Lord of the Truth

"...Your Majesty, do you have any advice for me as well on how to deal with the specters using the Time Path?" Malik bowed deeply, his voice carrying both respect and the weight of expectation.

Although he wasn't directly involved in the spirited rivalry between Wade and Latania, the pride of his position as captain of the First Guard Division made it difficult to stand idly by. Every clash, every movement they made against the specters gnawed at him—watching them engage while he remained still felt like a personal humiliation.

"Hmm." Robin's brows lifted ever so slightly, his gaze steady. "Using time against specters is, in truth, highly impractical. The very essence of the Time Law revolves around influencing the flow that governs bodies, matter, and tangible things. But these specters... they are beings untouched by the normal tether of time itself." His lips curved faintly. "Except, of course, in certain rare and very particular circumstances."

"....." Malik's eyes widened, his breath caught for an instant. Receiving a direct teaching from His Majesty was no common event—it was the kind of moment warriors dreamed of and built their entire careers around.

"Since you've asked me plainly," Robin continued, his voice calm but carrying the subtle authority of someone who had crossed countless battlefields, "I will give you not just one method, but two. The rest, you will have to uncover yourself." He inclined his head toward the writhing horde in the distance. "First—use the Curse of Ages."

"It will work on them?!" Malik's voice rose involuntarily, unable to hide his surprise.

The Curse of Ages was not a casual strike—it was a devastating wide-area technique in which the flow of time within its domain surged forward at a crushing pace. Anything trapped within that sphere would wither before the caster's eyes: children would become elders in seconds, and the strong would crumble into dust before they could even comprehend what had struck them.

"It will work," Robin affirmed with quiet certainty. "Time does affect the specters—but not in the same way it affects us. They are forced to burn through their soul force constantly under its influence. The problem is… left unchecked, this takes far too long to destroy them. Which is why you must not unleash the Curse of Ages on a grand scale. Doing so will only draw them to you in overwhelming numbers, forcing you to retreat and abandoning the effect entirely. Instead, focus it like a spear, not a net—target one specter at a time. Each cursed target should be brought to its end within roughly a minute. Imagine it as planting a miniature domain of the Curse of Ages inside your enemy's very being."

"A small domain, embedded inside the target..." Malik repeated slowly, nodding as understanding took root.

He realized that even if the curse required a short delay before killing its victim, he could chain the technique—casting dozens of such curses in rapid succession. It could become a battlefield snare: infect the target, withdraw, and let the inevitability of time claim them without further effort on his part.

How had such a simple but deadly tactic never crossed his mind until now?

"And the second method?" Malik asked once more, his tone weighted with even greater respect, as though the first revelation had humbled him further.

Robin was silent for several breaths, his sharp gaze observing the chaos before them. Finally, he turned slightly toward Malik. "Tell me… have you fully mastered the Self-Shard Strike?"

"Yes, Your Majesty—the soul force–infused mental attack," Malik replied with confidence, though a trace of doubt flickered across his face. "But here... against them?"

The Self-Shard Strike was not a technique for the faint of heart. It was an assault that pierced the mind, laced with the scent of time itself, and it dragged the victim through the winding corridors of their own existence. They would be forced to relive their past, witness their present, and glimpse the threads of their possible future—all on a relentless loop. Those who fell prey to it often emerged shattered—if they emerged at all—driven to madness by the endless replay of their own life.

"Every specter carries remnants of memory," Robin explained. "Even if it's no more than a single moment —a place where they played as children— those memories are there. The Self-Shard Strike will pull them into that recollection, disrupting their focus and confusing their very sense of self. There is a strong chance that this disruption will help strip away their negative energy entirely. But more importantly..." His voice grew sharper. "...it will spike their soul force consumption to extreme levels. And what does that lead to?"

"...It leads to their transformation into emeralds," Malik finished, nodding several times as the truth settled in. Then, almost as if his own thoughts embarrassed him, he exhaled a long breath.

He had always believed he had climbed to the very peak of what the Time Path could offer. He had thought himself unmatched in the Empire when it came to understanding its intricacies. And yet… he had somehow forgotten that the very techniques he treasured most had been authored by the man before him.

"...." With that, Robin's focus returned wholly to the battlefield, his expression hardening. The moment for instruction was over; the time for observation had returned.

Wade and Latania's attacks were relentless yet methodical, always concentrated on a single specter at a time. Every strike was deliberate, every movement calculated. Yet the nature of the fight forced them into an almost constant rhythm of engagement and withdrawal, striking only when the opening was perfect before retreating again to avoid being overwhelmed. Because of this measured pace, their kill count rose slowly, almost grudgingly, as though the battlefield itself resisted their efforts. Even now, despite the chaos they had sown, there were still more than seven hundred specters prowling the area, their ghostly forms swirling like an ominous tide.

Still, their work was far from fruitless. By now, roughly a hundred emeralds had been collected, each glowing faintly in the light—treasures that pulsed with stored soul force. Some contained no more than twenty units, while others, rare and glimmering more brightly, held several hundred. The accumulated total was approaching four thousand units of soul force. Four thousand!

Considering that four hundred thousand Pearls had been paid just for the right to set foot on this cursed planet, it was not yet a victory… but perhaps, if they could keep up this disciplined, unyielding pace for the remainder of the six allotted days, the scales might finally tip. The thought of recouping such a vast investment—against odds like these—would be enough to light a spark in even the most jaded warrior.

And the purpose for such a haul? Robin's lips curved into a knowing smile. For him personally, that emerald stockpile might be unnecessary; his own power stood on a foundation far beyond what such refined energy could offer. Yet for his sprawling empire—a realm scattered across countless worlds and teeming with young, hungry soul masters—this emerald was an opportunity wrapped in pure potential. It was easily absorbed, potent in its purity, and could push those promising youths through thresholds they would otherwise spend decades trying to cross. With their growth, the empire's collective strength would surge, elevating it into a new and unshakable era of dominance.

"Hm? Why are you still rooted in place?" Robin's voice broke Malik's train of thought. He turned his head toward the man, one brow raised. "Go. Join your comrades in their hunt. And make sure you gather every single emerald that falls—leave nothing behind, not even a single grain of luminous sand lying unclaimed."

"But…" Malik's voice trailed off into silence, though his gaze lingered on Robin. Words were unnecessary; his eyes alone carried the weight of what he wanted to say.

Robin only smiled, an expression of quiet confidence. "Go. Even if I am seated, I am not someone so easily cornered or harmed. Should anything threaten me, I will call for you guys."

"Yes, my liege!" Malik's hesitation shattered, replaced by sudden purpose. He sprang forward with the speed of an arrow loosed from a bow, his figure blurring as he raced toward the fray, eager to put the newly gifted strategies to the test.

"...." Behind him, Robin returned his full attention to the battlefield. His gaze tracked every shift, every exchange, the subtle nod of his head betraying a deep satisfaction at the scene unfolding before him. The enemy's strange, intangible nature had rendered much of the First Guard's usual arsenal worthless. Most of them lacked the mastery of soul force needed to confront such numbers effectively; brute physical might was useless against creatures without flesh and bone, and even the majority of their law-based assaults were met with no effect at all.

And yet… the three combatants carved their way through a living sea of almost eight hundred fiends. Each relied on one, perhaps two, core attacks, repeated with disciplined precision, all while weaving through the shifting chaos to avoid capture. Between strikes, they stooped or reached to gather fallen emeralds, never letting valuable spoils lie untouched. The way they moved spoke of battles fought across countless fronts, of skills honed in desperate, high-stakes clashes. Even more telling was the ease with which they had understood and implemented Robin's instructions, translating words into flawless execution on the very first attempt.

Any one of these three could lead a host of soldiers into battle and emerge victorious. In this moment, Robin's trust in his new guards was not merely intact—it was absolute.

"…!!" A sudden ripple of warning surged through him, and Robin's instincts screamed.

He twisted sharply, his upper body moving with surprising speed and force, as if the earlier stiffness and disobedience of his limbs had been nothing but an illusion.

There—atop the jagged crown of a nearby mountain—stood the source.

A lone specter, its silhouette distinct against the backdrop of swirling mist, its gaze fixed on him with silent, unsettling intensity.

The battle raged in the valley below, his three guards locked in a fierce struggle against hundreds of their kind, yet this one remained apart, unmoving, watching Robin with an unreadable stillness.