Lord of the Truth

Somewhere within the vast expanse of Mid-Sector 402—

Step... Step...

A weathered man, appearing to be in his late forties, walked through the wide open doors of the great hall. At first glance, he resembled a human, but his ashen-gray skin hinted at something else—something not quite of Earth. His nose was nothing more than two narrow slits etched into his face.

His steps were measured and deliberate, but his eyes... his eyes were heavy with defeat, fractured by fear. And when he finally came to stand before the only other person present in the hall, he opened his dry, trembling lips and spoke in a low, hoarse voice:

"We've lost the Northern Fields, Father."

"...."

The man he addressed bore a striking resemblance to him—clearly his father—but age had ravaged the elder's body. By the standards of mortal men, he seemed well past ninety, though the weight in his posture told of a soul far older and wearier than his physical shell.

He sat hunched forward on the cold throne-like seat, resting his forehead heavily upon both palms, as if trying to hide his own shame behind the cage of his fingers.

Before his son's grim announcement, he did not utter a single word.

When no reply came, the son simply turned around, silent as the grave, and exited the hall.

But the silence didn't last.

Moments later, another voice cut through the air.

"We've also lost the last of the western energy stone mines, Father."

The old man stirred—finally. His voice rasped from his throat like dry wind through ancient ruins.

"Stop it..."

He slowly raised his head, revealing eyes sunken and rimmed with despair.

"Stop bringing me these cursed reports and let us perish in silence!"

"..."

The second son turned his back and left, wordless. No bow. No farewell. No plea for guidance.

Just silence.

Once, not so long ago, they were the proud rulers of a flourishing planetary kingdom. Their father, the very man who now sat in ruins, had united the planet thirty thousand years ago through valor, vision, and the refinement of his soul.

Though the planet they ruled was small in the grand scale, it had offered them safety. Prestige. Legacy.

But every dream—no matter how vivid—must eventually meet its dusk.

Their planet had been invaded.

Over sixty percent of its surface was under enemy control. The very soul of the planet—once their mighty guardian—had been pushed past its limits. Now, exhausted and drained of power, it slumbered in a dormant state, unable to lift a finger in defense.

Their armies? Defeated across every front. Their once-proud legions scattered like ash in the wind.

Against the invading force—a mighty empire of three interconnected planets—the fall was inevitable. The noose was tightening. Genocide was no longer a question of "if," but of "when."

Step... Step...

Once more, footsteps echoed through the cold stone hall.

At the sound, the old man's fury boiled over. His voice roared across the chamber:

"Did I not say I wanted no more cursed reports?! … oh?"

"It's me, Father."

The newcomer was a girl, no older than her early twenties, her face calm despite the chaos.

She held a small, elegant box in her hands.

"A rush delivery has arrived for you... from the Soul Society. They sent a personal vessel to bring it all the way here."

"A package? From the Spirit Society?"

The old man blinked, his anger giving way to confusion.

"I haven't had dealings with them in centuries..."

Curiosity overtaking despair, he gestured for his daughter to come closer.

Click—Crack!

With a simple brush of his spiritual imprint, the box unlocked. Its top slid open, revealing its contents.

"Hm? What's this...?"

Nestled inside was a panel—ancient-looking, covered in unfamiliar runes and glowing with a faint energy.

The old man's eyes widened.

"This... this is...!"

"What is it, Father?"

The girl stepped closer, now standing by his side, her eyes falling upon the strange patterns etched into the panel.

She inhaled sharply.

"Those symbols... those strange, flowing marks... Could this be—no... Is this what I think it is?"

"Hahahaha! After thousands upon thousands of years, my investment has finally borne fruit!"

The old man erupted into laughter, a raw, unhinged sound that filled the vast, silent hall like a storm breaking after an eternity of drought.

"I told you! I told you, you little bastards! That martial art was real! That ancient technique wasn't just some myth buried in dusty scrolls—it was real! I told you it could be restored! Hahahaha!!"

In an instant, he leapt from his chair with the energy of a man half—no, a quarter—his age. His eyes gleamed with a manic light, like twin stars reigniting after eons of dormancy. A wave of vitality surged through his aged limbs, as if half his soul had just returned from the grave.

"Summon the generals! Call all of my children! Wake the reserves, rally the outer legions, mobilize every last soul who can hold a blade or channel a law—

the time for a counterattack has finally come!!"

"Yes, Father!!"

The girl gave a sharp salute, her voice resolute, her face alight with purpose. Without wasting another second, she turned and dashed out of the hall like a comet on a mission.

The old man, now alone again, turned his attention back to the panel with trembling fingers and reverent breath.

"…Unbelievable… It's beyond even my most delusional expectations."

His voice had softened now, filled not with madness, but wonder.

"Could this truly be… a third law? Has the Truth Chosen actually succeeded in fusing a third heavenly law... using only a single page?!"

He staggered slightly, clutching his chest. The sheer magnitude of what he was witnessing was almost too much for his aging heart to bear. With shaking hands, he reached back into the delivery box and searched carefully until his fingers brushed against a small slip of paper.

He held it up and read: <Your work has been completed by Human.>

"...Human?"

--------------

Meanwhile, somewhere within the realm of the Soul Society—

Robin leaned back in his chair, a tired but deeply satisfied smile playing on his lips. Before him on the display panel, numbers had changed. In the balance column now shimmered a new total:

270,000 Energy Pearls.

"Unreal… The client already received the panel and sent the payment?"

His voice was filled with cautious optimism, the kind that only comes when hard work finally yields its first true reward.

He chuckled to himself, a boyish joy lighting up his features.

"That's the first real profit... and it feels damn good."

But before the moment could settle, a melodic synthetic voice responded calmly, correcting him:

<Negative. When an order is placed, the corresponding amount of pearls is immediately deducted from the client's account—or more accurately, the amount is frozen. The client cannot touch those funds unless the order is canceled or fulfilled. This mechanism ensures financial security and prevents any attempt at fraud or evasion.>

The voice paused briefly, then continued with clinical precision, raising one holographic finger:

<As for the delivery process: Regardless of the client's physical location—no matter the realm, range, or planetary sector—the package will arrive within a month. The panel is currently being transmitted in spiritual encoding to the nearest Spirit Society branch within range. It will be printed there using sacred duplication techniques, and from that point, either shipped or the client will be summoned for direct retrieval.>

<The package will contain the completed panel along with a certified note giving full credit to the craftsman. In this case, the note will read: Completed by Human.>

Robin's smile faltered. His expression tensed.

"They'll receive a message saying Human completed the work?!"

His voice was low but sharp with displeasure.

"That's... not ideal."

The fairy nodded slowly.

<Indeed. You've chosen not to even display an alias, Mr. 'Human.' If you wish, I can fabricate a fictitious identity—a completely fictional persona. We could assign the credit to this constructed figure, giving you an additional layer of anonymity. Of course, that offer comes under the condition that you continue completing commissions at your current pace—or better.>

Robin sighed and turned his back on the display. With slow, deliberate steps, he walked to the far wall, his hands behind his back.

Then he stopped, and massaged the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"It pains me to know that the works I've poured my soul into will bear the name of a shadow... a mask."

He chuckled bitterly.

"And now you're suggesting I build an entire fake persona?"

He turned again, and there was steel in his eyes now.

"No matter. I made the choice to keep my head down... for now. I can't stamp my real name on anything just yet. I don't have anyone strong enough to protect me from the consequences of what I'm capable of creating."

Then, with a half-smile, he added:

"Keep the name 'Human'—for the time being. But mark my words: The day will come when the entire cosmos will know that Human... is Robin Burton. And I promise that this day isn't far off."

"Ah, and one more thing," Robin said, turning sharply and pointing at the display.

"I want to buy unrestricted access to the Soul Society from any location. No more traveling to branches, no more wasted time booking rooms and hopping gates. Deduct the cost from my balance immediately—I can't afford to waste a single moment for the incoming days."