Lord of the Truth

*BAM* *BAM* *BAM*

"….!!" The thunderous footsteps reverberated not just through the valley but inside their very chests, hammering against their hearts long before they resounded in the air.

Each strike was like a drumbeat of doom, a reminder that whatever approached was aware of them—it had already marked them with that terrifying wave of soul force moments earlier.

*BAM*

At last, the footsteps ceased. From the moment the first echo rang until the silence that followed, not a single specter moved. Tens of thousands of them, creatures that usually wailed and clawed at the world around them, now stood frozen in eerie stillness. No snarls, no shrieks—nothing. The hush that fell over the valley was so absolute it felt like even the wind dared not stir.

Then—*BOOOOOM!* A greater impact roared out of nowhere. Something massive crashed down upon the land, shaking the ground beneath them. The cliff quivered, dust cascaded from jagged edges, and even the distant mountains shuddered under the force.

"..." Robin raised a finger to his lips, a sharp signal for Wade and Malek to remain silent. He turned again toward the ledge, moving step by step, his posture cautious, controlled. The tension in the air was suffocating, every motion deliberate, every sound amplified by dread.

And then he saw it.

The impossible.

All thirty thousand specters were kneeling. From the weakest husks to the mightiest commanders, every last one of them pressed to the ground, their monstrous heads bowed. Even the herd leaders—their pride incarnate—were on a single knee, their forms trembling with reverence.

Robin's gaze swept upward, following the line of their submission, seeking the figure that commanded such devotion. What could possibly bend an army of specters—creatures of rage and hunger—into obedience so absolute?

Could it be an ancient dragon, reborn from legend? A phantom avatar of the sacred bird Ra? What could claim loyalty so complete, a loyalty strong enough to forge an army capable of crushing an entire planetary empire? Could it be… the Shepherd of Specters herself?

And then his eyes found it.

Not a colossal wyrm. Not a supreme beast king. Not even one of the towering five-meter lords he had seen before.

It was a specter—humanoid in form, no taller than a human. Its head was nothing more than taut, leathery skin stretched grotesquely over bone. Yet its body still bore flesh, thick muscles corded across its frame, the physique of a warrior preserved in undeath.

In its hands it gripped a staff taller than itself—a wooden scepter that pulsed with unceasing silver light. From its tip spilled streams of shimmering power, but Robin realized with a shock that the staff was not the source. The specter's entire body exhaled soul force in a constant torrent, rising in vapor, in streams of unstable bubbles that burst and shimmer in the air.

Robin's eyes widened in disbelief. The creature was like a boiling cauldron, venting torrents of energy rather than hoarding it. The truth struck him with dreadful clarity: this specter was not consuming the energy of the valley… it *was the source* of the suffocating soul tide that blanketed everything.

Then he noticed something even stranger. The specter's feet did not touch the ground. Nor did it float in the air. Instead, it stood upon a razor-thin layer of condensed soul force, a foundation of energy so pure it looked like glass.

Activating the Eye of Truth ever so slightly, Robin peered deeper. What he saw shook him. The very spiritual energy of the world converged beneath the creature's feet, flooding upward into its body at an astonishing rate—only to burst outward again from its head and back as blackened smoke and silver steam. The cycle was endless, relentless, terrifying.

How could this be?

Robin's thoughts raced, his inner voice screaming. Soul force was never easy to absorb. For countless generations it had been likened to iron shards suspended in thick oil, dragged only with great effort toward a magnet. No matter how potent the magnet—no matter how advanced the absorption technique—the pull was always sluggish, always resistant. That was why even Royal Soul Masters often needed months to replenish their units.

But this thing… this aberration… was doing the impossible.

"Hm?" Robin narrowed his eyes, then suddenly his pupils dilated, horror flashing across his face. "Oh… heavens…"

"What is it?" Malek demanded, his own instincts screaming that something unnatural was before them.

"One million—exactly one million." Robin pointed toward the specter, his voice hushed but edged with disbelief. "The amount of soul force flowing into its body equals the amount it expels. Not a unit more, not a unit less. Precisely one million, sustained without fluctuation."

"This…" Wade and Malek both swallowed hard, their throats dry. Their hearts pounded in unison, for they realized the truth: they were standing before a being that broke every law of soul cultivation they had ever known.

A million units of soul force—this was the absolute ceiling beneath the Royal Soul stage, the final threshold under the power of a Nexus State. It was the dividing line that separated the mighty from the truly monstrous.

Energy cultivators did hold one advantage: their stamina could be replenished. They could recover their reserves and return to battle again and again. But if faced in direct combat against a Soul Master carrying a full reservoir of soul force, that single fight would end brutally fast—the battlefield itself would be wiped clean, the energy user obliterated as though they had never existed.

Before a Soul Master—or any entity—that bore one million units of soul force, there was no question, no hesitation: unless you brought forth a Nexus State cultivator, or a World Cataclysm peak expert who commanded a fundamental law, the only answer was flight. Anything else was suicide.

…The newcomer swept the entire host with his eyeless gaze, an emptiness that pierced through both flesh and spirit, before opening his mouth. His voice rumbled with authority, a resonance that seemed to shake the marrow of their bones.

"This land… belongs to us."

"//The land belongs to us!//"

"//Shaaaah Shaaah!!//"

Clatter Clatter

Robin felt the land itself quake, the stones beneath his wheels trembling. The very air vibrated with the chorus. The stronger specters spoke words with eerie clarity, their guttural voices carrying intent. The weaker ones howled in distorted cries, but their meaning was unmistakable. It was obedience—absolute, unquestioning obedience.

For a moment, Robin's heart lurched. These creatures were not as mindless as their erratic actions often suggested. They understood. And worse—they believed.

The mist-shrouded figure held its silence for a few breaths, letting the anticipation build like a storm. Then it spoke again, each word dripping with venom and authority.

"There is… a challenge to my rule. That living one… she dares to contest me. Today we shall reclaim the land beneath a single banner… beneath my banner!"

"//Under your banner!//"

"//Shaaaah Shaaah!!//"

Robin's lips parted in disbelief, his voice falling to a whisper. "…Is he speaking of the Shepherd?" His mind reeled. That thing was calling death upon itself. The Shepherd might wear the guise of a delicate adolescent girl, but appearances meant nothing. In truth, she was a Royal Soul Master—an existence leagues above this creature's audacity.

Down below, one of the specter lords—one of those who formed the swirling centers of power—opened its maw. It was a beast like a monstrous lion, towering five meters tall, its mane a flickering storm of shadow. With a roar that cracked the air, it bellowed:

"My lord, the Pale Arkalon… your call has come too late. That living one—she has gathered many of your faithful. She has bewitched them, twisted their loyalty away. We must take vengeance, vengeance most severe!"

"//Vengeance most severe!//"

"//Shaaaah Shaaah!!//"

The valley quaked again with the chorus, the sound deafening, layered with fury and devotion.

"Arkalon…?" Malek muttered, his eyes narrowing, his brow furrowed as if clawing at some memory hidden deep within him. His tone was tinged with unease.

"Is something wrong?" Robin asked, his voice hushed, careful not to let the sound carry.

"…I don't know. That name… I feel I've heard it before, whispered somewhere, it somehow sound extremely familiar but I can't recall where I head it." Malek shook his head, frustrated. Then he turned, eyes hardening on Robin. "In any case, whatever happening here can't be good, we must leave. NOW. As long as he has not turned his gaze upon us, we still have a chance."

"..." Robin nodded silently, the decision clear. Together with his two guards, he began to move, step by cautious step, retreating like shadows into the mountainside. Every rock, every breath felt louder than thunder in that suffocating silence.

But then—

"We shall have our vengeance!" Arkalon's voice thundered, rolling across the valley like a tidal wave of power. "But first…" His gaze shifted sharply, and his skeletal hand rose, a finger like a blade pointing directly toward the peak of the small mountain.

Toward them.

"…we shall begin with the intruders."