Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1288: Another problem to think about

“Wha—?!”

Robin whipped his head around frantically, eyes wide, heart pounding. The old man was gone—completely, utterly gone. It wasn’t just disappearance… It was as if reality itself had swallowed him, as if the very earth had opened a silent mouth and consumed him whole without leaving a trace.

Frrrwooooom!

In a blink, Robin unleashed his vast soul sense like a tidal wave, letting it surge outward to sweep the entire market square.

“Grragh!!”

But only a moment later, he gasped in pain and pulled it back violently, grabbing both elbows as a sharp, burning sensation flooded his arms and shoulders.

His soul sense—one he had refined to a near-perfect level over countless hours of cultivation and battle—had been attacked, assaulted by unseen forces before it could even cover a few meters!

He turned again, scanning the bustling merchant sector, but this time with suspicion and disbelief. The shops… those dozens of colorful, exotic stalls… they weren’t as simple as they appeared.

They were shielded. No—armed. Each one cloaked in dense, ancient formations, runic arrays of alarming strength that responded violently to his spiritual touch. They had struck back instantly, with ruthless precision.

“Damn it all…”

Robin looked back down at the empty space where the blind old man had been. “How did this happen? How did he vanish right in front of me without me feeling even the faintest ripple? I’ve pushed my soul force to over 470,000 units… and I can’t use it find someone? What am I doing with all that power? Feeding it to pigs?!”

“Hey! You there!”

A harsh voice interrupted his storming thoughts. Robin snapped his head to the side. Several market guards were approaching, clearly annoyed, pointing at the crumpled bundle of worn-out pages on the ground.

“Move your trash, or you’ll be fined!”

“…No need.”

Robin took a breath, lowered his head slightly, and bent down to retrieve the book. “I’ll take it.”

He clutched it gently—almost reverently—then turned and began walking away. But he didn’t walk like before. This time, his gaze was fixed on the ground, his steps heavy, his mind drowning in thought. His eyes were wide open, staring at everything. Seeing Nothing.

BAM! “Watch where you’re going, human!”

SMACK! “Open your eyes, you blind fool!”

The market’s chaos screamed around him. Vendors shouting deals, buyers haggling, crowds pushing. But none of it registered in his ears. It had all gone mute. Robin’s thoughts raced so fast that his mind began to burn, like a furnace fed with too much fuel.

Damn it… Damn it… Damn it all!!

How could he vanish in front of me like that?! Even a mid-stage World Cataclysm cultivator couldn’t take a step without me noticing! Even peak World Cataclysm masters couldn’t just escape my perception! So who was he? No… what was he? What did I just get myself involved in?!

And why… why the hell did I talk about balance?!

Why not say something safe, something scientific—like the indirect gravitational influence, or how those two hidden forces affect the structure of universal laws, or their elusiveness? But balance?! A Master Law?! What kind of lunatic hears a random theory about invisible forces and starts preaching about cosmic balance?!

What have I done? Did I scare him? Does he think I’m insane? Or worse… did I pass some kind of hidden test? Am I being watched now?

Robin suddenly stopped walking, pressing his palms against his forehead, fingers digging into his scalp. I just arrived in the Middle Belt… I was supposed to begin my journey, not get tangled in mysterious dangers from day one!

BANG!

He walked straight into someone again—but this time, it was like hitting a wall. He couldn’t move forward. The way ahead was completely blocked.

“There he is!”

“Huh?”

Robin looked up slowly, confused, only to see a fat finger pointing right at his face. The man it belonged to was short, bloated, and had enormous ears that drooped all the way to his round belly.

It was the same vendor from earlier—the one selling Polar Unicorn Blood at the market entrance.

“That’s the bastard!” the vendor screamed, his eyes bulging with rage. “That’s the one who crushed the value of my unicorn blood into the dirt!”

Apparently, after Robin’s casual comment earlier, a bunch of curious buyers had demanded to test the blood’s authenticity. When the vendor refused, spouting nonsense about “mystery being the soul of the black market,” many buyers walked off, muttering insults. The rest lowered their bids dramatically—down to a mere three cups of essence!

“So it really was you, huh?” the vendor growled. “Well today, we’re gonna teach you to keep that damn mouth of yours shut!”

Suddenly, four large figures stepped out from behind him, surrounding Robin from all sides. Each one had four muscular arms and long drooping ears just like their boss.

BAM BAM!

All four of them began cracking their knuckles at once, slamming fist into palm in a slow, menacing rhythm. The sound echoed like a war drum, loud enough to drown out the noise of the market.

The customers standing nearby began backing away, hesitant steps taken with caution, their eyes wide with alarm. No one wanted to be caught in the middle of what was clearly about to turn into a violent scene. The vendors lining the street, on the other hand, instinctively turned their heads away, feigning disinterest as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening in front of them.

Fights like this weren’t unheard of in the Black Market. On the contrary, they were a regular enough occurrence to dull the shock—but they were never the dominant culture of the place. That honor belonged to fear. Fear of the guards, fear of surveillance, fear of the unknown powers hiding in plain sight. Anyone reckless enough to stir up conflict here had to act fast, strike decisively, and vanish like smoke in the wind before trouble came crashing down.

The largest of the four thugs stepped forward, the veins in his neck bulging with fury, his muscles coiled like a beast preparing to pounce. He raised two of his massive arms high above his head, ready to crush Robin’s skull like a melon.

“You shouldn’t have opened your mouth about things you don’t even begin to understand, you stu—”

HUMMMMMMMMM…

“…!!”

The blow never landed.

The sentence never finished.

It was as if time itself hiccuped—and all five of them froze mid-action.

The four goons were paralyzed in place, expressions locked in whatever emotion had gripped them just seconds earlier—rage, mockery, bloodlust. One still wore a sneer, another a feral grin. Their hands hovered inches from their target, unmoving, their chests silent, no breath passing through their lungs.

And the vendor—the loud-mouthed man with the absurdly long ears, still pointing a trembling finger in Robin’s face and screaming for his boys to “tear him apart”—he too became a silent statue. Mouth agape, finger stiff, voice extinguished.

They weren’t unconscious.

They weren’t dead.

They were trapped.

This was Robin’s soul technique—an adapted version of an ancient power he had learned from the Curse of Eternal Stillness. It wasn’t the full sigil; he hadn’t etched divine patterns into reality or frozen time itself. No, this was the effect, replicated and condensed into pure spiritual pressure. He blanketed his foes in an invisible dome of soul force so dense it felt like their bodies were being sucked into the ground. Their muscles refused to obey. Their nerves refused to fire. Even blinking became impossible.

And yet… they were aware.

They felt everything.

Trapped in their own skins, they could do nothing but watch.

“Urrghh… That damned old man,” Robin muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple with a grimace. “Planted ideas in my head that had no business being there…”

He gave his forehead two firm slaps and took a step forward.

As he passed the vendor, he raised one hand—and with a sharp twist, CRACK—snapped the man’s outstretched finger cleanly at the joint. The sound echoed like a firecracker in the silence.

Without breaking stride, Robin continued walking.

“I wonder… Did he disappear because I passed his little test? Is that it? Maybe he’s satisfied and doesn’t want to be seen again? Or maybe… maybe he’s watching me right now, waiting for something.” He clicked his tongue twice and shook his head, frustrated. “Tsk tsk~ Either way, there’s no point dwelling on it. I probably won’t see him again for a long time. Overthinking it will only poison my focus.”

With that thought, he finally placed the mysterious book into his spatial ring. He exhaled, gave his head a solid shake, and lifted his chin high as he walked onward with renewed calm.

——–

Tap Tap

“Wow! Incredible composure! Is this some kind of immersive theater performance?”

The spectators began to swarm around the frozen vendor and his four motionless thugs, gathering in a wide, curious circle in the middle of the market street. Whispers spread like wildfire.

Meanwhile, the vendors who had been selling nearby—those who had clearly witnessed the entire bizarre event—did their best to look busy, completely turning their backs and redirecting their merchandise. None of them wanted any part of whatever this was.

“They’re real, I swear! Touch them! Their skin’s warm!”

A boy around twelve reached out and tugged at the nose of one of the frozen goons, laughing.

“This is amazing… here, take this as appreciation for your art!”

One passerby knelt, laid out a napkin in front of the vendor, and placed a finely cut energy stone on top—polished and shaped like a coin.

“Don’t be stingy now,” said a chubby man with a tiny elephant trunk protruding from his upper lip. He waddled forward and placed a small container beside the stone. “A full liter of refined essence. You’ve earned it!”

“Haha! I’ll contribute too!”

“Count me in!”

Later that day…

“…”

The vendor finally felt the crushing pressure begin to lift from his body, like invisible chains being unshackled one link at a time. With immense effort, he managed to twitch his pupils and glance down toward the ground—and what he saw nearly broke his heart.

A mound of riches had formed beneath him.

Energy stones.

Essence vials.

Coins of power.

No less than fifteen full liters of energy essence, offered up by a crowd of unsuspecting admirers.

“Hehe… Thanks for the hard work,” said a sly voice.

The vendor’s eyes twitched upward just in time to see a small, scrawny man—barely taller than a child—swoop in, scoop everything into a bag, sling it over his shoulder, and vanish into the throng of people.

“…A-ah…”

A single tear slid from the vendor’s eye.

“Ahh..hhh…!!!”

His scream tore through the street as the crushing pain returned in full force. He finally looked down at his broken finger, still throbbing violently, and howled in agony.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”