Lord of the Truth

"It's impossible—!!" Morgana screamed out instinctively, the cry bursting from her chest before she could even think. Yet almost at once, her voice faltered and died away... because before her eyes stood Robin, wearing nothing more than a faint, simple smile. And in that smile, there was not the slightest hesitation, not the faintest trace of doubt. He truly believed he could do it.

No... not just believed—he knew. He really could do it.

"...Is this the same method you used to heal yourself, and your followers as well?" Morgana's voice trembled, though she tried to steady it.

Moments before she had lost consciousness earlier, her mind had been filled with only one question: how had Robin survived? She had seen it with her very own eyes—the vile, malignant energy ravaging his body, clawing at his soul.

She had been utterly convinced, deep inside her heart, that he was finished, that his fate had already been sealed. But then she had awakened once more, and her lips had closed against the question. Because she understood—such a thing was not simply a trick or a technique. It was a secret, the kind of secret a man would guard with his very life, a secret one might fight a thousand battles to defend, and one worth carrying to the grave.

Robin slowly extended his left hand. A golden radiance unfurled across his arm, crawling up to envelop his entire shoulder. Then, in an instant—whoooosh—a brilliant white beam erupted from his palm, illuminating the cavern like a piece of a star torn from the heavens.

"This," Robin said calmly, "is what I used to save my followers. A light born from the Fundamental Law of Purity."

"This..?!" Morgana's body instinctively leaned forward, her eyes widening. She knew that if she dared to get too close, it would sear her, wound her—yet the pull was irresistible. Like a primitive cave-dweller staring at fire for the very first time, her heart pounded with fear and awe interwoven. "Marvelous..." she whispered.

Robin allowed her to marvel at the beam for a time, watching the reflections dance in her eyes. Then he turned his other hand, his right arm beginning to glow with golden energy. The light gathered, condensed, and then—shwalaaa—an azure flame erupted upon his palm, flickering with an intensity that made the air itself shudder.

"And this," he said with quiet gravity, "is what I used to save myself."

"...?!" The moment the blue flame appeared, Morgana's expression transformed. Her smile froze, her features twisted into alarm, and her body recoiled violently. She pressed herself against the cold stone wall behind her as though she wanted to merge into it, trembling like prey cornered by a predator. "Keep that thing away from me!!"

"There's no need for fear." Robin's voice remained soft, even as he clenched both fists. The white light vanished, the blue flame dispersed, leaving only darkness between them once again. "I have no intention of letting the Flame of Purgatory near you. I don't believe your body—or your soul—could withstand it."

"Are you saying that you could endure it, but I cannot?!" Morgana snapped, her voice sharp and wounded. She swung her arms in defiance.

Shwalaaa—the blue flame blazed to life once more in Robin's palm.

"Fine!!" Morgana shouted, quickly turning her head aside, refusing even to look at it. "Fine... I understand. You've made your point. Just... just keep it away from me."

Robin let out a low chuckle, the sound echoing faintly in the chamber, and allowed the fire to fade once more. "So... do you believe now that I truly saved myself—and my followers?"

"...Are you from Brilliance Galaxy?" Morgana asked suddenly, a glimmer of wonder in her eyes. Then she shook her head slightly, as if to dismiss the thought. "I know someone from there. That girl... once, she tried to save me with that same white light. But she failed."

"Hmm. She sounds like a kind-hearted girl," Robin murmured, nodding slowly. "And strong as well. Even among the wielders of the Fundamental Law of Purity, very few can call forth the Beam of Cleansing. It is no simple feat... It seems you are not as alone as you pretend to be."

"She followed me for a while," Morgana said softly, her lips curling into a faint, almost nostalgic smile. "She said she wanted to help. But when she failed, she cried. Then she promised she would find a way, that she would come back with a solution. And then... she left. I never even learned her name. I suspect she's long forgotten me by now." Morgana's eyes glistened faintly as she locked them with Robin's. "But I know this much—she wielded that light. And it was far stronger than yours, far stronger. Yet still... she failed."

"That is only natural," Robin sighed. "I never intended to use it on you in the first place. The cleansing beam can scour away corruption from your soul domain and body, strip you clean down to the soul itself... but it cannot mend the scars of countless centuries, the injuries etched into you by hundreds of thousands of years." He raised his right hand again, letting a trace of azure flicker at his fingertips. "The Flame of Purgatory, on the other hand... it could make a difference, if you dared to try. But it would demand more than courage. You would need to endure an hour of it each day, every day, for at least a hundred years before you would see even the first signs of change."

"Not a single minute!" Morgana flung her hands outward, her voice sharp with finality. "Better to let me die in silence and in peace than to endure such torment!"

For anyone carrying even a speck of corruption within them, that azure flame was nothing short of a mortal enemy. The greater the corruption festering inside, the deeper and sharper the fear it invoked. It was not merely a fire, nor simply a law of purity set ablaze—it was something far more sinister and divine. It was a force designed with precision: to seek out every trace of corruption through the Law of Purity, and then to attack it without mercy, to rip it away in the most excruciating manner imaginable.

Its sole purpose was to cleanse, to purge, to restore the vessel not just to what it once was, but to a state even purer, stronger, and brighter than before.

But of course... in almost every case, the victim never lived to see that end.

"That's what I thought as well," Robin said quietly. He offered a small, almost gentle smile, and waved his hand dismissively. "Which is precisely why... I never intended to use either of them on you."

"...?" Morgana narrowed her eyes, the faintest crease forming at the corners as suspicion flickered in her dark gaze.

"I have my own ways~" Robin's laugh was light but carried an undertone of confidence that bordered on arrogance. He understood her questioning look with ease, as though he had already anticipated it. "The foundation is already within my grasp—I possess the core components required. What I need is time, only time, to shape them into a proper technique suited to your case."

"That's absurd," Morgana snapped, shaking her head with a force born of certainty. "Do you even realize what you are saying? What you describe is the equivalent of creating an entirely new soul domain! Such a thing is beyond reason, beyond possibility." Her voice cracked slightly at the end—because deep down, she feared that part of her wanted to believe him.

"I have my own ways," Robin said again, slower this time, as if etching the words into stone. His tone carried a gravity that demanded faith. "And I won't merely treat you, won't simply stretch your lifespan a little further. I'll preserve the very trait of your soul that allows you to command specters. That part of you will remain untouched. You'll lose nothing. And after that point, when damage arises again, all we'll need is the Beam of Cleansing to heal you as often as required. You'll no longer be a dying ember. You'll burn steadily, as you were always meant to." He laughed softly, almost teasing. "Now tell me, Morgana... what do you say to that?"

Her breath trembled. She turned her face aside, unable to meet his eyes, her brows knitted so tightly they nearly met. Inside, a storm raged. For perhaps the first time in centuries, she faced a choice that might alter the course of her existence. "...I will not lead armies," she whispered, almost to herself at first, then more firmly. "I cannot deal with the living. They sicken me, repel me. And above all, I do not want to."

Robin tilted his head slightly, not offended but amused. "That's fine. I have no desire to force you into roles you despise. What I want is simpler: for you to lend yourself to my cause, to swear your loyalty if I fulfill my promise of saving your life. Beyond that, the mantle, the name you'll carry under my banner—those are details, things we can decide later."

He clapped his hands together sharply, the sound echoing, a subtle attempt to snap her hesitation. His smile widened, persuasive and sharp. "Don't you see? This doesn't have to be complicated."

Morgana drew her knees upward, curling her arms around them, her figure suddenly smaller, vulnerable despite the immense power she once commanded. "If I work for you," she said after a long silence, "I will continue to raid and liberate the specter farms. That part of me will never change. It is not simply habit—it is the very reason I continue to breathe, the reason I ever chose to live this long. That is not something you may take away from me. It is... non-negotiable."

Robin studied her in silence for a moment, the weight of her words settling between them. Then, slowly, he inclined his head. "...So be it. You may continue your raids, but under a new banner, with new methods. The Specter Shepherd has died, and that identity can never resurface. The worlds you liberate will be cleansed and annexed formally into one of my vassal empires. Their treasures, their resources, their wealth—those will belong to the empire."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying a sharper edge. "If you attempt to act again under your old name and with your old ways, the Syndicate will notice—and they will not grant you mercy. They will come for you swiftly, and the only outcome will be death. What I offer is protection, legitimacy, a way to continue what you desire without the noose tightening around your neck. In the end, as long as the planets are cleansed, isn't that the victory you crave?"

For several long heartbeats, Morgana was silent, her expression unreadable. At last, she lowered her gaze and nodded faintly. "...It is."

"Then do we have a deal?" Robin's smile broadened, his voice both gentle and commanding as he extended his hand toward her. His fingers, strong and steady, hovered in the space between them like a bridge waiting to be crossed.

"..." Morgana stared at that hand for what felt like an eternity, her chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. The weight of centuries seemed to press upon her in that instant. Finally, she released a small sigh, stretched her hand forward, and clasped his with firm resolve. "We have a deal."