Lord of the Truth

"97.8 million years? That's extremely specific..." The Planet Spirit shifted her gaze away with her heavy, stony eyes, as though the weight of the number pressed on her very essence. There was hesitation in her tone, a subtle unease, "...yes, I think I began to gain faint traces of awareness somewhere around that period, perhaps a little less, perhaps a little more, but certainly close to it. Still... why do you ask such a question?"

Robin exhaled slowly, nodding a few times, as if confirming a suspicion that had haunted him for years...

He had always been told that Planet Spirits were present since the very birth of a planet, invisible guardians slumbering deep within its core, only to gradually awaken into true awareness after eons had passed. Once awake, they would begin to interfere with the affairs of living beings, guiding destinies, shaping races, and influencing the rise and fall of entire ecosystems.

Yet despite all these teachings, he had never once heard a concrete figure—never a single number—that pinpointed when these spirits first started to awaken.

He realized now: he had never asked, and they had never volunteered the truth. Most of the powers simply took this knowledge as one more mystery of existence. But the words of the Cosmic Elder Zulan, spoken not so long ago, still echoed inside Robin's mind like thunder rolling endlessly in the distance.

If there was no record of anything prior to that precise number—97.8 million—then it could only mean one thing: no Planet Spirit alive remembered anything before that span. If they had, the higher powers of the cosmos would have interrogated them, squeezed every shred of truth from their memories, and uncovered secrets of creation itself.

This left Robin with only three possibilities. The first was that all of the planet spirits were lying, working together under some secret pact, maintaining a deception for reasons beyond comprehension. The second was that their memories had been deliberately erased, wiped clean by some overwhelming hand of power. The third—and most unsettling—was that they were all reborn around that exact era, their existence freshly reset.

The first option, the possibility that they were cunning liars conspiring as one, could be dismissed—or at least placed aside for now. Such a claim could never be verified, never truly proven. That left only the two other possibilities, each equally chilling.

Perhaps this was the true reason why every Planet Soul seemed so eerily alike: because their memories, knowledge, and even their temperaments stemmed from the same starting point. They all carried nearly identical information, nearly identical impressions of existence… because, in essence, they were all the same age.

Of course, the question of how they continued to gather information beyond their planetary boundaries remained an unanswered enigma. They avoided that topic at all costs, hiding the source of their awareness. Still, one undeniable fact had now surfaced, one truth Robin could not ignore...

All Planet Spirits had appeared simultaneously exactly 97.8 million years ago.

Robin's voice broke the silence, heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "What else did you hear about the tower from their mouths?"

The Planet Soul hesitated, her expression tightening as if recalling forbidden whispers. "Not much. In truth, it doesn't even seem like they know much themselves. They act more like servants blindly following instructions, orders handed down to them by someone… or something." Her brows—jagged and torn stone ridges—knitted together. "But I did overhear something. I heard talk that preparations are being carried out in a perfectly organized manner. And in another moment, entirely separate, I heard them speak with conviction that the tower must be protected, no matter the cost, even if half the Syndicate had to perish. Hm... I believe the one who said it wasn't just a Nexus State expert. The weight in his words… it was heavier, more commanding. Perhaps a Guardian. Or maybe something even higher."

"...." Robin's face darkened, the gravity of the situation pressing down like a storm. This was no trivial matter.

The Syndicate—the same Syndicate bold enough to accept contracts to assassinate a Behemoth. The Syndicate that stood under the shield of Sevar, the wielder of the Master Law of Causality, a sixth-rank user. What on earth were they preparing for? Against whom could they possibly be mustering such overwhelming resolve?

He thought of their reach: the Syndicate, rulers of the cosmos from behind the veil, their experts spread like shadow and flame across every corner of existence. Armies hidden and armies public, networks vast and intricate, countless lives bought and bound. Guardians walked among them, Monarchs surely counted among their number. To sacrifice half of that, to cast aside a force capable of ruling sectors upon sectors—yet consider it preferable to losing the tower… what did that say of the tower's worth?

Robin leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. "Do you know what, exactly, they use it for?"

Fai clenched her fists, her stone-like knuckles grinding together with a harsh sound. Her tone grew bitter, laced with fury and grief. "As you've seen with your own eyes, the slaughter there never ceases. And whenever the corpses pile up to a certain number, they are gathered like dead cattle and shipped away—sent to some place beyond this planet—before the cycle of killing begins anew. I don't know why they go to such lengths. They could burn the bodies to ash on the spot. They could summon beasts to devour them where they fell. Yet they insist on taking them elsewhere."

She drew a ragged breath, her body trembling. "And there is more. I noticed that the tower itself draws in power—it absorbs a faint stream of soul units from every single victim. That is all I can tell you."

Her hands trembled harder, fists tightening until cracks spread through her stone skin. "Because of their actions at that cursed tower, the planet has been poisoned. Negative energy, grudges, endless hatred—they've spread across every corner, choking out life. Specters multiplied, feeding on the foul energy. And in the end, this once-living planet rotted into a dead husk. My form… my very existence… was twisted into the abomination you see before you now!"

Robin parted his lips slightly, a glimmer of realization dawning upon him, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and grim acknowledgment…

It was obvious now—painfully obvious—that the Syndicate had been weaving layers of deception around the tower, carefully veiling its true importance. Their actions there, so blatant and extreme, were bound to attract attention, and attention was a dangerous currency in the vast cosmos. The Behemoths, the Star Academies, and even the solitary ancient wanderers—none of them could afford to ignore the Syndicate's activities. Even if they refrained from direct interference, there was no question that many eyes were fixed upon those movements, watching, recording, judging.

To counter such scrutiny, the Syndicate had resorted to cunning misdirection. They spread word that the site was nothing more than a specter farm, a place designed for breeding and harvesting ghosts. The deception was brilliant in its simplicity—everyone knew the Syndicate had little care for morality, so the idea of them turning slaughter into profit was not far-fetched.

Thus, any spy or passing observer who stumbled across the tower would assume it was nothing more than a grotesque factory for specters. The rumor became a shield, a curtain that hid the greater truth behind a façade of brutality. In reality, the purpose of the tower was far more intricate, far more insidious… and it seemed, regrettably, that their ploy had worked flawlessly.

The heart of the matter lay in the fact that no one thought to question the origin of the tower itself. It looked exactly like a common slaughterhouse, a grim but unremarkable structure designed to churn out specters endlessly. Were it not for Robin's own prior experience—his memory of the stepped pyramid he had once encountered—he too might have accepted the illusion without suspicion. The disguise was perfect; it required knowledge outside the reach of ordinary experts to see through it.

Perhaps the butchers and guards stationed at the site were as ignorant as any outsider. Perhaps they genuinely believed they were committing their atrocities for the sake of increasing the specter population, gathering corpses to fuel more ghosts, collecting entry fees, and filling the Syndicate's coffers. If that were the case, then the Syndicate's secrecy ran so deep that even its own pawns were blind.

"The situation is grim indeed, Fai, there's no denying it..." Robin murmured, rubbing his chin, his tone caught between contemplation and exasperation. "Rescuing a frail young girl, hidden away in chains, is one thing. But abducting an entire planet, erasing it from the map, purging it of corruption afterward? And all of that… from whose grasp? From the Syndicate itself, of all enemies… Tsk, tsk~ The difficulty of such a feat is beyond imagination."

"The tower alone would be of immense value to you!" The Planet Soul suddenly pressed, her words rushing out like a flood. "You are a candidate, tied by fate to that person. You know—or will come to know—how to wield it better than the Syndicate ever could!!" Her voice wavered as she slowed, uncertainty creeping in. Then, after a pause, she added more softly, "And… I possess other things as well. Things you might find… intriguing."

Robin's eyes flickered with sharp interest, golden light dancing faintly in their depths. "Such as?" he asked, his tone steady yet edged with eagerness.

"...Heh~ There is no harm in revealing it. I promised you a worthy reward, after all." The Planet Spirit let out a deep, weary sigh, then raised her stone-carved hand toward the ground beside him.

"Hmm?" Robin shifted his leg back instinctively as the soil beneath him began to tremble. The earth quivered softly at first, then churned as though stirred by an unseen hand. The ground heaved, rolled, and finally cracked open, spilling dust and gravel as something began to push its way upward. Not a single item… but many.

Robin's eyes widened in disbelief as dozens of glimmering shapes emerged from the shifting soil. "Spatial rings?!" His voice carried genuine astonishment. Of all the things he had expected to surface from the bowels of the planet, this was the very last.

"There is no need to be shocked," the Planet Soul said calmly, her tone carrying the weariness of countless years. "I possess a great many of such trinkets. Like every other planet, I receive visitors. Across my surface, no more than two hundred have ever come at once to hunt specters. Yet a large portion of them never leave alive. They perish here, falling as victims, their souls twisted into specters, while their lifeless bodies—and their treasures—remain behind. Such is the natural cycle. What you see before you are remnants of their ambitions, their failures turned into my possessions." She gestured toward the mound of rings with a sweep of her arm. "Inside, you will find my token of gratitude."

"Hmm… the belongings of hunters who came here would be pearls, perhaps a scattering of weapons. Even if the rings are numerous, I doubt they will hold much that I truly need and—" Robin scratched his head with visible disappointment, his tone light, almost dismissive. But then, almost without thought, he picked up the first ring, letting his soul sense seep into its depths.

And then, suddenly, his expression froze. His golden eyes widened, and his lips parted in shock. "...This?!"