Lord of the Truth

"..." Robin held his host's gaze for several long seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, with a tired motion, he began to rub the space between his brows. "It's not that I'm trying to shut down every path, Lord Hedrick. That's not my intention. The problem is that you're inflating your own dilemma while belittling mine. And that imbalance? That's no foundation for a true partnership—it's a foundation for dominance. Subordination. And I'm no subordinate. I never was.

And clearly... you wouldn't accept following anyone either."

He let out a deep sigh, voice dropping just slightly. "Your crisis and mine—each one is vast enough to be the centerpiece of universal concern for millennia. Each of them, on their own, could inspire legends and spawn entire philosophies. And yet... somehow, both have collided in the same age, in adjacent sectors. It's beyond coincidence. It's the kind of convergence that only exists in myths and cosmic epics."

"Even myths can be solved," Hedrick said confidently, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. "I've listened to your dilemma with all the attention it deserves. Now... hear me out. Here's what I propose."

He leaned forward slightly, the tone of his voice sharpening with resolve. "Give me the Fourth-Grade Displacement Gear, and stick to 180 planets. It's better for you, anyway. More manageable. And between you and me, I highly doubt you'll be able to gather and stabilize 180 fully loyal, fully integrated planets before ascension."

"And in return—" he quickly raised his voice and pointed a finger, halting Robin before he could speak, "...I'll support you on your Ascension Day. Directly."

Robin leaned back slightly, skeptical. "And how, exactly, do you intend to do that?"

"In standard ascensions," Hedrick began, tone slipping into the rhythm of a practiced strategist, "the major factions scatter their scouts across the Wall—one of the most volatile regions of space. Every day, several planets spontaneously shift into the Middle Sector. It's a race. Whichever power detects the new arrivals first sends a fleet to seize it, raise their flag, and claim it before anyone else can respond."

"...But even if a power manages to get there first, to raise their colors on a promising world, that doesn't mean the planet is safe. Not by a long shot. Any rival that discovers it afterward can call down their own forces to contest it. Because, by then, the occupying force barely has any defenses in place. Their control is fragile at best. They're usually still trying to subdue the local population—people who didn't even realize they'd been conquered."

"This type of planetary skirmish—small but critical—breaks out daily, and in multiple spots across each sector. It's the root cause of dozens, if not hundreds, of major rivalries between major powers who had no prior history with each other. And the worst part? If the planet is particularly massive or holds rare resources... that conflict becomes inevitable, brutal, and prolonged."

Hedrick nodded toward Robin with a meaningful glance. "Now imagine this: instead of one planet, you ascend with an entire galaxy seed—not a lone world, but a structured system of 180 orbiting planets. Now ask yourself... who controls one of those worlds? Do they gain access to the others?"

"..." Robin lowered his head slightly, the implications weighing down his thoughts.

"On the very first day, dozens of high-level powers will detect your artificial galaxy. A GALAXY coming up will be flagged by every surveillance grid within the sector. And by the end of that same day, fleets will already be mobilizing. They'll arrive from every direction, every corner of the star map, each looking to land on one of your orbiting worlds...Each faction will secure a planet, fortify it, and prepare it as a staging ground—so they can launch their assault on the seed itself."

"...By the end of that first week, your carefully raised armies—the ones you trained, supplied, and cultivated over lifetimes—will have been reduced to scattered remnants. You'll be forced to retreat, possibly flee entirely. And once you look back, all you'll see is a burning graveyard. Your grand plan—the seed, the orbit, the dream—reduced to a warzone between people you don't know."

"The entire sector will be buzzing. News will spread like wildfire: an artificial galaxy has appeared. And with that, a new war has begun. Dozens of new powers will respond. Some will aim directly for the seed. Others will first wipe out any rival factions who arrived early, wanting to clear the board before claiming the prize."

"...By the end of the first month, nearly every planet in the orbital ring will be either scorched, collapsed, or utterly drained of energy. The seed itself, your precious Nihari, will become the target of over a hundred Nexus State Beings—maybe more—and at least five Guardians and Monarchs will be contesting over pieces of it, each fighting to carve their share of the galaxy."

"...By the time the first year is over, the Millennium Empires will have erased all minor competition. They'll claim large sections of the orbital planets and even start annexing pieces of Nihari itself under the guise of temporary truces. But it won't be peace. Not truly. Behind the curtains, secret raids will start. Ambassadors will weave lies. Treaties will be signed with one hand and broken with the other. And by that point... not a single original citizen of your seed world, or any of its orbiting colonies, will still be alive to witness what remains."

Gulp.

Robin already knew the situation would be dire—maybe even catastrophic. But Hedrick's words? They didn't just confirm his fears; they painted a vision so grim, so thoroughly drenched in inevitability, that even Robin's seasoned mind struggled to keep the weight from settling in.

"...At that point, one of three outcomes becomes inevitable." Hedrick raised three fingers, speaking slowly, deliberately. "The first is that the war continues exclusively among the Millennium Empires, supported silently from the shadows by hidden Behemoths and Monarchs too clever to step directly into the fray. If that happens, then brace yourself: the conflict will drag on for over a thousand years, a devastating slow burn that wipes out every empire involved... until only one is left standing.

"The second possibility is that one of the Stellar Academies decides to intervene—to 'put an end to the bloodshed,' as they like to phrase it. And once that happens, the monarch or guardian standing on top of that academy will seize the opportunity to hijack the Academy's authority, using its vast resources and legitimacy to claim the seed under the guise of peacekeeping. Later, they'll crown themselves a Behemoth, using your creation as their stepping stone. Don't think it's just theory—it's already happened once in the deeper records of cosmic history."

He clenched both fists and dropped them to his sides with weight. "And the third... is that Intares himself—or one of his direct heirs—decides the opportunity is too good to ignore. He could simply dispatch one of his children, armed with THE Grade-Six Planetary Displacement Gear, and they'd descend like a blade through paper, securing and taking away the seed in a matter of hours. The rest of the orbital planets would be abandoned to infighting, slowly clashing between themselves without their core governing them."

Then he placed both hands firmly on his knees, eyes locked on Robin. His voice dropped in tone but grew heavier in meaning. "Even if we assume—for argument's sake—that you somehow accomplish the impossible... that you truly do force Nihari to ascend 600 years ahead of schedule... what will you really have?"

"You'll have one person who's broken into the World Cataclysm Realm. Just one. Not an army. Not a line of defense. So tell me—how do you plan to hold your territory against an onslaught like that? No—better yet—how do you even survive the first seven days of the war that will break out the moment you ascend?"

"...." Robin's gaze turned cold. A hard, frosted calm settled into his features. There was no fear—but there was weight. He stared at Hedrick for a few moments, then said quietly, "I get the feeling you're about to tell me."

Without hesitation, Hedrick responded, tone clear and direct: "Just inform me of the time... and the place. On the day your galactic seed ascends, you'll find me there—alongside a handpicked group of my most loyal elites and trusted followers. I will fight for you."

Robin raised a skeptical eyebrow. His voice held a trace of mock amusement. "You just said yourself: the moment the ascension is complete, every Millennium Empire will mobilize their armies. They'll take this seriously—very seriously. So what makes you any different? Doesn't that make you just another player on the board?"

He leaned forward slightly. "No... actually, you're worse. Unlike the others, you won't even be bringing your full military. You're two sectors away from the ascension zone—you can't afford to leave your empire exposed for long. That means you'll show up in person—what, with maybe one or two nexus states accompanying you? And what else? A strike team of, what, twenty World Cataclysm experts? That's not an army—that's a gesture."

"That gesture will change everything if it arrives before the others," Hedrick countered quickly, his tone razor-sharp. "Because I won't be there as another attacker... I'll be there as a defender. That alone shifts the balance from the first moment."

He straightened, then smiled faintly. "And on top of that... my younger sister will be coming as well, along with a select group of her own commanders. That girl is on the brink of breaking through to peak nexus state—she's already dancing on the edge of the Seventh Stage. Her talent is freakish, unnatural. And her mastery over the Minor Law of Ashification... well, let's just say she's one of the deadliest forces alive beneath the Seventh Stage ceiling."

He paused, letting the weight of that promise settle between them. "Together, we won't just give you breathing room—we'll turn your first week from a funeral into a message."