Lord of the Truth

Inside his apartment within the academic complex—

Robin slowly opened his eyes. A faint glimmer of awareness returned to him as he blinked once… then twice.

Without uttering a word, he tilted his head gently to the right, then to the left, releasing a subtle crack from his neck.

A few breaths passed before he finally stood up, his movements slow and deliberate, like someone reuniting with his own body after years apart.

He began stretching lightly—rotating his shoulders, flexing his arms, adjusting to the weight of gravity.

It had been nearly five full years—years in which he spent almost every moment immersed in the Soul Society, partially disconnected from his physical form.

Ironically, he had once been the one to warn the spiky-haired kid about the dangers of prolonged separation from the body.

But then he had entered that strange chamber…

That unnatural room…

That masterpiece of soul architecture that sharpened mental clarity, boosted thought speed, and brought laser focus to everything he did.

After tasting what that room offered, leaving it had become… almost impossible.

So pure was its effect that he sometimes found himself wondering—

Could the creator of such a space really be just a mere Royal Soul Master?

Somehow, it felt far more advanced… almost divine.

"...."

After several more minutes of gentle movement, Robin finally turned his gaze behind him—toward the wide bed and that soft, inviting pillow that looked almost alive in his tired eyes.

He stood still for a heartbeat longer. The temptation to collapse into it was strong.

But then he exhaled, shook his head with a faint smile, and walked calmly toward the door.

"Yeah~ Not today. Not yet."

Step by step, down the stairwell—

Robin descended from his apartment, eyes already scanning his surroundings.

Then something caught his attention.

"…Hm?"

Something felt… off.

The ambient lighting was unusually dim—far dimmer than it should've been at this hour.

Even more strangely, the grand doors of the academic complex were firmly shut, which rarely ever happened.

Despite the dimness, Robin noticed a flicker of movement—a distortion in the shadows.

He narrowed his eyes, instincts flaring, and sped his descent.

Then, with a sharp turn of his head—

"…Shaddad?"

"Ah! Mast—uh, I mean… Big Brother!"

Shaddad turned in surprise, dropping whatever he was holding, and opened his arms wide in excitement.

"Haha!" Robin burst into a laugh the moment he saw him.

"Now that's the look of a true scholar!"

Dark shadows encircled Shaddad's eyes like war paint.

His body hair had grown scruffy and wild.

Even his usual scent—once sweet and reminiscent of a soft cotton bear—had been replaced with the rich, aged aroma of paper, ink, and sleepless nights.

"Ahh…"

Shaddad scratched the back of his head, slightly embarrassed.

"I haven't looked like this in years. My progress had basically flatlined.

I was just wandering through the library day and night, flipping through every book I could get my hands on—hoping some spark would reignite my path.

But nothing ever came... Until these."

He held up two metallic tablets, the ones Robin had given him not long ago.

"They brought my passion roaring back. I feel alive again.

Thank you. Truly, thank you."

"No thanks necessary."

Robin smiled widely—sincerely.

"All I ask is that… once you've solved the path's issues, you let my empire use it for free, yeah? Just a small favor from a friend. Hehe~"

The truth? Robin had tried—more than once—to untangle the complicated issues of this Body Strengthening Path, one originally left behind by the Second Heaven chosen.

But even he could tell… it would cost too much time, too much energy, and in the end—

It wasn't the kind of power he truly desired.

Physical strength had its uses—especially for certain classes of warriors.

But for someone like Robin, whose heart and soul were anchored to the mastery of Laws… it would be a waste of centuries.

No, better to hand it over to someone who not only understood the body's inner mysteries but also had a true passion for it.

Someone who could appreciate the value of such a path… and carry the weight of that legacy.

Someone like Shaddad.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

Shaddad suddenly shouted with mock outrage.

"If I actually manage to solve it all, I'm publishing the whole thing under your name!

That's the least I can do. It's enough for me that I finally get to work on something I love again."

"Heh, no thanks."

Robin waved the idea off with a half-smirk.

"I was going to tell you this anyway.

If you manage to fix everything, publish it in joint credit—

Say it's co-authored by Dragan, son of Morka, the one who originally created what you read.

It was his wish before he died."

"…You can count on me."

Shaddad's tone turned serious.

He nodded with a firm expression, eyes burning with resolve.

He could feel it now—he was part of something bigger.

A mission. A legacy. A vow.

"Good."

Robin clapped once, then turned to leave.

"Keep working hard."

"Hey—where do you think you're going?!"

Shaddad called after him, voice rising again with frustration.

"For the archive… I'd like to suffer a bit more before I continue. Want me to bring anything back for you?"

Robin laughed sarcastically, throwing the words behind him as he continued walking forward with casual indifference.

"Get over here, now!"

Before he could react, Shaddad dashed forward like a sudden gust of wind and—with surprising strength and zero hesitation—scooped Robin up from under his arms.

"I've been waiting for you to leave that chamber for years, do you hear me?! Years!"

Without letting him protest, Shaddad charged down the hallway like a madman carrying a sacred relic.

"Have you gone mad, Shaddad?! We're just friends, remember?! Just friends!!"

Robin flailed helplessly in the air, arms stretched outward as if nailed to an invisible cross, feet barely brushing the ground as he was unceremoniously whisked away.

But just as panic started to build—

Surprise crept across his face.

"Oh… that actually looks kind of... nice?"

The side room they entered had undergone a dramatic transformation.

What was once just a storage room or a temporary battlefield infirmary had become something far more... specialized.

It now held a massive bathing pool, large enough to be mistaken for a private indoor spring. Warm vapor rose in gentle swirls, carrying with it strange yet oddly calming scents.

Around the pool were hundreds of glass vials, metallic shards, glowing minerals, and ancient jars—each humming with quiet spiritual energy.

"I pulled every favor, every connection, every dusty contact I could to collect the components for the first three Weapon-Infusion Baths," Shadad declared, chest puffed with pride and face glowing like a child showing off his masterpiece.

"One bath to take your body from level 0 to 10...

Another to push you from 11 to 20...

And a third to break you through from 21 to 30."

He turned and pointed at a series of locked chests along the wall.

"I even managed to scavenge some of the rare components needed for the fourth bath—the one that takes you from 31 to 40—and I found an epic-grade catalyst from the fifth bath, which could carry you all the way to level 50!"

He beamed.

"I'm confident I'll collect the rest within the next hundred years. Maybe less. And at fair prices, too!"

With all the reverence of a priest placing an offering on an altar, Shaddad gently lowered Robin into the warm pool.

"Sit still. Meditate. Close your eyes. And remember one thing…"

He thumped his chest with the force of a war cry.

"There's no shame in a man screaming. Got it?"

Then he turned and headed toward the collection of ingredients, already cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

"Screaming? Who do you think is going to scream?!"

Robin called after him, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

But it was too late. Shaddad had already reached the workstation and begun his careful process.

He was measuring, weighing, and tossing powders, extracts, and molten slivers of metal into the water with frightening precision.

"…?!"

Robin blinked, realized this wasn't a joke, and immediately closed his eyes.

He took a deep breath, relaxed his muscles, and slipped into a deep meditative state as instructed.

Then it began.

"Hmm…"

At first, it was subtle.

The chemical compounds in the water began to interact with his skin.

He felt them creeping into his pores—needle-thin streams of soul force drilling into his flesh.

It wasn't pain, exactly…

It was worse.

Like thousands of sentient needles crawling beneath his skin, piercing him from within, unraveling his muscles fiber by fiber.

But Robin had known pain.

He had endured the blade, the fire, the void, the silence.

He had died and resurrected a hundred times in training and in war.

This… this was nothing new.

Then it escalated.

The compounds reached his muscles.

And there—they ignited.

Like wildfire on a field of dry bones, the sensation tore through him.

Each fiber in his body twisted, stretched, screamed.

His veins pulsed. His heart roared. His bones shook from the inside out.

"Nnnnhhh!!"

A muffled groan of pain escaped his throat.

But he didn't move. He didn't tremble. He endured.

The transformation was underway.

Every cell in his body was being rewritten—optimized, reforged like molten steel cooled in sacred waters.

He felt it in his tendons, in his joints, even in the marrow of his bones.

And then, the compounds climbed higher.

They traveled beneath his skin, slithering like glowing threads of agony toward his face.

His eyelids twitched. His vision dimmed.

He could feel the compound crawling into his eyeballs—a thousand miniature lances stabbing into the core of his sight.

Still, he held on.

He chuckled internally, almost mockingly.

"Heh… This really isn't as bad as I thought it would be.

Come on, Shaddad. I've suffered through hells you've never even— GYEAAAAAAAAA"