Lord of the Truth

After several long hours—

"Uhnn…" Malek's eyelids fluttered faintly, his body stiff as though dragging itself out of heavy chains. Both hands rose to clutch the sides of his head, as if he feared his skull might split apart. His expression said it all—he was drowning in a headache so severe it felt like his head was truly about to explode.

A full minute crawled by before he finally stirred, his movements slow and halting, like a man waking from the depths of a nightmare. At last he sat upright, blinking groggily, his gaze sweeping the cave around him. Then, suddenly—

"Good morning!"

"Hm?" Malek's weary eyes shot toward the sound. His slouched posture snapped into formality, and in a heartbeat he dropped to both knees. "Your Majesty."

"Relax." Robin offered a warm smile, his tone casual. "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

"…Pleasant wouldn't be the word." Malek shifted, letting himself sink back onto his rear, rubbing at his right eye in irritation. "A cursed sleep with even worse dreams… heh~ I don't even remember how they—"

His words faltered. His breath caught. Something came back to him, a memory sharp as a blade. Slowly, his eyes lifted to Robin's, fear flickering deep within them. "Y-Your Majesty, I…"

He remembered. He had fallen—collapsed while his liege was wounded. He had struggled against his injuries, against the specters clawing at him, leaving His Majesty alone and bleeding. And yet when he opened his eyes again, it was Robin who had stood guard, protecting him.

No… worse than that, there was another memory. Robin's hand pressing against his head, his voice calm, steady, commanding him to rest, to trust that he was safe. Then the suffocating darkness had lifted, the crushing swarm of specters scattering like smoke.

"Your Majesty, thank you… for sparing the worthless life of this servant!" Malek collapsed forward once again, this time pressing both hands and even his forehead to the cold ground.

"Raise your head." Robin's voice was gentle but firm. "There is nothing to be ashamed of. You were wounded because you tried to protect me." He smiled lightly, nodding with approval. "It seems your training never included specters. We'll correct that once you're back in Sky Opening City."

"…Yes, Your Majesty." Malek's fists clenched tight, knuckles whitening. He dared not raise his gaze. Shame pressed down on him, heavier than chains. Then, abruptly, a thought struck him. "Your Majesty, where is Wade? And… who is this girl? Isn't she—?!"

"He's awake," Robin interrupted smoothly. "An hour ago, in fact. He was frustrated, so he left to vent his anger on a pack of specters." He tilted his head toward the cave's entrance. "Go find him before he throws himself into another herd. Bring him back quickly—we need to move on."

"…." Malek hesitated, casting one final glance at the girl lying unconscious. Her eyes were closed, her body encased in the protective triple-layer array. She was clearly injured as well and her army wasn't here, she's now of no threat at all. He nodded. "At once, Your Majesty." Then, with a rush of air—whoosh—he darted out of the cave.

"You have loyal followers."

The voice drifted softly from the corner. Robin smiled faintly, answering without hesitation. "Yes. They're loyal, and good…" He turned, his golden eyes meeting the gaze of the girl now sitting upright before him. "So—you've finally decided to open your eyes?"

"…I was tired." Morgana's sigh carried a strange fragility. She raised her eyes to his. "Thank you."

The truth was, she had awoken more than thirty minutes ago. But she had kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep. Robin had known, of course. But she… she had simply wanted to indulge in the feeling. To heal without fear, to sleep peacefully while another kept watch. It was something alien to her, a comfort she had almost forgotten could exist. Her specters had always demanded her vigilance; never once could she trust them to protect her.

In fact, when had she last slept at all?

Since ascending as a Royal Soul Master, sleep had become a luxury she could no longer afford. Meditation was her only rest, a poor substitute she forced upon herself so she would not falter, so her armies would not collapse, wouldn't attack her. Sleep… had become more precious than gold.

"You're welcome." Robin's fingers twitched in a small gesture. The triple-layer array dissolved, collapsing into motes of light before vanishing into his ring. "Your physical wounds are completely healed. And I don't sense any fatal injuries to your soul. You're fine now."

Morgana's gaze dropped. She brushed her hand gently across her abdomen, searching for scars. There were none. The only proof that it hadn't been some fleeting dream was the shredded state of her garments, riddled with holes where wounds once pierced. "…Such an extraordinary array."

Those wounds had been inflicted by five planetary weapons. To survive such a thing was nothing short of miraculous.

"Indeed. The boys back in Sky Opening City outdid themselves with this one." Robin nodded several times, pride flickering in his eyes.

He had only provided the broad framework; they had designed the rest on their own. The result was more than an array—it was proof that his vision was coming alive. A dream of a research force, independent and brilliant, working under his banner, whether they realized it or not.

"What exactly do you hope to gain from all of this?" Morgana's eyes narrowed, her tone sharp but laced with curiosity. "Rescue, protection, healing… these aren't the sorts of things one does for a mere stranger." Then her lips curled into a delicate laugh, almost teasing. "Unless, of course, you've fallen for me?"

In truth, Morgana was a vision to behold. Her beauty was not the soft, fragile beauty of maidens, but something darker, more striking. Her eyes—two pools of endless black, with wide pupils that seemed to swallow every glimmer of light—were mesmerizing. Her pale skin carried just enough color at the cheeks to make her seem vividly alive, while her lips, black as obsidian, gave her an aura of mystery and danger. There was no mistaking it: everything about Morgana exuded an otherworldly allure that belonged only to her. A single glance into those abyssal eyes could drag one's soul into another realm entirely.

Robin, however, only scratched the back of his head with a faint, almost awkward smile. "I haven't looked at any woman that way in a very long time… since my wife died, I suppose I lost all interest in women."

"Oh, so you're psychologically castrated." Morgana stretched out her long, elegant legs, their motion almost mocking in its grace. "That's actually reassuring. The last thing I need is yet another uncle drooling after flowers."

Twitch.

The veins along Robin's forehead tightened. He wasn't sure which insult to be more annoyed by—her choice of words or the casual disdain behind them. "Uncle? How old are you, exactly? A million years? Two million? The ancient tree-fathers in my empire could call you 'auntie!'"

"It isn't polite to talk about a lady's age so bluntly." Morgana dabbed at the crusted blood on her dark lips with her fingers, smearing it away until her face looked cleaner. Then her eyes lifted back to Robin's, gleaming faintly. "So tell me—did you save me because your masculine instincts flared up? Did the gallant knight inside you awaken when you saw an innocent little girl being tortured?"

"Maybe." Robin tilted his head, his voice quiet but weighted.

The truth was, he didn't know himself. His instincts had screamed at him to save her, his dreams had pressed him toward this moment, and he had obeyed without fully understanding why. But deep down, he sensed it—this girl was strong. Dangerous, even. She carried power that could not be denied.

"Impossible." Morgana shook her head slowly, her tone certain. "No one does anything without a price. What do you want from me?"

"….." Robin studied her in silence for several heartbeats. To an outsider she looked relaxed, but he could see the truth. Her every movement was calculated, her posture chosen so she could react in an instant. She was ready to deflect a strike, to vanish into the shadows at the first sign of betrayal.

She had lived through too much, carried too many scars. No wonder her trust in humanity had long since been stripped away.

At last, Robin lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing with resolve. "I do want something. In fact, I demand it. Now that your life belongs to me, it's a debt you cannot refuse." His tone shifted into command, as if he were already delivering an order to a subordinate.

Morgana clapped her hands once, sharp and deliberate, a mocking little gesture. "Finally, the truth. Go on, say it!" That fierce, wolfish smile spread across her pale face, erasing the pretense of innocence and revealing the predator beneath.

"From the very moment I saw you, the thought came to me," Robin said, a dangerous smile creeping across his lips. "I want to create a Fourth Army." He leaned closer, his golden eyes shining with intent. "Will you become my fourth supreme general?"