Lord of the Truth

"…We believe that a Great Truth Chosen once ended the universe."

Robin's brows furrowed, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Do you have any evidence to support that claim?"

"Not conclusive evidence," the old man admitted, slowly shaking his head. "Only a trail of speculation woven from pieces of reality. Using certain cosmic laws, we can determine the age of stone itself—and some planets in the mid-belt are as old as billions of years. Are we truly to believe the universe floated in barren silence for eons, just chunks of rock adrift in the void—until we suddenly emerged only 97.8 million years ago, in all planets, and at the same time?! Why is that entire era completely missing from all record?"

He exhaled heavily. "And yet… we find no trace of any massive war, no sign of celestial destruction. As I told you—no documents, no carvings, no whispers in the dust. Nothing remains before that time. And still… on nearly every planet, signs of intelligent life and structured civilization begin at the exact same moment. It's as if every intelligent species and their civilizations vanished all at once… only to reappear together in perfect synchrony."

Robin's eyes narrowed. "And what does that have to do with a user of the Law of Truth?" he asked firmly, voice steeled with skepticism. "If all life appeared at once, how do you know that a Truth Chosen was responsible for it?"

"Because," the elder said, tone low and ominous, "to erase all civilizations, to reset the universe without leaving a single trace—and to do so without damaging the planets themselves—is an impossible feat. Utterly inconceivable. Except, perhaps… through two master laws of the seventh stage: Truth… and Will." He raised two fingers. "Disrupting any other master law of the seventh stage would destroy the very fabric of existence."

He clasped his hands behind his back, his tone turning grim. "Will is the simpler one to grasp. If a person were to comprehend it to the seventh stage, they could will all things to vanish, or will to alter memories across the cosmos. Everything could be explained that way. But in 97.8 million years… no one has ever managed to so much as brush against that law. Which leaves us with the only remaining candidate—Truth."

He took a step forward. "We believe that the seventh stage of the Law of Truth allows its wielder to manipulate the universe's contents directly. He could erase entire patterns from reality, wave a hand and dissolve all he sees—returning it to void. A person wielding such power could easily enact a catastrophe of that magnitude."

"You believe," Robin repeated mockingly. He scoffed, his voice dripping with irritation. "Yet again, just assumptions… speculation piled on more speculation. Everything you've said from the beginning is just conjecture. If the Cosmic Elder himself knows nothing for certain, then tell me—who possibly could?"

"No one!" the old man snapped, waving his hand with sudden fire. "No one at all. We live inside a sealed bubble. Tragedies befell us once—and we never even knew. Greater ones lie in wait within the Ancient Belt, and all we can do is run from them. We are chess pieces. Blind, insignificant pieces… who know nothing. Who have only their guesses and fragile hopes to guide them."

Robin said nothing. He stood silently, absorbing the words. He could feel the heat in the elder's voice—not anger toward him, but a fury born of helplessness… of knowing nothing despite the burden of age.

And the truth was… no one had ever reached the seventh stage of any master law. No one truly knew what had happened in the lost past… and no one was sure what the future held. For someone expected to be a wise leader, an ancient guide—there could be no more bitter truth than that.

"Do you understand now why I reject your existence?" the elder asked, his voice quiet but heavy. Then, suddenly, with a sharp gesture, he pointed toward Robin. "You, as a user of Truth, have only two paths before you. The first is failure—like all those who came before you—using your petty eye to carve meaningless runes to polish asses. Or… you succeed. You reach the seventh stage. And then you stand before a button—one that erases all patterns, destroys every foundation… and deletes the entire universe. In the first case, you're a useless fool. In the second… a tyrant beyond redemption. Either way, the universe has no need for you."

"…" Robin smiled, calm and amused. Then he stood slowly, placing one hand over the other in mock elegance. "I am but a humble Truth Chosen," he said softly, "lesser than those who came before me. I desire nothing more than to build an empire… and rule it in peace. Runes for polishing asses, you say? Sounds like a lucrative business model. I just might adopt it. Hehe… now, if you'll excuse me—I'd like to take my leave."

"Hmph," the elder grunted. "Weren't you just a moment ago talking about destroying the world and standing alone?"

"Ah—ahahaha! That was just youthful fire talking. If everyone dies, who would remain to glorify me?" Robin chuckled as he stepped toward the moss-covered gate. "A spotlight-craving soul like mine wouldn't last long in a quiet world. Ahaha… It's been quite the day—full of theories—ah, I mean… information. Kindly excuse me now. I can use the gates myself. No need for you to trouble yourself."

"You're committing a grave mistake," the old man said slowly, his voice calm yet laced with something deeper—like disappointment carved in stone. "With the power of Balance, every dream you've ever dared to imagine… and even those you never conceived of, can become real. With my legacy, you could dominate entire sectors of existence. You could raise your head above the clouds, and the stars themselves would kneel before your will."

He followed Robin with his hollow gaze as the young man moved steadily toward the overgrown gate, unshaken, uncaring.

"I'm offering you a chance," the elder continued, his voice louder now, "a true opportunity—to obtain something that the Law of Truth could never provide. So tell me… why reject it? Why walk away from the impossible made possible?"

"…" Robin paused mid-step.

There was a moment of silence, thick and tangible. T#his- c@o-p-y+ was gen&era^t.ed$ fr.om# c-on%t-e&n$t at M!V|L@E&M%PY!R.#

Then he spoke, slowly, as if sifting through memories.

"When I was seven," Robin began, his voice soft but firm, "I modified the energy absorption technique my family had passed down for generations. I didn't just change it—I made it better. Sharper. More efficient than anything they had ever crafted. that made me cultivate faster and they thought that I'm a genius cultivator because of it."

He exhaled faintly. "At fourteen, I left my family. I turned my back on the chance to become head of the clan. I walked away from safety, from legacy, from certainty—just to chase the unknown, just to explore the laws that define reality. I don't really know how to explain it…"

He turned his head slightly, not to look back, but as if remembering something from another life.

"I think I was born to be a seeker of laws. That's just what I am. I don't care if you see my actions as meaningless. I've made my choice. And I will keep walking this path."

Then, in a sudden shift of tone, Robin clapped his hands together with a loud, playful smack.

A wide, mischievous grin spread across his face.

"Well, anyway—thanks for everything! Really. I mean it. And listen, when you ever need something from me in the future, don't be shy! I'll give you a huge discount. Special elder rate. Just ask, ahaha!"

He laughed, carefree, and took a few brisk steps toward the ancient, moss-covered portal.

With a soft shoo~, he brushed dust off the control panel.

"…Huh?"

"The portal hasn't been used in hundreds of thousands of years," the old man said from behind, voice now quiet and strange. "There's no energy left in it. It's nothing but a fossil."

He turned to face Robin fully, his lips curled into a curious, unsettling smile.

"And besides… this dwarf planet has no recorded coordinates. It was erased from all known star charts."

Robin's eyes widened. "Then how did we even get here?!"

But after a brief surge of panic, his smile returned—wider than before.

"You know what? Never mind. Doesn't matter at all.

Now—could you help me leave, dear Mister Cosmic Elder?"

He gave an exaggerated bow. "I would be forever grateful."

"Such a shame…" the elder sighed, voice heavy with age and regret.

"I tried to reach you with words. I tried to help you see—truly see—the nature of the path you walk. But you are far too stubborn… far too proud to hear anything beyond your own voice."

"Aha… apologies," Robin rubbed his hands sheepishly. "I suppose I wasted your time. My bad."

He gestured toward the gate again.

"Just a small favor now? Please?"

He gestured a few more times, mock pleading.

"You know what, forget it. Don't trouble yourself. I'll fix it. Just give me a couple minutes and you'll find me gone far from your… luxurious territory."

"Such a loss… a tremendous loss…" the old man muttered, shaking his head again, more solemnly now.

Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his right hand and aimed it at Robin—and his left hand pointed toward the ocean behind them.

"You wish to leave?" he said, his voice carrying a new weight. "Very well."

His eyes, blind but burning with something unseen, locked onto Robin.

"But not… before becoming a Wielder of Balance!"

"Wha—?!"

Robin gasped, trying to turn, to flee, to react—but it was already too late.

The world around him shifted. The air bent unnaturally.

A pulse of invisible force surged around him, and in a flash, he found himself encased in a sphere of gleaming energy—transparent, humming, alive.

He tried to move his arms. They refused.

He tried to shout, to scream—his tongue wouldn't even twitch.

His body, his muscles, his mind—they were all locked in place.

And then he felt it.

Something inside him… cracking.

His energy foundations began to shatter.