Lord of the Truth

"..."

The blind old man stared at Robin's face in silence for a few long, lingering seconds. No emotion. No movement. Only an unreadable stillness in his expression.

Then, slowly, with a calmness carved by decades of silence, he turned his entire frail body to face the sea once again.

His voice came soft at first, but carried a strange weight—like an echo from a memory too distant, yet too sharp to forget.

"…That day… the day I first received the Eye of Truth... it was a day of celebration for me.

A day that felt like a personal holiday— A rebirth even... I did not want it, I did not crave it, but when I did got it, it was glorious."

He exhaled, as if remembering the feeling of the wind on that forgotten day.

"Even though I had read countless manuscripts, studied its mysteries, and heard legends about what the Eye could do… none of it compared to the experience of wielding it myself.

It was something... beyond imagination.

Something mythical.

To hold the Eye of Truth... was like being handed a divine key to the inner mechanics of existence itself."

He took a step closer to the ocean, the wind brushing through his robe.

"The balance I had always sought—between forces, objects, laws, and souls—

Suddenly, I could see it.

Not metaphorically.

Literally."

His voice gained a strange beauty, like a scholar reminiscing about his first love.

"I could see the convergence of energies, the silent dialogue between opposing laws.

I could trace the outlines of harmony in the clash between light and shadow, between chaos and form.

I could identify where true balance lived—where it was thriving, where it was dying, where it was waiting to be reborn.

Every object, every being, every motion... became a visible equation of patterns and interwoven truth."

A faint smile crept onto the blind man's lips—gentle, nostalgic, and tinged with a quiet ache.

"…During those early days, I was like a child given the keys to the stars.

I wandered everywhere, peering into the pulse of life, chasing after beauty hidden within balance.

But that innocence... did not last."

His smile faded, and something darker filled its place.

"…After satisfying my initial curiosity about the nature of balance, the Eye began to pull me more—

I began to crave more than just harmony—I wanted to see how laws were structured, what made them tick from the inside out.

And to do that… I had to break them.

I began to dismantle formations, shatter sacred spaces, tear apart beasts…

Slice them open just to study the harmony of their blood and nerves.

I became something else.

A monster—small, obsessed, and hungry.

Hungry for sight.

I wanted to see everything.

Every truth. Every secret.

Even if it meant destroying everything in my path."

His voice trembled slightly, but not with fear—with shame.

"…And then one day… I woke up.

Not physically—but inside.

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but ruin.

I had lost myself.

There was no direction left in me. No meaning."

He clenched his fist slowly, as if still trying to crush the memory.

"I asked myself: What was the point?

What use is all this knowledge… if it leads you nowhere?

If it leaves you empty?"

"My passion had always been about discovering the reason for balance.

The 'why' behind the great symmetry of the cosmos.

But the Eye only showed me the 'how'.

It flooded me with explanations, but never gave me a reason.

And in doing so… it led me astray.

Far from the road I was meant to walk."

A silence followed, longer this time—heavier.

"…I hated myself. For a long time.

Because the 'why' and the 'how'...

are not the same."

He lifted his hand and pressed it lightly to where his right eye had once been.

"You can uncover how the universe works—by watching, observing, tearing it apart piece by piece.

But why the universe works this way…

Why it chooses balance…

Why it doesn't collapse into chaos…

That is the real mystery.

And that is the kind of question… worth wasting a lifetime to chase."

His voice dropped to a whisper:

"And so…

I tore out my eye.

With my own hand.

On the very same day I was about building Foundation Number Eleven—using the Master Law of Truth."

Zoulan raised his chin high, proud and unshaken.

"I destroyed it…

So I would never activate it again.

So I would never lose myself to that cursed clarity again.

So I could silence the noise…

Erase the distractions…

And return to my true purpose:

The search for balance."

"…That's just stupid," Robin muttered with a frown, his brow furrowed hard.

Zoulan blinked once, then suddenly chuckled—a strange sound filled with both arrogance and amusement.

"Oh? Was it really?"

"…What kind of question is that?" Robin narrowed his eyes.

"And that smile—what the hell is that smile supposed to mean?"

"In the very moment I destroyed my eye…" Zoulan said, lifting his voice proudly,

"I attained the first stage of the Master Law of Balance."

"W-what?!"

Robin's eyes went wide, his voice cracked with disbelief.

"I was just as shocked as you are," Zoulan nodded slowly.

"The moment I felt the Vital Scale… I was in awe. Confused. Lost.

But when I began to understand it… everything clicked."

His voice turned deep, almost reverent.

"The being that created the scale… was not mortal.

Not even divine in the way we understand it.

It was Master—pure and unapproachable.

Even now, as someone who has reached the sixth stage of Balance…

I cannot break the scale as I please.

No… I can only negotiate with it.

I can bend its rules—slightly.

If I want to destroy something, I must repair something else.

If I want to heal something, I must lose something of equal value.

If I wish to create Hell… I must also create Paradise."

He turned back toward Robin, and his tone lowered with solemn weight.

"…And when I desired the Master Law of Balance more than anything else in existence…

I gave up the Master Law of Truth.

I unknowingly sacrificed it.

And in doing so… I created the balance I had been seeking all my life.

Without realizing it… I took my first step onto the very path the cosmos had laid for me."

"…You make it sound like the Master Law of Balance showed you mercy. Like it… chose you." The m#ost up*‑!to‑date! vers!i%o$n is on M4+V#LE!M+P^4.YR!.

Robin's eyes narrowed again.

But only the Law of Truth was supposed to choose, wasn't it?

"Maybe," Zoulan replied with a shrug.

"Maybe my years of seeking balance… my willingness to sacrifice…

fulfilled some hidden requirement.

Or maybe…

the Law of Balance truly pitied me, and gave me a chance."

He turned away one last time, gazing toward the horizon.

"…What matters is this: I got what I wanted.

With my own hands. Without help. Without a teacher."

Then he raised his hand high with pride, as if lifting the weight of all his years:

"I reached the sixth stage—through my own comprehension, my own perilous journeys, my own sacrifices.

Without a mentor. Without a divine hand guiding me. Without shortcuts.

And that—is my pride!"

He turned sharply toward Robin again, voice gaining edge and fire.

"You said the body is temporary, and glory endures.

But tell me, Robin Burton…

What good is glory when you're nothing but dust buried beneath the soil?

What will that legacy do for you when your bones lie forgotten beneath time's feet?"

He swung his arm like a blade through the air:

"We both chase what fulfills us, don't we?

I take pride in what I've built, what I've become.

You—you bask in the admiration of others.

I find peace behind the curtain.

You? You hunger for the spotlight—like a moth to flame."

He stepped closer, accusing finger extended:

"You're not interested in legacy after death—no.

You crave constant attention.

You want to be seen, applauded, envied.

You want the world to orbit around you."

"..."

Robin's eyes narrowed, jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

The old man straightened, one hand clasping behind his back with solemn grace.

"Let me offer you a choice, Robin.

Imagine you were offered two paths:

In the first—

You die, sacrificing yourself to shield the universe from annihilation.

And in doing so, you are immortalized.

Statues rise in your name.

Stories are passed down.

You become the eternal martyr, the cosmic hero.

Or…

You let the universe burn.

Everyone—everything—gone.

Except for you… and a few of your followers.

You fight the threat until the bitter end, and eventually—you win.

But in that victory… you're alone.

Utterly alone.

No one left to sing your name.

No one left to remember.

No history. No glory. Just silence and ash.

Now tell me, Chosen of Truth…

Which would you choose?"

Robin looked down at the ground for a few seconds. The silence was thick—pressing.

Then he lifted his head slowly, eyes cold, voice steady:

"I'd choose to be the last one standing."

The blind man stared at him as if trying to read something written beneath Robin's skin. Then he exhaled hard, shaking his head in disbelief.

"…If I hadn't already chosen you as my disciple…" he muttered bitterly,

"I would've ended your life here and now—with a single slap."

"Why?" Robin raised an eyebrow, his voice unfazed.

"In that scenario, I would still be fighting to the end. Isn't that what matters?"

"Fighting for what?" the old man snapped, anger flaring in his voice.

"What use is your struggle if everyone is already dead?

Wouldn't it be better—to sacrifice yourself to protect the many?

By the death of one… perhaps the entire system could find balance again!"

He pointed at Robin as if pointing at the heart of a great flaw.

"Your definition of glory is corrupted.

You equate glory with survival—with standing beneath the lights.

Even if that means the annihilation of everyone else.

Your glory… is nothing but selfishness dressed in stardust!"

Robin tilted his head slightly… then smiled.

Not in shame—but in confidence.

"And what's so wrong about that?"

His eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

"Tell me, old man…

Did you do all you've done for the sake of the people?

Or for the sake of that 'sensation' you call balance?

Or was it, perhaps, to fulfill something in you?

Some hunger… some echo of purpose."

He glanced at the sky, voice growing colder, sharper.

"You say I want the spotlight.

That I long to be the center of everything.

Maybe that's true.

But you…

You do everything just to feel right.

To feel that calmness within.

To sleep at night believing you've restored harmony."

Then he turned his eyes toward Zoulan again—unblinking.

"We're not that different, you and I.

You call me selfish?

Fine.

But your balance, your 'mission'—is just another form of selfishness.

We both chase what gives us peace.

We both chase our own truths, Lord Zoulan."

The old man's face turned stony, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"That's nonsense.

There is no such thing as personal truth.

There is only one absolute truth.

And if a hundred voices tell different stories—

Only one of them is real.

The rest?

Lies."

Robin's smile widened. He took a slow breath.

"That's true…"

He gave a sly wink.

"…But how can you be so sure that you have the real one?"

Zoulan's voice turned icy, laced with sarcasm:

"I have my reasons to believe I do.

What about you, O Glorious Chosen of Truth?

Have you found it?"

Robin's gaze drifted to the horizon, a strange smile on his face—calm, almost serene.

"No.

But I'm walking the path toward it."

He exhaled slowly, as if shedding all weight.

"I'll hold onto my truth…

Until I reach the truth of everything."

The wind carried his words into the silence.

"…No," the blind elder murmured, shaking his head slowly.

"No, you won't. Not while I still draw breath."