Lord of the Truth

After half a day—

The Valley of Specters Planet was, for the most part, silent. Not because there were no specters, nor because adventurers had abandoned it, but because of the very nature of specters themselves. They thrived on the instinct to flock together, to form endless herds. Any lone specter that stumbled upon a herd would merge into it, never leaving again unless some cataclysm tore it apart.

Over the course of millions of years, this instinct had turned the balance. The number of herds had grown immense, dwarfing the rare few who still wandered alone. Did that make finding them easier? Not truly. For although they gathered in great numbers, the Specter Valley Planet itself was massive—so vast in scale that entire continents could fit into its canyons. Its silence was not the silence of absence, but the silence of distance, the silence of a wilderness so enormous it devoured sound itself.

Clamor Clamor

"Shaaaahh//"

One massive specter opened its rotten jaws, letting out a guttural cry that reverberated through the valley walls. The smaller specters in front of it scattered immediately, stepping aside in obedience, carving a path. The beast pressed forward, oozing dominance, its decayed skull lifted proudly as if it owned the ground it walked upon.

Two days earlier, this very herd had encountered a strange scene. A human hung suspended by a rope from a cliff, screaming endlessly into the empty valley. More than his voice, it was his soul domain that betrayed him—it pulsed like a beacon, a flare of raw power flickering in the void, as though inviting predators to feast.

The herd had been driven into a frenzy at the sight. They rushed forward as one tide of hunger, and amidst the chaos, it was this colossal specter who won the prize—clamping down with jagged teeth and tearing into the man's skull with a victorious bite.

That act sealed its rule. This specter was already the leader, commanding nearly 1,200 underlings in the herd, but with that devouring, its stature grew further. It bore within itself 7,000 units of soul force, a terrifying reservoir of power. And now, with strange crystalline shards coursing through its body since that feast—shards that twisted and reformed it from within—the rest of the herd revered it with even greater fear, obeying its every step.

Ummmhhh

But now, something was wrong. The leader paused, sensing a foreign pressure. A strange turbulence rolled across the atmosphere—soul force, vast and oppressive, pressing down upon them. It closed from every direction, a cage without bars. From above, it was strongest, a tidal weight that smothered the sky. The herd tilted their grotesque faces upward in confusion, their hollow mouths opening in questioning growls. "Shaaaahh?"

Whoooosh

Then it came. A colossal net, woven not from rope or steel, but from condensed soul force itself. Its threads glimmered like molten strands, flashing in hues of white and gold, descending like judgment from the heavens.

"//HAAAAAAAARGHHHH!!!//"

The herd went wild. They shrieked, their cries deafening. Limbs flailed and massive jaws gaped wide. Some among them expanded grotesquely, swelling in size, while others hurled lances of corrupted energy skyward, desperate to tear through the radiant snare.

But—

BANG

The massive net collapsed around them regardless, falling with unstoppable might. The instant it touched their bodies, they were trapped—stuck as if bound by divine adhesive. The leader thrashed, biting and tearing with all its monstrous force, yet it was meaningless. Even as a beast empowered with 7,000 units of soul force, its jaws could not sever even a single golden strand.

The pull began. Relentless. Inevitable. The net, with its writhing prisoners, was dragged across the valley sky toward a single point. A gate—small, circular, white-golden—rotated in eerie silence at the horizon.

Whooosh

The gate devoured them with quiet efficiency. The cries of the herd grew shriller, more desperate. They clawed, bit, screamed, but nothing availed them. The net pressed them tighter and tighter, compressing their monstrous forms into that singular opening.

Over 1,200 specters, each with its own grotesque frame and terrifying aura, were funneled into the gate. They vanished one after another into the small opening, no larger than a fruit, as though existence itself was folding them away.

Whooooshhh//

And then, silence. The entire herd was gone. The golden-white soul gate shimmered faintly, then shrank, smaller and smaller, until with a final flicker it dissolved into nothingness.

"…Well, that was faster than I expected." Malek opened his eyes wide, shock lacing his words.

He, Wade, and Latania had spent nearly an hour locked in brutal combat with 800 specters, their blades and law attacks drenched in effort and exhaustion just to bring them down. Yet His Majesty had annihilated an even greater number—an entire herd—in mere seconds.

"I've heard that the Imperial Guards already possess every soul technique I've carefully devised, and that all of you have even received a number of ready-made initial souls from Emily. That means you should already command several soul creatures at this very moment. Add to that, I gave Theo the method to use those creatures in harvesting even more initial souls…" Robin exhaled a long sigh, his shoulders easing as though weighed down by disappointment.

Then he turned his gaze toward Malek, eyes narrowing. "You have in your hands all the resources needed to forge an empire built entirely upon soul force—yet you neglect it as though it were nothing."

"It is difficult to focus on every path at once, Your Majesty." Malek answered with a mild smile, scratching the back of his neck. His tone carried both respect and resignation. "It's true, we have silver-ranked souls, but most of our guards only employ them defensively, as shields rather than weapons."

He paused, then went on with a soft sigh, "Besides, no one can possibly reach the summit in every discipline. Some of our guards have already broken through to level 48 in physical strength by relying on the Nihari Giant Tattoos with the help of Lord Jabba's arrays, while others still struggle to reach level 43. Those who remain below 43 often excel more in law comprehension… and while a few among us dedicate themselves wholly to soul force, they are a small minority. Perhaps ten percent at best, diligently training and refining their soul."

Malek's smile faded as he shook his head. "And Your Majesty knows better than anyone the hardships of the soul path. A practitioner may become a scholar buried in scrolls, or a talisman craftsman endlessly inscribing seals, or perhaps a hermit surviving by selling fragments of soul constructs. But when it comes to battle—true battle—the path is grueling. Gathering soul force is not only exhausting but excruciatingly slow, far slower than raising one's body or honing one's laws."

"…" Robin nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. This, precisely, was why the universe contained countless more Nexus State cultivators than Royal Soul Masters—dozens of times more, perhaps even hundreds. "Who knows… perhaps one day I'll craft a solution to this impasse."

Then he closed his eyes, lifting his hand lightly. "Wait for me a few moments. I must prepare something within my soul domain. After that, we'll move on to the next herd."

Inside Robin's Soul Domain—

"SHAAAAAAHHHH~~"

The domain no longer radiated the serene silence it once held. Now it trembled with chaos, the blood-curdling shrieks of specters shaking its very foundations, echoing from horizon to horizon like a storm of despair.

Though they were still trapped within the golden net, their cries were thunderous. A black stain of corruption spread beneath them, seeping into the ground like poison, so sinister it drove many of the domain's inhabitants into a panic. They fled toward the farthest reaches of the realm in terror—even the specter Robin had recently purified, the one reborn as an initial soul, could not resist and scurried away in fear.

Only a few remained resolute: the colossal mammoth Baithor, its titanic form brimming with unwavering courage, and several of the more seasoned soul creatures, each one standing firm, ready to defend their master's domain.

"Calm yourselves. All of you." Robin's voice rolled like thunder and yet carried reassurance. He raised both hands in a steadying gesture, radiating authority. His gaze turned toward the mass of specters tangled on the ground, writhing helplessly in the net. "I don't have time to deal with you one by one… but I cannot allow you to remain like this either."

Hummmm

The massive net began to stir, its luminous threads tightening and pulling upward, corners bending into sharper angles. In an instant, the sprawling web reshaped itself into a titanic cage, glowing with golden patterns that sealed the specters within like prisoners awaiting judgment.

Robin extended both hands further, his palms glowing as alien runes of soul force spread outward. The black aura that had been staining the ground began to retreat, dissolving into nothingness bit by bit.

Minute after minute, the corruption shrank until, within less than an hour, the destructive miasma had been confined entirely within the cage. Then Robin etched layers of soul seals around it, binding the filth so it could never escape.

At last he straightened, dusting his hands with a faint chuckle. "There. Now stay here quietly, behave yourselves until I return… I'll go and fetch your brethren soon enough." His lips curled in amusement as his eyes swept across his domain.

What he saw was a testament to his power: five other colossal cages already erected around him, each one crammed with no fewer than a thousand specters, their forms writhing in impotent rage.

The largest cage of all seethed with more than three thousand—a sea of fury bottled in golden light.