Lord of the Truth

"Surrender…?" Robin arched one brow high, his voice calm yet edged with curiosity. He turned his gaze toward the prisoner sprawled on the ground, bound tightly with thick ropes. Three sealing nails jutted cruelly from the man's chest, pulsing faintly with suppression runes. Robin's tone lowered, deep and probing.

"Is there something I'm not seeing here?"

"Please… please, save me… I don't want to die…" The World Cataclysm forced himself upright with agonizing effort, his shoulders trembling as sweat rolled down his dirt-stained face. "I'm only a hired hand! Nothing more! I work for a mere twenty thousand Pearls a year. I felt it—the young master's soul contract breaking. His death reverberated through me… and with him gone, nothing binds me anymore. I will serve you. I swear it. No salary, no conditions! Just… order him to free me from these cursed chains before the herds tear me apart!"

"….." Robin pressed his lips thin, his fingers tapping idly yet rhythmically against the armrest of his throne. Each tap resounded faintly, His eyes narrowed in thought, weighing the desperation before him. Then, at last, he gave a slight nod.

"Very well. But understand this—no one who serves under me remains without proper pay. Loyalty deserves reward, not chains."

He lifted a hand, releasing a ripple of soul force. It unfurled into the air and condensed into a radiant open book, its pages glowing with ancient light, lines of shifting script dancing across them like living fire.

"Pass your soul sense here," Robin commanded evenly, "and swear eternal loyalty to me, and to my bloodline after me."

The World Cataclysm's face lit with frantic relief. He nodded quickly, pressing his trembling soul sense toward the shimmering pages, eager to bind himself.

At the same moment, Robin's lips curved into a thin, satisfied smile. His eyes flicked toward Malik.

"Go and find the other World Cataclysm. Perhaps he, too, is wise enough to seek the same bargain."

"Understood." Malik gave a curt bow and turned, stepping forward to vanish into the distance—

Whoooosh! A ripple tore through the air as space split, and a figure materialized directly in front of him.

It was Latania. Her grip was tight around another prisoner, dragging him like a broken doll. She blinked once, lifting a brow as her eyes darted from her captive to the other bound man already lying near Malik.

"What exactly is happening here?"

"What are you doing here?" Malik demanded with irritation, his hand flexing at his side.

"This one begged for mercy." With no ceremony, Latania swung her arm and hurled her prisoner down. Bang! The man hit the ground heavily, coughing blood. She straightened, brushing a strand of hair back with cold grace. "I thought it best to bring him before His Majesty and let him decide."

"..." Malik smirked faintly, his tension slipping away. He stepped aside with a mocking bow.

"Then you've saved me a trip."

Robin's laugh rumbled low, amused by the coincidence. He inclined his head toward the new captive.

"Come. Place your soul sense upon this book, and swear eternal loyalty to me and to my descendants."

"Y–Yes, Your Majesty!" Rangakh—the newly arrived World Cataclysm—threw himself forward. He crawled desperately on his knees, dragging his battered frame across the ground until he reached his comrade. His hands shook as he imitated him, soul sense pressed hurriedly onto the pages.

"Hah… how interesting." Latania crossed her arms, her sharp eyes following the scene. "I nearly ignored his request. It seems fortunate that I decided, at the very last moment, to grant him this chance."

"Why ignore it?" Robin shook his head, his expression firm but calm. "The Empires of the Cradle and the Grave need every ounce of strength we can gather. And now, here stand two World Cataclysms ready to serve—without costing a single Pearl to buy them like the rest of our World Cataclysms. Tell me, why should we turn them away?" Then, with a wave of his hand, he gestured toward the captives. "Unbind them."

Malik stepped forward, taking two firm strides before kneeling beside the first. His fingers gripped the sealing spikes, pulling them free one by one with controlled precision. "At the very least," he remarked, "this grants us additional protection for the next phase of the hunt. More shields for His Majesty's safety."

"That would not be wise." Robin's voice sharpened, his head shaking slowly. "Even if they've taken measures to disguise their arrival here, we cannot simply march them alongside us under open skies. A single acquaintance glimpsing them would be enough to unravel everything. We cannot afford that magnitude of trouble now."

"Then what?" Latania paused mid-motion, one of the spikes still half-embedded in the prisoner's chest. Her eyes narrowed, her tone edged with steel.

"Do we kill them?"

"No!!" the two prisoners cried out in unison, their voices overlapping in raw terror. "Please—we can wear masks! If you don't have any, we can smear mud over our faces! We can cover ourselves with rags, anything! Just don't kill us—we'll do whatever it takes!!"

"Heh~" A faint laugh slipped from Robin's lips, not cruel, but amused. His gaze lingered on them with quiet judgment. "No. Even with masks, your bodies might betray you. Your builds, your movements… far too distinctive to be concealed with tricks." His hand flicked casually toward Latania. "Finish unbinding them. They have sworn their loyalty to me, and that oath protects them. They shall not die."

The two World Cataclysms nearly collapsed in relief. Their heads dropped forward, tears of exhaustion brimming at the corners of their eyes. "Thank you, my lord!!" they cried together, voices trembling with desperation and gratitude.

"And what exactly do you intend to do with them, Your Majesty?" Malik asked as he bent over the first prisoner. He gripped the sealing spike carefully, easing it out with practiced precision. His movements were deliberate—slow, meticulous, ensuring the extraction left no permanent scar or backlash within the man's energy channels. "Should we hide them away in some cavern, and retrieve them once we depart this place?"

"That will not do," Robin replied, shaking his head with quiet finality. "Leaving them in a cavern surrounded by specters with no protection would be no different from executing them ourselves." His tone hardened, though calm remained on his face. "No… I want one of you to escort them to the Shadow Swords. They will know what to do. Afterward, return to me—if you can complete the task within the next three days, the time we still have left here. If not, then wait for me in Jura."

"Jura?" Malik finally loosened the last spike and pulled it free with a sharp tug. Straightening to his full height, he blinked, surprise flashing across his features. "We're returning to Planet Jura?"

"…" Latania's eyes widened as well. But unlike Malik, her expression carried joy. The corners of her lips quivered upward despite her attempt to hide it.

They were not orphans snatched from nowhere, nor slaves purchased from nameless markets on forgotten worlds. Once, long ago, they had been ordinary children—boys and girls playing in village streets, laughing in front of their homes, chasing one another through fields and alleys. Then, one day, the examination squads of Sky Opening City passed through, measuring talents. When the signs were found, the families were approached, bargains were made, and their children were taken away for training.

Each Imperial Guard had a family—whether in Jura, Greland, or Nihari. Families who still lived, still waited, still received their allotted share of income every year without fail. But since those days nearly four centuries past, not one of them had returned. The families of the living no longer knew their children's faces, while the families of the dead never knew they had been buried beneath endless battles. They only kept receiving stipends, as promised in the contracts signed long ago.

"Yes. We will return," Robin said at last, his tone heavy.

A faint sigh left him as he remembered the chaotic battle within the Virilion Seed, Heidrick's words still echoing in his mind. He had to speak, had to act quickly—prepare Nihari for ascension, and above all, protect Virilion as agreed upon in their pact.

Why had he come here? To seize the resources he needed for his breakthrough—to ascend as a one-star Royal Soul Master. And he had no idea how long his return to Jura would last.

"Excellent." Malik's face broke into a grin, his composure settling back. He turned to Latania, voice firm. "Take them directly to the Empire of the Grave. Hand them over to the Third High General, Aro. No need to involve the Shadow Swords, the Shadow Swords would still send them to Sepreme General Aru anyway."

"Why me?!" Latania's face shifted instantly, her voice a growl of irritation.

"It's your turn." Malik's grin widened, smug and knowing.

"…?" Latania froze, brows furrowing. Her mind ran through the rotation before she stomped her boot against the ground with a curse. "Tch—damn it, you're right."

With no further protest, she seized the two men by their collars and began dragging them like sacks of grain. Though the sealing spikes had been removed, their bodies were still stiff and weak, struggling to move with any coordination. Before leaving, she bent slightly at the waist, her head bowing toward Robin.

"Your Majesty."

Then, with a shimmer of power, she vanished.

When the air settled, Malik turned his gaze back toward Robin. "Your Majesty… shall we begin wrapping up the real hunt now, or wait for Wade to return?"

"Let us begin," Robin said after a moment of thought, shaking his head slightly. "Wade may take longer than expected. Better not to waste time." His eyes gleamed faintly, sharp as steel. "Now… where is the nearest herd?"