Lord of the Truth

"...Then why... do people go... there?" Robin gasped, the agony rippling through his nerves with every breath, the process happening now should took more like a century but instead in will take a few hours.

"Soul Emeralds," Shasdad replied calmly as he pressed harder into Robin's back with one hand. Then, with a sudden motion, he pulled one hand away — revealing a gemstone shimmering between hues of golden-green. It looked like something carved from lightning and silence. Almost like a diamond, yet breathing with a faint glow of something alive.

"Wha… what is that?!" Robin's pain-blurred eyes lit up instantly, focused entirely on the flickering jewel. Its strange glow seemed to pierce the fog of torment clouding his mind.

And just as suddenly, the gem vanished from Shaddad's hand.

He placed both palms flat again and continued, his tone low and deliberate.

"What you saw... was a Soul Emerald. The crystallized essence of a specter. You see, specters are pure soul force essence — ancient, refined over eons of drifting madness. When one of them is finally destroyed... the soul force essence they've been forged from collapses in on itself, hardens, and becomes what you just saw— A Soul Emerald."

He pressed harder on Robin's back, adjusting the flow of the treatment, and kept explaining.

"Each emerald holds condensed Soul Force — clean, potent, and priceless.

You can absorb it, train with it, or use it as a reservoir of soul units.

If you're capable of expanding your soul domain by 10 units per day normally, using one of these could let you grow by 20… even 30 units a day."

Robin blinked, wincing.

"So… it works like Energy Pearls? Why the hell have I never heard of them before?!"

"Because they're not part of mainstream cultivation," Shaddad said with a dry laugh.

"They're luxury. Treasure. Not foundation stones — they're inheritance-level items.

They show up in high-tier auctions, in secret vaults, or in the possession of madmen who hunt specters for a living. They're expensive — absurdly so."

He gave a small nostalgic smile.

"I bought mine centuries ago. After getting humiliated by a specter, I swore I'd strengthen my soul— just a bit.

It cost me seventeen thousand Pearls. That emerald had 11,400 units stored in it. I think they gave me a pity discount."

Then he shook his head, still smiling.

"But in the end, I realized that the Soul Path wasn't my path. I'm a man of fists, of muscle, of steel and skin. Not… that."

He chuckled again.

"When your bath's done, you can have it. I just keep it as a lucky charm now."

Robin groaned. The pain had returned with a vengeance, but his mind was alive, calculating, burning.

"If one soul unit equals one Pearl… then Soul Emeralds share the same exchange value as the Soul Society's standard currency— Arghh— This… This does justify the risk."

"That's not even the main reason people go to the specter worlds," Shaddad added, his voice dropping lower.

"It's not?"

"No. Soul Masters... go there to harvest." Shaddad's brows knit tightly. "To capture specters — not just to kill them."

Robin's pain-stricken expression twisted into disbelief.

"Capture?! Those things can be captured?"

"It's nearly impossible, but yes," Shaddad said seriously.

"The most valuable resource to any Soul Master is an initial soul — the kind that becomes a true soul creature after refinement that can act as extensions of your power."

He leaned forward, the heat from his palms intensifying.

"The problem is: pure initial souls are hard to find. and catch. But specters… solve part of that."

He stared down at Robin.

"They're visible."

Robin blinked.

"They can be seen.

They can be fought.

They can be dragged — sometimes — into a soul domain.

They can be contained.

And once inside, if you're strong enough… they can be refined."

Robin gasped as a wave of burning pain jolted through him.

"That… sounds... incredibly dangerous..."

Shidad nodded grimly.

"It is. Specters are walking disasters, packed with fragmented memories of who they were, and soaked in endless hate. Once one of them enters your domain, it starts corroding it, poisoning your soul with lingering madness.

But—" he raised a finger again, "if you can hold it down long enough… destroy what's left of its will… cleanse it from the inside out…

You will have access to thousands of soul units ready for refinement — and a powerful soul creature born from your own dominance."

"Normally, Soul Masters who venture to such planets focus on hunting the weaker specters to gather Soul Emeralds," Shaddad explained, voice calm but heavy. "They also target specters equal in strength to themselves—hoping to capture one or two before retreating. All while avoiding stronger ones drawn by the sweet aroma of their soul domains. If they're not careful..." he paused, voice dropping, "they become food."

He let out a long breath.

"This is the golden rule for all Soul Masters… even Barok isn't an exception. On those haunted worlds—especially on a planet like the Valley of Specters—there are entities powerful enough to kill you, if you're not careful."

Robin's lips curled into a pained grin.

"Sounds..." he mumbled, just before his body slumped forward, "perfect..."

He passed out.

During the first three baths, Robin had learned how to suppress his screams, how to swallow his pain and resist it silently—not because it helped the process, but because he couldn't bear to let his pride be wounded any further.

But burying pain inwardly comes at a dangerous price—far worse than wounded pride.

Thwack!

Shaddad smacked the back of Robin's neck sharply.

"Hey! Stay with me. We're just getting started!"

"Ah—what's happening?!" Robin snapped awake for a brief second, blinking in confusion.

Then the pain hit him again.

"Umm!!"

"You just said the Valley of Specters is perfect—are you still thinking of going there?" Shaddad asked, trying to keep Robin's mind engaged, distracting him from the agony.

"...Yes… I need a massive amount... of initial souls... My stock is depleted..." Robin managed to force out between gasps. "Battlefields won't give me... souls strong enough... I can't afford... to waste more centuries... refining weak creatures... training them from scratch..."

His eyes fluttered open and shut, breath ragged.

"That valley… that accursed place… sounds like the perfect fit... For everything I want… I'll go… once this is over..."

"Who are you taking with you?" Shaddad pressed harder, hoping the jolt would keep him conscious.

"It's far too dangerous to go alone—only royal-grade Soul Masters can survive solo in that place."

"Arghhh… no need… no one's free… to go with me... anyway…" Robin let out a dry, painful chuckle.

His followers were wreaking havoc across Sectors 99 and 100 in the Young Belt AND the Mid-Belt. They didn't even have time to sleep, let alone join him.

Besides, none of them were strong enough—only the most powerful ones might stand a chance. But if he took them, who would protect the Empire?

Shaddad raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean no one's free? What about those three wearing black armor waiting for you in the guard's courtyard? They looked strong to me."

"...Who?" Robin barely managed a smirk—then slipped into unconsciousness again.

** SMACK! **

"Wake up!!" Shaddad yelled, shaking him hard.