Lord of the Truth

Somewhere in the heart of Mid Sector 100—

Tap Tap

A young human man, his short brown hair neatly trimmed, his sharp, noble features framed by the faint gleam of polished black-gold armor, leaned back casually in his chair. Both of his feet rested lazily atop the table before him, tapping in a slow, deliberate rhythm as though each sound was a measure of his dwindling patience. After a few moments, he gave his head a small shake, almost as if dismissing an invisible thought. "Hmm… no. I don't feel like agreeing to that."

Naturally, this was none other than Peon himself—a man whose reputation preceded him in most corners of the known sectors. Standing silently at his back were three masked individuals, each cloaked in an aura so heavy it distorted the space around them. Even without a single word, it was obvious that each one of them was at a World Cataclysm, the kind of existence that could turn an entire battlefield into dust.

Bam

Opposite Peon sat three figures, each drastically different in form from a human. They were so thin their limbs seemed like they could snap under the weight of their own clothes. Their faces were unusually long and stretched, their skin tinted an unnatural, piercing shade of blue that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Every line on their faces carried irritation and restrained fury.

It was the one on the far right who lost control first, slamming both hands on the table and bursting out in a voice that rattled the room, "This is not how a negotiation works!"

The one on the left did not raise his voice, yet his words carried an even sharper edge. "Who exactly are you? Why are you the one speaking with us? Bring us to your planetary emperor—immediately!"

Peon chuckled at that, the sound low and dismissive. His eyes, however, never left the figure in the middle. "What about you? Got anything you'd like to say? Go ahead—but choose your words carefully. It might just be the last thing you say before this meeting ends."

"....."

The central figure, who appeared older than the other two both in demeanor and in the weathered lines of his face, slowly drew in a deep breath, as though forcing himself to remain calm. "There's nothing for me to say… except that I would prefer a more serious conversation than this mockery."

"Then speak seriously," Peon's smile vanished, replaced with a look of sharp annoyance. "Because the offer you've brought me is so pitiful, I'm honestly debating whether you came here just to waste my time… or if you're actually that naïve."

The older male's brows knit together tightly. "What exactly is wrong with the offer? I'm offering you a planet in exchange for ending the war. Your empire was founded barely a few decades ago, and now you're trying to consume everything around you like a starved beast. This hunger, this greed—it's dangerous! Are you not afraid you'll be branded a demonic empire and have the rest of the surrounding powers unite to destroy you?"

Peon tilted his head slightly, his tone dripping with mockery. "Hmm… has your affinity with oil made your blood turn to thick crude as well? Have you truly lost touch with reality?" His raised eyebrow cut like a blade. "You clowns… your so-called planetary empire formed only seventy thousand years ago, and you have a grand total of four planets. Instead of bowing your heads, keeping your distance, and staying out of the path of those leagues beyond you, you joined the alliance that was created for the sole purpose of destroying us?"

"What—did you honestly think you could fish in troubled waters and snatch a planet from under us? That you could increase your pitiful planetary count by twenty-five percent overnight—jumping from four to five planets in one stroke?" Peon's voice sharpened further, slicing the air like a whip. "And now, after we've beaten you into the dirt and stripped you of two of your four planets, you dare to come here and suggest we return one of them to you and keep only one in the name of peace?"

"I fail to understand—your so-called peace offer is for us to hand you back your planet? Are you out of your god damn mind? Let's say I don't agree—what then? What will you do?" His eyes narrowed to a dangerous sliver. "Or perhaps that yam-shaped head of yours took a hard hit in one of your battles?"

Bam

The alien on the right slammed the table again, his thin arms trembling with barely contained rage. "We came here to discuss peace, and you dare insult us?! Who do you think you are? A mere Martial Emperor, a commander of the ground forces? Bring us someone important to speak with—now, boy!"

Only then did Peon grant him a sidelong glance, his tone laced with a cold, casual threat. "Hit that table one more time, and I'll beat you into paste before tossing you into a space gate so you can crawl back into whatever hole you slithered from. Don't fool yourself into thinking that being a World Cataclysm means anything in front of me. We have plenty of your kind here… more than enough."

"....."

The figure in the middle slowly raised his hand, a calm yet firm gesture meant to silence his companion on the left, almost as if he were shielding him from further embarrassment. His eyes stayed locked on Peon as he spoke with deliberate weight.

"We have laid out our offer in full. Take the planet—it is yours, congratulations. In exchange, we will bind ourselves by a soul pact, swearing never again to raise arms against the Cradle Empire, not now, not ever. If you have another proposal, speak it now."

Peon's lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. "We have no use for your pact. You promise not to attack us? Am I supposed to find that tempting?" He waved his hand dismissively, the black-gold armor on his arm catching the dim light. "The two remaining planets you hold are already marked targets on our list, so let's not pretend otherwise. Listen carefully—if you want peace, then these are the terms I will dictate to you. And don't delude yourself into thinking there are any other possibilities."

He slowly raised one finger. "First… you will declare a state of military surrender to the Cradle Empire. You will raise the white banners above your Emperor's palace for all to see. We will keep the two planets we have already taken, and we will send our own inspection teams to your remaining worlds. They will evaluate whether there is anything worth sharing—and by sharing, I mean we take our rightful portion—whether it be rich mineral veins, fertile energy fields, rare fauna, or even technology that might have the slightest scrap of value."

"This is robbery!!" the figure on the left exploded, his voice almost shaking the air in the tent.

"I know," Peon replied coolly, his tone so casual it was almost insulting. "And what exactly is the problem? You joined the alliance and launched an attack on us with the clear intention of stealing from us as well. Oh, so it's sacred and justified when you rob, but unholy when we do the same?" Without giving them a moment to retort, he raised a second finger. "The second option is complete surrender—your empire will dissolve and merge fully into ours."

"So you're giving us a choice between keeping two planets… or keeping nothing at all?" The figure in the middle let out a bitter laugh, the kind that came from frustration as much as disbelief.

He was a peak World Cataclysm in his own right, a being feared across sectors—yet here he was, unable to even lay a finger on the martial emperor seated before him.

It was almost as if Peon had been waiting for that exact response. His tone shifted into cold, razor-edged seriousness. "I'm giving you a choice between keeping two planets while becoming a wounded prey for other empires to circle and tear apart—or pledging yourselves to us. In that case, your family will retain rulership over your homeworld. We will find a way to enrich the beast blood within your veins, we will supply your next generation with high-grade stabilizers, we will grant you advanced martial arts and law techniques far beyond what you know, we will optimize your resource exploitation so that your worlds become richer, more prosperous. And most importantly… you will be part of something vastly greater than yourselves. A power no one would dare to touch."

"Empty words," the older alien spat, grinding his teeth hard enough that his jaw muscles twitched. "Anyone can dress up promises in such pretty speech."

Peon's reply was swift and unwavering. "Then we seal it in blood and spirit—a soul contract. If we deliver everything I have just promised, you will swear unbreakable loyalty to the Cradle Empire. Does that sound fair enough for you?"

"....." The middle figure's silence stretched on for several heartbeats. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he rose to his feet. "I will carry your message to His Majesty. It will be for him to decide the fate of his realm." Without another glance, he turned on his heel and strode out.

"I look forward to a wise decision!" Peon called after them, raising a hand in a casual wave, his smile returning. A moment later, his eyes slid shut again. Another exhausting day, another game of words and pressure.

These were far from the first envoys to come creeping in search of secret arrangements after witnessing the overwhelming might of the Cradle Empire—and they certainly would not be the last. In fact, such meetings had become nearly a daily occurrence, to the point where he and Caesar had begun to split the burden of receiving them. Caesar had tired of the endless negotiations and had summoned Peon to take over for a few months, freeing himself to personally return to the battlefield.

If Peon could bring these people into the fold—absorbing those among them who had reached the Nexus State or the level of World Cataclysm—then it would be a fine addition to their strength. If not, then their planets would simply be seized by force. That was the goal. That was the path of expansion His Majesty had commanded… a path carved in conquest.

Bloof

"Father." The tent's flap rustled open, and a young man stepped in. He was clad in armor of black and silver that gleamed faintly under the lamplight. His short golden hair caught the glow, and his features bore the unmistakable resemblance of blood to Peon's own. "Did you reach any kind of agreement?"

"No," Peon said simply, opening his eyes at last. "I doubt we will. Their emperor is the type with ambitions far larger than his abilities—a man who will bring ruin upon himself sooner or later." Then, leaning back slightly, his gaze drifted upward toward the tent's ceiling. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "…Your grandfather threw us into the very heart of a storm, and then decided to take his leisure in an Academy."