Major Law of Time and The Fundamental Major Law of Life merged together? Is this some kind of joke?"

Robin instinctively leaned back, as though a cold wind had just passed through his core. His expression tightened as he gazed upward toward the voice.

"…Who the hell is that?" he asked under his breath.

<That,> murmured the fairy in his ear, her voice far quieter now than before, <is Drathan. He's the son of Interas the Tyrant.>

Robin's eyes narrowed.

"Wait… Interas' son? What is he doing here? He hasn't spoken a word since the start of the auction. And now he chooses this moment to erupt?"

<You'll see.> The fairy sighed. <There's more at play than you know.>

Lord Morval turned toward Drathan, face composed but unmistakably sharpened with tension.

"Lord Drathan," he said with deliberate weight, "I stand by what I've stated. This martial art was reviewed not once, but thrice—by three independent panels of the Soul Society's elite. Then it passed into my hands under emergency clearance. I examined the law patterns myself. They are stable. They are functional. They are real."

Drathan's voice rang back, colder now, but laced with disbelief and quiet fury.

"No. I refuse to believe it. Two fundamental laws—Time and Life—fused into a martial art? That violates every established precedent in recorded memory. Even conceptual convergence between those laws typically causes collapse or contradiction! This is an abomination, or a mistake!"

The crowd didn't know where to look. Some looked toward Drathan, others toward Lord Morval, others at the tome floating gently in the air, still emanating a silent, golden pulse of restrained power.

Lord Morval did not bow.

Instead, he placed a hand over his heart, his fingers clenched.

"The Soul Society guarantees the authenticity of this art with its name."

His voice was firm, resounding.

"Anyone unwilling to believe it… may simply withdraw. Consider it as though this item does not exist."

Dead silence again.

Only the highborn lords sitting upon the clouds had the nerve to speak now.

Finally, another voice echoed gently from the skies. It was calm, but ponderous—like the breath of a being who had lived longer than kingdoms.

"Lord Morval… no one here questions the honor of the Soul Society. We do not cast doubt upon your words. We merely ask—if this art is real, if such a fusion of Time and Life has truly been achieved… then what kind of being could have created it?"

Another pause.

"Does this not imply the existence of someone… Someone who has mastery over both the Fundamental Major Law of Time… and the Fundamental Major Law of Life?"