Lord of the Truth

Whoosh—

The world shifted in a single breath. One moment Robin stood before a palace square vast enough to resemble a myth brought to life, and in the next, the entire scene dissolved.

When his vision cleared, he found himself within a sealed chamber, dimly lit by lamps of soft white fire. The scent of old parchment and fresh ink filled the air. Stacks of scrolls and bound volumes lined the walls, yet the room was not quiet—almost at once, a crisp, commanding woman's voice rang out, clear and confident:

"Professor Robin, how may I be of service to you?"

"Hm?" Robin turned instantly toward the voice. His gaze landed upon a woman seated with an air that could only belong to a ruler. Her posture was unyielding, her eyes sharp, and her very presence radiated the certainty that she believed herself monarch of everything within sight. And most likely… she was.

Yet she did not sit upon a throne in some great hall. Her upper half appeared from behind an extravagant desk of carved crystal wood, its surface littered with piles of parchment, neatly arranged pens, and untouched wax seals. Before her were no kneeling servants, no bowing kings. Instead, towers of paperwork awaited her approval. Robin needed only a glance to know who she was.

"I greet Your Majesty, Sovereign Althera," Robin said, his voice carrying both weight and formality as he offered a proper bow. "It has been a long time."

"Not long enough," Althera replied coldly, though her hand flicked toward the many empty chairs arranged before her desk. "Sit."

"Some would argue one hundred and thirty years is plenty long," Robin chuckled softly as he crossed the chamber, his footsteps echoing against polished stone. He chose a seat and lowered himself with calm composure. "But I haven't come here to debate."

One hundred and thirty years... For mortal families, such a span was enough for five or six generations to rise and fall. For Robin, it had been little more than three extended bouts of seclusion, years spent sharpening his body, soul, and mind. And for Althera, it was not hard to imagine she had spent every one of those years exactly where she sat now—behind that desk, ruling her domain through quills, parchments, and decisions that shaped worlds.

"Then why have you come, Professor Robin?" Althera set her pen down with deliberate grace, her eyes never leaving his. "I heard you mention a deal. Speak then. What bargain does the Lord Human seek to strike with me this time?"

Robin's lips curved faintly as his fingers tapped once on the armrest. "As Your Majesty knows, I spent some time in the archives. During that time, I read two particular books." His eyes sharpened with conviction. "I seek your permission to transcribe them—to bring copies of those works back to my empire."

The steady beat of his heart pounded against his ribs. He understood all too well the weight of what he was asking. And yet, he asked anyway.

If he succeeded in spreading those texts on soul cultivation, alongside the vast fortune of emeralds he had just secured, and together with the countless techniques he had gathered and refined across centuries… the rise of Soul Masters within his empire would not be gradual. It would be explosive.

No, more than that. Even his three great armies, the cornerstone of his strength, would be eclipsed. What were a hundred thousand soldiers compared to an age of new Soul Lords rising like an unstoppable tide?

As the thought settled, Robin's smile widened, eyes shimmering with both hope and the blazing light of ambition. But it vanished as quickly as it had come.

For Althera's expression darkened, shadows gathering upon her features. She did not lash out—not yet—but her restraint was visible, a queen holding back her wrath. "And what exactly do you expect me to answer, Professor Robin?"

"I expect," Robin leaned back into his seat, his teeth flashing in a tight, practiced smile, "that your answer will be: How much will you pay? Then, we can continue the conversation from there."

"You believe I have need of money?" Althera's brows arched in sharp disdain.

"There are things money cannot buy, true. And anything that leaves my hands falls under that very category," Robin spread his arms across the chair's rests, his tone calm yet edged with steel. "That isn't self-praise—it's fact."

"The books in the archives fall into that category as well, and you know it." Althera's voice hardened, displeasure thick in her tone. "Those volumes are forbidden, barred even to senior professors. If not for the personal recommendation of the Cosmic Elder, you never would have set foot inside."

Robin's smile turned wry, his voice dropping, though each word carried weight. "That is your problem, Your Majesty. What good are books that rot untouched on dusty shelves? Why preserve knowledge only to curse it, ensuring no one can ever learn from it? Tell me—hasn't the time come to let that wisdom breathe again, to place it in the hands of those who will treasure it?"

"And when you say those who will treasure it, you mean handing it outside my academy—to some unknown power?" Althera tilted her head ever so slightly, the owl-like gleam in her eyes drilling into Robin, unblinking and merciless. "Do you truly think it better to let such works strengthen your empire… rather than mine? Would it not be far wiser for me to unveil them here, in my academy, and make this institution stronger than ever?"

"Perhaps this would not be wise, and I know very well that you are fully aware of this fact, otherwise those ancient books, layered in dust and curses, would have been brought into the light ages ago," Robin shook his head slowly, his tone steady yet carrying a faint reproach. "Within the academy, the students bear no binding oath to stand by it in times of difficulty or war. Even the professors, those who claim prestige and seniority, are here only for personal gain, the allure of research opportunities, and the value of the annual fees. Tell me, then, why would you reveal such priceless secrets to them? What purpose would it serve, when the academy is not in want of wealth in the slightest?"

He leaned forward, his voice dropping, each word laced with sharp intent. "And secondly... even if you were to place those arcane truths in an open auction, whatever sums of wealth would be poured at your feet would hardly change anything for you. You already sit upon entire mountains of treasures, oceans of knowledge, and rivers of Pearls, each of which could buy a dozen sects and a hundred kingdoms. What difference would a few extra billions of pearls make? A droplet added to a sea is still only a droplet."

Robin's eyes glinted with cunning, and he allowed a faint smirk to appear. "Your only true opportunity lies elsewhere: to allow carefully chosen individuals—capable, ambitious, and armed with vast intellects—into the heart of your collection, and compel them to write a book in exchange for every book they are permitted to read. Imagine it, Lady Althera… one day among their works, you may discover something entirely new, something priceless beyond measure, a treasure of wisdom that no vault of gold could ever equal. You would gain without ever needing to spend, a harvest of knowledge from seeds you did not plant. Is this not the same system upon which the heads and deputies of this academy themselves built their legacy?"

Then Robin chuckled, his laughter echoing faintly in the sealed chamber. "Look me in the eyes and tell me honestly… tell me that you never once attempted to pry into The Permanence of Frost, Fifth Grade, or dared to crack open The Encyclopedia of Blood."

"..." Althera raised a single elegant eyebrow, her face composed yet betraying the slightest flicker of irritation. "Your methods of weaving curses are clever, I will grant you that, but they remain insufficient to deter a monarch."

Bam! Robin's hands slammed against the armrests of his chair, his golden gaze burning. "I would wager my soul right now, that you never managed to finish them!"

"...I will, one day." For the first time, a hint of discomfort surfaced in Althera's expression. An embarrassed smile, rare upon her regal features, curved her lips. "I simply have not had the time for them yet."

Robin relaxed his posture slightly, waving his hand as if brushing away the tension. "I know, of course, that their day will come. Every curse, no matter how wicked, was crafted to be broken eventually. Even I, insignificant compared to you, succeeded in shattering the seals placed by the second head of this academy in the end. And you… you are no sovereign by accident, Lady Althera. Perhaps with a mere century or two of singular focus, you will undoubtedly conquer them as well."

He leaned back, his smile turning sharper, almost predatory. "But why trouble yourself with endless riddles, why allow your precious time to be devoured in the circles of oblivion? Why chase phantoms of knowledge when I can hand you living fire? Allow me to present to you open, unshackled copies right now—versions unbound by curse or seal, foundations upon which you could forge your very own army. Picture it: an army trained in the Permanence of Frost up to the fearsome fifth grade; warriors who wield World Cataclysms fueled by merged laws carrying temporal rifts themselves!"

His grin widened into something dazzling and dangerous. "Such an army, Althera, would not merely defend—it would hunger endlessly for blood, its thirst unquenchable, a force that could overturn the entire sector and plunge every empire into trembling awe. An army that would not just grant you dominance within the academy, but would elevate you to a throne above thrones… a ruler of realms, not merely a headmistress chained to her halls of learning."