Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1353: The real problem

”....”

Lord Hedrick’s eyelids lifted with slow deliberation, as if reluctant to let go of a world that was no longer there.

The magnificent, awe-inspiring scene that had surrounded him moments before had dissolved into nothingness.

Gone were the exalted figures seated atop clouds.

Gone was the colossal arena teeming with millions of emperors, nobles, and celestial spectators.

Gone was the majestic stage sculpted entirely from hardened divine mist.

Gone, too, was the vibrant energy of celebration.

All of it... had vanished as if it were but a dream

And what replaced it was a reality far quieter.

Before him now lay a vast stone chamber—ancient in architecture, with every inch carved with sacred runes and forgotten histories. A room so large and refined it could easily serve as the heart of a royal palace.

Yet, despite its grandeur, it contained only the barest essentials:

A single, modest bed.

A plain wooden desk.

No guards. No luxury. No warmth.

Only silence.

A silence so heavy it felt like a weight on his chest.

After what seemed like an eternity of stillness, Lord Hedrick finally broke the void with a single, firm word:

”Drais.”

Knock. Knock.

Two solid knocks echoed against the thick wooden door, followed by the faint creak of ancient hinges.

A man entered—tall, broad-shouldered, with a steely expression and a patch covering his left eye. His presence carried the unmistakable scent of battlefield experience and unwavering loyalty.

”Your Majesty. Did you obtain the Planetary Displacement Tool?”

”No.” Hedrick’s voice was sharp, clipped, stripped of emotion.

A blade dulled by disappointment, yet still dangerous.

”I want you to go to the Destruction Pit Planet. Relieve my younger sister from her post there, and send her to me. I need to hear that story... again.”

”....”

Drais froze for a breath.

His master’s aura was dark—brimming with repressed fury and perhaps a hint of sorrow.

But not the kind of all-consuming despair one might expect from a man who had just lost something invaluable.

”As you command, my lord.”

He bowed low, then turned to leave—

Only to be stopped by another voice:

”Wait.”

Hedrick’s tone was different this time.

Not a command. A whisper, almost.

He stared into the empty air, his mind elsewhere.

”...Cloud number 100, is that right...”

He stood. Slowly. Deliberately.

Then, to Drais’s surprise, he placed a hand on his shoulder.

”I’ll go to Mid Sector 100 myself.”

His voice had regained its authority.

”You’ll stay here. Protect the empire in my stead.”

”Y–You’re leaving the territory yourself?!”

Drais could not hide his shock.

How many years had it been since Lord Hedrick had personally stepped beyond the bounds of the imperial citadel?

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

Meanwhile— elsewhere inside the Spirit Society—

Puff.

Lord Morval let himself collapse into a seat made of interwoven light and mist, exhaling in dramatic exhaustion. His head tilted back, eyes half-closed, his posture that of a man who had just survived a tempest.

”What a day... what a glorious mess of a day.”

”You’re telling me?” Robin chuckled as he dropped into the seat across from him, a wide grin spreading across his face.

”I found myself dragged into the eye of every storm without warning.”

Lord Morval had approached him shortly after the auction ended, extending a rare invitation for a private discussion.

No one had objected. Of course they didn’t.

When a major figure in the Soul Society asks for a moment, the world makes way.

He had guided Robin to a secluded chamber tucked behind the grand auction stage.

And the moment Robin stepped inside, the chaos of the auction vanished—replaced by a tranquil world unlike anything he’d seen before.

This was no ordinary room.

This was a place woven from soul force—a space constructed not from stone and steel, but from imagination, intent, and boundless willpower.

The moment he passed through the barrier, Robin found himself beside a glimmering waterfall cascading over crystal rocks. A gentle stream wound its way beneath his feet, impossibly clear, glowing faintly with soul light.

A silk tent, open to the air, stood nearby atop a vibrant green meadow that stretched endlessly to the horizon.

Small rabbits with silver fur bounded between flower patches, utterly unafraid.

The air was warm.

The sky above was tinged with the soft gold of an eternal dawn.

This wasn’t just a room—it was peace itself.

”Haha! You say you found yourself in the middle of everything,” Morval laughed heartily, then turned his sharp gaze back toward Robin.

”But tell me, Lord Human... was it fate that threw you into the spotlight, or did you leap into it willingly?”

He straightened in his seat, voice taking on a more serious tone.

”Much of what unfolded today could’ve been avoided.”

”Oh?” Robin smiled faintly, his eyes still closed as he listened to the tranquil murmur of the nearby waterfall.

”And how exactly could I have done that?”

”You had plenty of options, in truth...” Morval gestured casually.

”Regarding the Planetary Displacement Tool—you could’ve built ties with one of the great powers and borrowed it quietly, discreetly. Who knows? You might’ve even ended up with a sixth-tier artifact, if fortune smiled on you.”

He motioned gently toward Robin.

”As for Breath of the Ages—you could’ve sold it to us directly. No fuss, no chaos. And that cloud—number one hundred, was it? Was that just a stubborn jab at the rumors?”

He shook his head slowly, a mix of amusement and disappointment in his expression.

”To think that someone who’s reached the fourth stage of the Master Law of Truth wouldn’t have considered these possibilities—that would be insulting to your intellect. I know you thought about them. You simply cast them all aside... and by doing so, you created a saga—one that will undoubtedly be remembered for ages to come.”

He leaned in slightly.

”They say every Truth Chosen harbors an obsession. Tell me, Lord Human... is yours the thrill of pressure? Or perhaps... a thirst for fame?”

Robin exhaled slowly, finally opening one eye, still gazing toward the distant, shimmering illusion beyond the dreamlike veil of the room.

”...If I had to pick an obsession,” he said quietly, ”it would be the freedom... to choose.”

He let the words settle, then continued with a tinge of steel in his voice.

”If someone lends me a high-grade planetary artifact, they’ll soon want to dictate when I use it, how, and why. And more often than not, the price they ask in return is higher—sometimes far higher—than what I paid today.”

He gave a light shrug.

”As for Breath of the Ages... sure, the amount it sold for was a surprise. But that wasn’t the goal. The goal was to plant my name into their minds, to associate it with absolute reliability. Whether I ever sell something of that caliber again doesn’t matter. I’ve already achieved what I wanted.”

Morval leaned forward again, his voice quieter now, but more direct.

”To be completely honest, Lord Human, I still don’t fully understand you. If you had asked, we would have provided the artifact. If you were seeking absolute trust, then let me ask—who is more deserving of that trust than the Dream Galaxy itself?”

Then, with a knowing look, his tone sharpened.

”But I think I’ve figured out the real reason.”

”Oh?” Robin turned his gaze to him now, a faint smile playing on his lips.

”And what would that be?”

”Throughout the ages, Truth Chosens have always fallen into two categories,” Morval began, raising a finger.

”The first are those who ally themselves with a great power—an empire, an academy, a noble bloodline. They gain protection, access, and freedom to create, publish, and profit. The second group? They are the hermits—scholars who avoid the public eye, who want nothing more than quiet solitude, a pen, and a piece of paper.”

He pointed gently toward Robin.

”But you, Lord Human... you belong to neither group. Or perhaps... you stand with one foot in each.”

”You’re not backed by any known power—at least not one you’ve declared openly. That much is obvious from the way you made your purchases, the way you sold, and the way the audience reacted to you today.”

He smiled, but there was something sharp beneath it.

”And yet, you clearly have no intention of fading into obscurity. You’re not here to hide. You want to leave a mark.”

He spread his arms slightly, as if to encompass the room.

”So what do you do? You use the Soul Society as your stage—selling, showcasing, performing. And yet... you pledge nothing to us. No alliance. No allegiance. You walk the edge, playing both sides.”

Robin lifted a brow, unconvinced.

”And what’s the issue with that? It’s not like you haven’t gained from my work with you.”

Morval grinned.

”Of course we’ve gained. Why do you think we’re having this conversation?”

Then his tone softened, becoming almost sincere.

”All I’m saying is... this relationship could evolve into something greater. Something deeper. And if trust is the thing holding you back...”

He leaned in slightly, voice now just above a whisper.

”...then I don’t believe that will be a problem anymore, Lord Robin Burton.”