Lord of the Truth

"Professor... Professor..."

Robin blinked, returning from the clouded silence of his thoughts.

"Huh? What is it?"

The voice that reached him was trembling, but determined — a voice that had been holding back for too long.

"We're sorry."

It was Merina who spoke, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as though shielding herself from a truth too harsh to face.

"We've tarnished your name again... dragged it through the mud. We've failed you. We're useless."

Her words cut through the air with the weight of years.

This was not a moment born of impulse — no, this confrontation had been feared, postponed, and dreaded across decades.

And now, it had finally arrived.

She had expected fury.

A storm of scolding, disappointment, disgust.

But instead, Robin remained silent.

And that silence — that profound, bottomless silence — was far, far worse.

It said more than any words ever could.

It screamed of a disappointment so deep, so rooted, that not even anger dared grow upon it.

"..."

Robin let his gaze sweep over the seven students before him. There was no hatred in his eyes. No shouting. No outburst.

Just… a long exhale. A sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand battles.

"Let me tell you the truth," he began softly, voice like a ripple in still water,

"I'm not a good teacher. I've always known this. I don't have the patience for step-by-step guidance. I'm not someone who can sit down and gently correct mistakes one at a time. That's just not who I am."

He leaned forward, his eyes unfocused — as if he were speaking more to himself than to them.

"In my entire life, I've only ever trained two people. Two.

The first, I'd hand him a technique and throw him straight into a wild beast territory.

The second, I dumped thousands of law-based knowledge into his hands and left him to figure it all out on his own.

The most help I gave them was answering a few questions when they got stuck."

Before the students could reply — perhaps to defend him, perhaps to defend themselves — Robin raised a hand.

"Don't.

Don't try to lift my mood or say something comforting.

Those two… they are my pride."

His voice hardened — not with pride, but with certainty.

"One became the Supreme General of a planetary empire's military.

And the other... became a Truth Chosen."

The seven students blinked, stunned into silence.

They didn't know how to respond.

Two students.

Two only.

And both had risen to stand among the elite of the elite?

What kind of monstrous success rate was that?

No wonder Robin had looked so bitter when he saw them.

Compared to those legends… they were an embarrassment. A smudge on his otherwise untouchable legacy.

"Hmm," Robin smirked faintly, "You know what? I actually like you lot."

He slapped his thigh, standing straighter now.

"Since you've already thrown your names under the banner of Robin Burton, whether I like it or not…

I'll give you the same chance I gave those two."

His smile faded. His tone grew sharp — almost cold.

"But listen to me very carefully.

I have not accepted you as personal disciples.

And I probably never will.

Our relationship exists only within the context of this academy. Nothing more. Don't forget that.

Is that clear?"

There was a pause.

The seven looked between one another, torn between confusion and hesitation.

Was this a blessing or a rejection?

Should they be honored, or heartbroken?

Still, they nodded.

"Understood."

They didn't know whether to celebrate this rare opportunity —the same opportunity that birthed a Chosen of Truth and a Supreme General—

Or mourn the fact that even now, Robin was distancing himself.

Even now, he was pushing them away.

"Good."

Robin nodded once.

From his spatial ring, he withdrew a small metallic tablet — its surface smooth, reflective, and faintly humming with spiritual energy.

He held it in his left hand, closed his eyes, and poured his spiritual sense into it, silently encoding something deep within.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and casually tossed the tablet toward Merina.

"I've seen enough of your ability to understand how it works.

Once you channel your soul sense into this tablet, you'll find a comprehensive breakdown of your core power.

Inside are multiple techniques — offensive, defensive, reactive — all custom-fitted to your affinity.

There's also a method to generate more slime using your internal energy, so you'll no longer be limited to what your body can naturally produce."

"A-a-a-a..."

Merina caught the tablet with both hands, but they shook like she was holding the sun itself.

She stared down at it as though it might combust at any moment — wide-eyed, breathless, her entire body frozen in disbelief.

"...!!"

The other six students craned their necks to see. Their expressions shifted — awe, longing, and yes, unmistakable envy — spreading across their faces.

But more than that…

Hope.

Because if Robin was telling the truth…

Then that tablet wasn't just a gift.

It was a path.

A chance.

A door leading to a future that not even the grandest of their ancestors had dared to imagine.

Merina's heart thundered in her chest.

For a wild moment, she wanted to ask if she could share it — perhaps give the knowledge to her father, her clan.

But the question died in her throat.

She was afraid.

Afraid he'd take it back. Afraid she'd insult him by even suggesting it.

Ashamed, too — because she knew how foolish such a request would sound.

And besides…

Robin was no longer even looking at her.

As if what he had given her was nothing. A footnote. A passing thought.

His eyes now landed on Vanir.

"And you…"

He said slowly, his voice tinged with genuine surprise.

"I didn't expect you to be among them.

Maybe there's still hope for you after all."

The large boy lowered his head, his voice rumbling from somewhere deep, as if weighed down by years of silence:

"My family... is in the middle of a bitter internal conflict.

Our bloodline — once proud and strong — is thinning. The ancient power that once defined us is fading.

And now, my father and uncles are locked in a quiet but ruthless struggle for control.

I was sent here, to this academy, not as a warrior or scholar... but as a refugee. As someone to be kept alive."

His fingers curled into trembling fists as he inhaled shakily.

"And so, for the longest time, I just... existed.

I did what I had to. Nothing more.

I believed that there was no real path forward — no hope of becoming stronger — unless I could somehow restore our lineage.

Everything felt meaningless. Training. Competing. All of it just passing time until someone back home fixed the mess."

Then, he looked up. His eyes were filled with something that hadn't been there before — not confidence, but awakening.

"But after I heard you speak… about how we're wasting our time… about the true potential of laws…

Something inside me cracked open.

Even if just a little... I started to question what I had accepted as truth."

He exhaled, long and slow. His next words came with visible shame:

"That said... I still can't see how my ability can be used for anything other than close combat."

He raised his arm.

Before their eyes, his skin began to darken — black as obsidian — up to his wrist. The transformation was smooth, fluid, unnatural.

The surface shimmered like metal, reflecting the room's faint light. It looked like a warrior's gauntlet, forged not by human hands, but by something ancient.

"We draw our strength from an ancient beast: the Moon Tortoise.

Our ancestors... they could coat their entire bodies in this shell.

It was armor, yes, but also a weapon — a perfect blend of offense and defense.

They stood unmovable, unstoppable. Like walls of living stone."

He paused. His hand clenched, and a faint tremor ran through it.

"But those days are long gone.

Now? We can only manifest a tiny piece of that shell at a time."

As he spoke, the black armor began to retreat. From wrist to palm, down to the fingers, until it vanished completely — leaving behind bare skin and a look of silent frustration.

But just as the last drop of black receded—

"Hold it!"

Robin's voice sliced through the room like a whip.

Everyone flinched.

"If you're truly looking for a solution — then don't move a muscle.

Stay exactly like that."

"E-Eh?! Y-Yes sir!!"

Vanir jerked upright and extended his arm again. He summoned every last ounce of strength to push the armor back onto his skin, forcing it to spread wider than before.

His arm glowed with that dark shimmer again — but it was shaking.

Veins bulged. Sweat poured down his face.

This power wasn't just draining him — it was devouring him.

"...."

Robin's gaze sharpened.

A subtle flicker lit within his eyes — unnoticed by the others — but profound in force.

The Eye of Truth, activated at merely 5% of its capability, slowly began to peel back the secrets of the transformation.

It mapped it, understood it, digested it — atom by atom, cell by cell.

Minutes passed.

Vanir's muscles spasmed. The black began to recede again, inch by inch, as if drawn away by some invisible tide. From elbow to wrist… to palm… to fingertips…

His breath hitched. His eyes rolled back for a second.

He was seconds away from collapsing.

"That's enough. Rest."

Robin finally turned his eyes away, and reached into his ring.

Vanir crumpled forward — head and arm slamming onto the desk with a loud thud.

"Hah… hah..."

He panted like someone who had just escaped drowning.

The room around him spun, but still, he raised his head — barely — eyes wide, waiting for Robin's verdict.

Ten agonizing minutes passed.

Then — with no fanfare — Robin tossed a small metal tablet toward him.

"Inside this, you'll find a method to divide your dark armor — allowing it to cover multiple points at once instead of one fixed spot.

You'll find techniques to transfer the shell to weapons, tools… even allies.

There's also a rigorous training path to increase the percentage of your body that can handle the transformation at once.

And most importantly — a list of ancient beasts with bloodlines compatible to your own.

If you survive injecting their blood, your lineage may be restored. No. Improved.

It will depend on your wealth though."

"...!!!"

Vanir stared at the tablet as if Robin had just handed him a second chance at life.

His eyes were wide, unblinking. His mouth slightly open. No words came.

Because there were no words for what this meant.

He had lived his whole life believing the old ways were gone — that his family's power was irreparably broken.

And now, a stranger — no, a legend — had given him a roadmap to not only reclaim it, but surpass it.

But Robin?

He didn't even look at him.

Just like he had done with Merina, he acted as though this moment — this life-changing gift — was barely worth his attention.

His eyes moved across the room.

"Who's next?"