Lord of the Truth

"They caused each other's deaths?!" Robin's voice cracked with shock, his mind spinning.

The old Truth Chosen with the hound-shaped head simply gave a long, resigned sigh and raised his withered shoulders in a slow shrug. "That's what we believe, yes. Toward the end of their time here, tension had built up between them like a storm waiting to break. One of them accused the other—said he'd be the reason for his death, swore vengeance beyond the grave. After that bitter exchange, he vanished into silence. We never saw him again."

He paused, then continued with a haunted look in his half-hidden eyes. "Not long after, the one he'd accused also disappeared without a trace. We suspect—no, we're almost certain—that he betrayed the other before his own end came. He might've exposed his location to someone dangerous, sealing both of their fates in one terrible decision."

The elder's tone dropped further, sadness thick in his voice. "The spiky-haired one? He arrived during those final, chaotic days. What he witnessed left him broken in a way that even time couldn't fully heal. He disappeared for centuries—maybe trying to forget, or maybe trying to survive in solitude. When he came back, he looked like someone who'd seen too much."

He exhaled slowly. "He told me that from now on, every one of us should keep to himself. That no one should speak to or trust anyone else. That it was better that way. He made me promise not to ask him questions, and he wouldn't ask any of me. And that unspoken pact has held firm between us for tens of thousands of years."

Robin stared at the ground, a deep furrow forming between his brows. "But isn't that… too much?" he asked softly, voice heavy with uncertainty. "Even mentioning the sector I'm from? That's not some hidden secret, it's barely even personal. It's public knowledge—just a general detail, not some classified intel."

The old man slowly turned his wrinkled face toward him, lips curling with something between pity and reproach. "Do you truly not understand what it means to be a Truth Chosen, child?" he asked, his voice low but firm. "You've already sold yourself with that one careless sentence. If even one of us has ill intent in our heart, your fate could be sealed right now, and you'd never even know who dealt the blow."

He leaned closer, the firelight casting grotesque shadows across his hound-like face. "Whenever an empire gains the support of a Truth Chosen, the effects are unmistakable. They don't come subtly—they arrive like a tidal wave. New breakthroughs emerge: ancient formations are restored, weapons of legend are reforged, new elixirs with unthinkable effects are brewed. Within mere centuries, everyone around them notices that something has changed. They begin to ask: where did this come from? Who gave them this edge?"

He pointed a crooked, bony finger directly at Robin's chest. "If we truly wanted to find you, all we'd have to do is monitor the dominant powers in Sector 100 of the Middle Belt for the next few hundred years. We'd watch for sudden advancements, strange surges in technology, an unexpected rise in dominance... and we'd know. Eventually, we'd know."

"....?!" Robin's eyes went wide with realization—stretched open in disbelief.

Perhaps… perhaps this wasn't an exaggeration after all. He had already witnessed it firsthand. The Nine Paths Empire had begun manifesting new kinds of war-dominance arrays—arrays unlike anything seen in that region for hundreds millennia. Their equipment had undergone a metamorphosis. And soon… soon they might even unveil a merged law.

Maybe it was obvious. Maybe anyone looking closely would realize that someone with the Law of Truth was backing them from the shadows.

The old man released a long, tired sigh that carried the weight of many lifetimes. "So don't be too hard on the spiky-haired one. He's here for a reason: to work, to earn the resources he needs to support the power he has allied himself with. And he wants to do it without distraction, without interference. He wants to keep his hands clean and his mind clear. He's not looking to make friends. Neither am I, really."

He leaned back again, folding his arms across his frail chest. "Until the day comes when the force protecting me collapses… until the planet spirit that sustains me is taken away… I want no trouble. No enemies. No risks."

Robin's gaze dropped again, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. "These troubles you're speaking of…" he said slowly, voice tense. "Are they what led to the fall of all the Truth Chosen in the Middle Belt?"

A bitter silence followed.

The truth was undeniable. Truth Chosen were weak. The law itself didn't grant direct power. It was a path—a method—a dangerous opportunity. And not everyone had the knowledge or aptitude to walk that path to its end.

The First and Second Chosen in Nihari had died because of it. Jabba had been sealed, left to be covered in dust in isolation like a discarded tool—waiting to be rescued or work as a slave to monsters like Helen.

But to be hunted, targeted, or murdered… not because of what you've done, but for what you could do, for who you might help?

That was something Robin had never imagined. Not in the Middle Belt.

"Who ever said that all the Truth Chosen in the Middle Belt have been wiped out?" The old man, whose head resembled that of a dark hound with long, drooping ears hanging at either side, let out a slow, deliberate chuckle. His voice carried a mix of amusement and something more subtle—bitterness, perhaps, or quiet defiance. "There are plenty of us still around—far more than most realize. It's just that many of us aren't willing to take the risk of exposing ourselves. They stay hidden, out of sight, beneath layers of ordinary identities and simple façades."

He leaned forward, voice lowering into something more confidential. "If you look closely, you'll find them among the crowds over in the regular request halls, blending in with the other applicants. They act just like everyone else. Most of them have built their foundations using some other Law entirely—Fire, Earth, Wind, you name it. They use that path as a cover, a smokescreen, so no one ever suspects their true alignment. They've made a choice to keep the Law of Truth buried deep within."

Then, as if recounting a memory, his eyes drifted slightly. "And there are others still… Truth Chosens who've aligned themselves with Behemoths, or perhaps the great stellar academies scattered across the sectors. They don't concern themselves with wealth or this market's conveniences. No. Some are working behind the scenes to develop something for their masters. Others are buried deep in research, investigating the fundamental questions of the universe—the kinds of problems few dare to even contemplate."

He gave a dry laugh, raising his bony shoulders in a resigned shrug. "To people like them, the rest of us—me, you, even the ones with talent—we're just drifters. Wanderers wasting time on shallow puzzles. But that's fine. I've carved out a little space here, solved some difficult problems, and made my mark in my own modest way. No regrets."

A long silence followed, heavy with thought. Robin's gaze had dropped to the floor, but something in the old man's words caught his attention. A small thread of truth, subtle but undeniable.

"…You and the spiky-haired one," Robin said suddenly, his tone curious but careful. "Did you both build your foundations on the Law of Truth?"

The old man leaned back and let out a deep, belly-shaking laugh, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. "Hoh hoh! We've just finished talking about how even mentioning one's sector is taboo—and now you're asking about personal secrets?"

Robin gave an awkward smile, brushing his fingers against his mask. "…Curiosity is what made me a Truth Chosen to begin with. But if that question crosses the line, feel free to ignore it."

The old man waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. That kind of information doesn't amount to much anyway, and in time, you'll notice the difference in the kinds of tasks we're willing to accept—it'll all become clear." He shifted in his seat, his tone a bit more direct. "I did build my pillars using the Law of Truth… but I've been stuck at the second stage for a long, long time. As for the spiky-haired one—he's reached the third stage already."

His eyes flicked up toward Robin, gauging his reaction. "And you, young man? What's your story?"

"…?!" Robin almost flinched. If his silver, spike-edged mask hadn't been covering his face, the shock on his features would've been impossible to miss.

A second-stage Truth Chosen… stuck for nearly a million years?

And the other—who had lived at least tens of thousands of years—had only just reached the third stage?

It made Robin question everything about his own progress.

He'd only lived for around 300 years… and yet…

The old man's hound-like eyes narrowed, a sharpness rising in his expression that hadn't been there before. "Well? What level have you reached? Don't tell me you built your foundation using a different Law. If that's the case, then everything we've discussed would've been a waste of breath. And to be perfectly honest, your entire presence here would be pointless as well."

Robin hesitated. His heart beat faster.

He'd reached the fourth stage already.

But if he admitted that here and now, would the old man even believe him? Would he think him a liar, or worse—a threat?

After a few seconds of mental debate, he scratched the back of his head and said, "…I've recently reached the second stage."

The old man peered at him for a moment, then snorted. "Hoh hoh! And why the long pause before answering, boy? Did you think I'd be jealous that you hit the second stage with just one little job under your belt?" He waved his hand again, almost mockingly. "I know my limits. My talent is what it is. I'm content with where I've gotten."

Then, with a faint smirk beneath the drooping folds of skin on his face, he added, "Still, I'm glad the spiky-haired one finally has some competition. You're young, If you play your cards right, and more importantly, if you protect yourself and stay alive, you'll no doubt reach the third stage before long."

The elder leaned back into his chair again, his mask of shadows reclaiming his features. Then he pointed lazily toward a nearby wall filled with glowing task screens.

"Alright, that's enough talking. I won't waste any more of your time. Go choose a task. Who knows? You might end up addicted to this place… just like I did."

Robin gave a silent nod, took a deep breath, and turned toward the glowing wall.

Lines of shimmering text scrolled past his eyes, listing tasks of varying difficulty and reward.

Then, one caught his attention:

<Complete a missing page from a second-degree martial technique. Reward upon completion: 300,000 energy shards.>

He paused. And then, without hesitation, reached for it.