Lord of the Truth

"Completing just one page of a second-stage martial art and the reward is 300,000 energy pearls?!" Robin exclaimed in an audible voice, clearly astonished. But after a brief moment, he nodded slowly, starting to understand the logic behind the seemingly outrageous offer…

A martial art technique is usually a predefined offensive or defensive move that activates under certain conditions, through the manipulation of internal patterns. What makes these techniques versatile is that, even if someone has built their cultivation foundation on the Fire Path, they could still—without any issue—make use of a martial art technique based on Ice. Compatibility, in this case, is more flexible than people often assume.

So even if the technique is only labeled as second-grade—which classifies it as a formidable weapon for cultivators at the Saint level, but more like a child's toy for those above that—it may still hold significant auxiliary value for the one who posted the request.

If that individual happens to be a clan leader or a head of a powerful family, and they plan to distribute the completed technique among their members, then the collective combat effectiveness of all those individuals would rise. This would lead to the entire clan or family ascending by several power grades. In such a scenario, the price of 300,000 energy pearls wouldn't be considered high at all—in fact, it might even be a bargain.

So, while at first glance the price might seem heavily inflated, it ultimately depends on who submitted the request and what their intentions are.

"Ho ho ho! What do you mean by one page, child?" a raspy, mocking voice came from behind. It was the old man with a canine head, who chuckled as he continued, "It's not just a few missing words—it's a full page, written on both the front and the back! Not only that, but it's a central, pivotal page as well. The request is more like trying to restore a painting that's been burned in the middle. That task has been sitting untouched for nearly five thousand years. If you ask me, the one who posted that request is simply delusional."

"Oh…" Robin looked over his shoulder, offered two polite nods, and muttered, "You're probably right." But then he turned back toward the task request, gesturing twice toward it. "Still, I'd like to take a look at that martial art scroll."

<You got it.> The fairy's voice was short and formal. Immediately, Robin felt a surge of information rushing past his mind's eye—an enormous flood of words, characters, and intricate patterns.

Several minutes passed as Robin reviewed the contents. He finally nodded multiple times, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I can see your point, old man… the missing section really is vital."

"Don't let me stop you." The elder's weak, cracked voice returned. "I'm not trying to discourage you. Perhaps your eye type is different from ours—maybe you're the one this task has been waiting for all these years. But my advice is not to rush. Take your time. Browse the other tasks too. You might stumble upon one that suits your strengths even better."

"Thanks for the advice." Robin replied with a respectful nod, then began casually walking around the spacious room, glancing at the various task scrolls and requests posted on the surrounding walls.

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Three Days Later — Top Floor of the Blue Ostrich Inn

Bzzzzzz---

Through the shattered window on the topmost floor, a large fly buzzed its way inside. It was an unusually big insect—about the length of a human finger—with a dark brown exoskeleton. Several tiny, twitching antennae adorned its head, constantly scanning its surroundings like sensory probes. From its face extended a long, narrow trunk-like snout in place of a nose.

Upon entering, the giant fly buzzed freely across the dusty, abandoned room. It flitted around, inspecting everything out of instinct and hunger. It dipped its trunk into a glass of leftover wine, sucked up a mouthful, then swallowed an entire white grape whole. It paused for a moment… Bzzzz? Something had caught its eye.

Over on a tall coat rack was a torn pair of pants, hanging carelessly, as though thrown there in haste. Curious, the fly zoomed toward them, hoping to find something valuable—perhaps a spirit stone or even a remnant of cultivator energy that could help in its transformation.

Bzzzzzz... The massive insect landed delicately on the fabric. It began using its elongated snout to prod and explore the surface, slowly crawling back and forth across the cloth, searching meticulously.

Suddenly—BZZZZ?!—its trunk touched something strange. Something warm. Something… alive.

"...."

The fly recoiled in sudden terror, her wings nearly taking her into flight. But the complete and eerie lack of reaction from the figure below made her hesitate. Emboldened by the stillness, she cautiously descended further until, without realizing it, she found herself standing atop a human face.

Or... what appeared to be one.

The man's mouth hung agape, frozen in a silent scream. His eyes were stretched wide, glassy and unblinking, locked in an eternal expression of shock. Yet he did not twitch, did not breathe, did not blink.

To the fly, it was simply a strange surface to explore.

Curious and hungry, she began to examine the unmoving figure—this peculiar "human" who had become little more than a glorified coat rack. She extended her long, flexible trunk and inserted it into his open mouth, gently probing around for organic traces. Then, dissatisfied, she skittered across his cheek and moved toward his eye, poking at the glossy surface and sampling the faint salty fluid that pooled there.

She didn't expect what came next.

THWACK!

A sudden, crushing blow struck her from above like the wrath of a thunder god. Her tiny body exploded in a splatter of membrane and wings, smeared across the eyeball of the unmoving man-statue.

"Ugh! Pitsu, seriously? Why are you letting flies crawl all over your face like that? Do you have... unusual tastes or something?"

"....."

Robin's voice came casually from the side as he stepped into view, wiping his hand disdainfully on the man's face. His tone was both annoyed and mildly amused.

"You know those things carry all kinds of diseases, right? And in case you didn't notice, there's fly gunk on your eye. Clean it off when you get the chance."

Then, with the ease of long practice, Robin gave the man a few affectionate pats on the neck, as if speaking to a misbehaving pet.

"........."

Without another word, Robin unbuckled his belt and kicked off his shoes. The shoes landed unceremoniously on top of Pitsu's head, while the belt was looped securely around the man's motionless arm.

"I've got a lot to get done today. I'd prefer not to hear a single noise. Understood?"

"............"

"Gooood." Robin exhaled deeply and sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed. He pulled out a massive scroll-like board and unfurled it, revealing a complex web of diagrams and energy patterns that covered half the mattress in front of him.

"Now… let's finally finish reconstructing that martial technique."

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Meanwhile… Elsewhere in the Archive Hall

Hummmm…

From the void itself, the outline of a man began to form—first as a shimmer of light, then flesh, then cloth. He wore a long, tattered cloak that draped his frame like a shroud of mystery. His face was concealed by a wooden mask, crude yet intimidating, its surface carved with ancient runes. From his head, sharp strands of hair jutted outward like obsidian stakes, giving him the appearance of a walking weapon.

He appeared silently, then slowly turned his head to scan the room. Finally, he spoke in a deep, calm voice that barely masked its irritation:

"Has the metal-faced youth departed?"

"Ho ho ho... I thought you'd vanish for at least a few more weeks this time," the old man with the head of a dog replied, his laughter like dry rustling leaves. "Yes, he's gone. I had a brief talk with him. He's not as bad as you think."

"I didn't ask for your opinion about him." The spiked-haired man moved to his favorite corner and sat, his presence dark and deliberate. "And you'd do well to remember the agreement. No talk. No gossip. We don't need another tragedy."

"Ho ho ho…" The dog-headed elder wheezed again, his grotesque face twitching into a sinister grin. "But I think this time… you should be interested."

"I seriously doubt that." The masked man opened a thin black booklet and started reading, already tuning the old man out.

"Oh? But I strongly believe otherwise…" The elder leaned forward into the dim light, his grotesque features catching the golden glow. "That boy claimed he reached the second stage in the Law of Truth. But from the way he speaks, from the subtle implications in his questions... I suspect he's already reached the third."

He paused for effect, his grin widening.

"And you know what that means, don't you? Third stage. In only a few centuries. I fear... he might be closer to the fifth stage than you are. I fear... you now have a real rival for the title of the Great Chosen of Truth for this era."

CRACK!

The pen in the spiked-haired man's hand shattered instantly, splintering into pure, formless soul energy that evaporated into the air.

For an entire minute, silence reigned.

Then, slowly, he extended his hand. A new pen materialized—sleek, sharp, glowing faintly with concentrated power. He resumed writing, his voice low but intense:

"Reaching the fifth stage... isn't a matter of talent alone. It takes absolute, unshakable will. Do you know how many geniuses have come and gone through the ages?"

He looked up, eyes blazing behind the mask.

"And how many among them reached the fifth stage? How many became Great Truth Chosen? The ones whose legacies are etched into the foundation of all existence?"

He clenched his new pen tight.

"You can count them... on a single hand."

Then, with a grim smile under his mask, he whispered:

"It doesn't matter if that boy's talent outshines mine. In the end… we'll see who reaches the fifth stage first."