Lord of the Truth

Shoo

In a heartbeat, Latania's sharp gaze swept across the desolate terrain, locking onto a jagged, half-buried rock formation that offered just enough cover to obscure them from prying eyes. Without hesitation, she pushed the wheel chair toward it with fluid precision, her cloak brushing against the coarse stone. Behind her, Wade and Malek mirrored her swift retreat, moving with disciplined urgency. Their positions were not random—they deliberately spread themselves to shield both her and His Majesty from any possible angle of attack, making sure that if even a single specter happened to notice them, it would be intercepted before danger reached the royal figure.

Fortunately, Latania's rare and formidable ability to suppress all forms of emitted waves—whether the faintest sound, subtle vibrations, or even the delicate threads of soul sense—wrapped them in a cocoon of silence. It was as though they had been erased from the world, leaving behind neither sound, trail, nor aura, enabling them to withdraw without a single trace for the predators to follow.

"Is that really necessary?" Robin's voice carried a tone of faint curiosity as he watched the three of them move with calculated precision, securing him from three distinct directions as if anticipating an invisible ambush.

"It is far better to keep ourselves poised for attack against specters, Your Majesty, than to cower in defense," Malek replied, his expression set like stone. "One misstep and we could find ourselves not just spotted, but completely surrounded by a herd." His voice carried an edge—an intensity sharpened by memories he clearly wished had stayed buried.

"A herd?" Robin's brows rose slightly, his mind catching on the word.

"Yes," Latania answered, her voice calm but measured. "Specters… they still carry fragments of their original memories—shards of the lives they once had. Some even cling to old human habits, like gathering together in communities. But they do it in a way that is no longer human… twisted, cold, and alien." She guided Robin a few careful steps forward, just enough for him to peer over the rock without exposing himself. "And that… produces sights like the one you're about to see."

"….."

This time, Robin allowed his gaze to linger, scanning the expanse before them—and what he saw sent a slow, icy ripple through his chest.

In that bleak stretch of land, there were no fewer than eight hundred things.

They were grotesque, translucent abominations—specters with forms that mimicked decaying corpses. More than half bore only the bare structure of skulls, empty sockets staring without sight. Others still had patches of flesh clinging to them like tattered shrouds, some with eyes hanging loosely in their sockets. The most "intact" among them resembled charred cadavers, their blackened skin peeling and warped as though frozen mid-burning.

"It is said," Malek began, his voice low but steady, "that when a wandering initial soul transforms into a specter, the entity that emerges is aware but deeply unstable. It has no kin, no real memory of who it once was—unlike a beast, which is guided by simpler instincts. Instead, its distorted mind drives it to search for the corpse it once wore in life, attempting to shape itself into that familiar shell again… believing that doing so will give it back an identity."

He paused, his gaze fixed on the mass of drifting figures before them. "…But by the time they find what they're looking for, the corpse has already rotted away or been reduced to nothing but rotten flesh and bone. And so, you see the result—hollow, translucent cadavers that drift through the wasteland without purpose. They care for nothing but feeding. And when there is no prey to be found, they remain completely motionless, conserving every flicker of energy. If they consume more than they can replenish, their essence collapses—they crystallize into emeralds and are purified automatically. All negative energy drains from them, and whatever fragment of consciousness they had is destroyed forever."

Robin frowned faintly, a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "…Then isn't that the solution to dealing with them? Simply seal off the planet for a time and return later to harvest the emeralds?"

"….."

The three exchanged looks—long, silent, and edged with something between disbelief and dark amusement.

"What? Did I say something strange?" Robin arched a brow.

"You truly do have the dangerous merchant's mind the stories speak of, Your Majesty," Wade said, a faint chuckle escaping him. "What you've just described is the very definition of an Emerald Farm—one of the most infamous, sinister, and morally corrupt practices in the known universe. There are powers —most notoriously the Syndicate— who deliberately seek out remote planets, usually heavily populated yet politically isolated, and prepare them for total extermination. Every living thing is wiped out, and in the aftermath, they seed the land with concentrated sources of negative energy and accelerants designed to speed up the transformation process."

"…And the result," Malek said, his tone grave, "is an entire planet infested with millions—sometimes even billions—of specters. Once the extermination and seeding process is complete, the planet is placed under a strict and impenetrable quarantine for a set period. Let's take, for example, a million years. When that time has passed, the planet becomes a veritable treasure field—anyone bold enough to step onto its surface would find emeralds lying scattered everywhere, glinting in the dust and pebbles as if the soil itself were laced with jewels."

"A million years?" Robin's brow furrowed slightly, a faint crease forming between his eyes. "That's… far too long. It's almost unimaginable."

"That," Malek replied with a slow nod, "is the minimum span to be certain the emeralds will start manifesting. Once specters enter the deep dormant state you see now, their energy consumption drops to almost nothing. At such a rate, complete crystallization into emerald form could take not just a million, but ten million years or even longer. The stronger among them—those ancient, stubborn remnants—might take far more than that. And then there's the cost…" His voice hardened. "The cost of exterminating every living thing on a planet, of flooding it with concentrated negative energy, of installing transformation catalysts and accelerants—it is beyond astronomical. Whole empires would bankrupt themselves attempting it."

He gave a small shake of his head. "That's why the only ones capable of this level of… patience… and this kind of financial audacity, are the truly rich, and of course the Syndicate. No other force in the known universe can shoulder such a gamble." Malek's eyes swept back toward the drifting mass of figures in the distance. "There are dozens—perhaps hundreds—of these sealed emerald farms scattered across the cosmos, hidden behind quarantines, quietly ripening for their grim harvest. But then there are worlds like this one—open farms, unsealed, free for anyone brave—or foolish—enough to enter."

"Instead of waiting millions of years and then paying obscene sums to purchase rare emeralds… assuming they even appear on the open market at all, since the Syndicate often hoards them for their own high-ranking soul masters… you can simply come here," Malek continued. "Pay the entrance toll, walk into the danger, and hunt them yourself. If fortune smiles on you, you might leave with more emerald units than the Pearls you spent to get in. Although…" He allowed himself a wry smile. "…that's an optimistic gamble at best."

Latania's voice slid in smoothly, carrying a certain edge of amusement. "Exactly. That way, the Syndicate secures a steady and reliable stream of revenue. And every time an unfortunate visitor dies here, they leave behind their belongings, and of he himself become a new specter—sometimes an exceptionally strong one—which in turn becomes bait to lure more would-be hunters. It's a self-feeding cycle." Her lips curved into half a smirk. "But really, Malek… a bit unlikely? You call each of us collecting one hundred thousand soul units' worth of emeralds in just six days only a bit unlikely? That's beyond a stretch—it's absurd."

Malek merely shrugged, the faintest glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Maybe we'll stumble upon a lucky find—some loose emeralds scattered in the dirt, overlooked by others. Stranger things have happened."

Robin's voice cut cleanly through the conversation. "Enough talk. Every minute we spend chatting is a minute wasted." He tilted his head toward the distant herd, his tone cool and decisive. "The strongest among them has no more than two thousand soul units. I have no personal need for them—purifying and refining that kind of meager power would be a waste of time. They shouldn't be capable of seriously injuring you, either. So… who's going first? I want to see how these creatures fight compared to my Imperial Guard Division Leaders."

The silence that followed was telling. Malek didn't move, his expression betraying no eagerness to volunteer.

"Kikiki… I'll take this one," Wade finally said, breaking the pause. He rolled his neck from side to side until it popped, a sharp grin spreading across his face. "Watch closely, all of you. Watch… and learn. Watch… and learn."

Woosh

In the blink of an eye, Wade blurred out of sight, reappearing in the dead center of the specter herd. His twin daggers flashed into his hands like silver fangs catching the dim light. "Food delivery's here! Who's ready for a big, juicy feast? Kikiki…"

"Haaaah?" one of the specters uttered in a guttural, broken sound.

"Raaaaaaaaaaaah~~!!" another roared, and in an instant, the stillness of the herd shattered like glass.