Lord of the Truth

"...Welcome, dear nephew."

Robin leaned back on his throne, a mocking smile curling across his lips as his gaze settled on Kristan. The sight before him was almost absurd.

By the order of age, Kristan was supposed to be decades younger, maybe centuries, yet he stood there with a long, unkempt mane streaked black and white, a beard equally wild, and eyes burning with a feverish madness. His garments were filthy and his bearing was that of a crazed vagrant dragged in from some alleyway.

Nothing about him suggested high status—or the sharp, monstrous intellect Robin knew all too well lurked within him.

Kristan hesitated for several seconds, his body trembling slightly as though preparing his spirit for a clash. Then, slowly, he turned to face Robin. His voice was heavy, each word laced with venom. "...Greetings, to the one who murdered my mother."

"I never killed your mother. I never even saw her," Robin answered with calm, almost detached composure, his voice steady as stone. "She killed herself—by running off of her own accord and marrying some nameless vagabond."

Crack. Kristan's fists clenched so tightly that the sound of his knuckles echoed through the throne hall. His voice dropped lower, guttural. "Careful. You're speaking of my father."

"I'm speaking of demon dung, nothing more," Robin replied, his chin lifting with cold disdain. "That fool's stupidity during the demon invasion brought about his death—and hers as well. His failure birthed you: a petty scrap of trash who founded a movement that slaughtered tens of millions of my subjects."

"The dung," Kristan roared, his voice trembling with fury, "is what spills from your mouth every time you open it, Robin Burton!!" He swung his arm violently as if to cut the air itself. "You came here today to humiliate me, didn't you? To feed your ego, to prove to yourself that I am broken?!" His voice rose louder, echoing against the towering columns and banners. "Well take your pride and cast it into the abyss—I challenge you to a duel to the death!!"

With a dramatic gesture, Kristan ripped off his tattered cloak, letting it fall to the marble floor like a banner of defiance. His chest heaved with the rhythm of a man consumed by rage. "Come down here and fight me man to man, you son of Peter! I'll shatter every tooth in your mouth!" He raised his fists and began hopping in short, sharp bounces like a fighter warming up, his energy manic, unstable.

His voice rattled off like a drumbeat: "If you're a man, then don't use energy system, don't use soul force, don't use body refinement, no martial arts, no weapons, no talismans, no—" He continued listing restriction after restriction, his words tumbling one over another without pause, a tirade of madness that filled the grand hall.

"..." Robin exhaled a long, weary sigh, shaking his head before turning toward Emily. "Is he always like this?"

Emily adjusted her glasses, her brow arching. "On the contrary, he seems unusually focused today."

Zara, however, turned her wide, pleading eyes on Robin, her voice soft but urgent. "Father, please… stop provoking him. The Prime Minister has done much for the empire."

Robin's gaze softened briefly as he looked at her, then returned to Kristan. He remembered well how the so-called Prime Minister had first appeared: a nameless man emerging from nothing. Richard had spoken not a word of him before his disappearance. But Kristan had revealed himself, unmasking his past in front of the highest figures of the empire, declaring that he had once led the People's Movement—and confessing in detail the fate he had endured.

"I wasn't trying to provoke him," Robin replied with feigned innocence, his tone almost playful. "I welcomed him, and he called me a murderer. What exactly am I supposed to do?" He let the corners of his mouth curl upward, then inclined his head toward Kristan. "Hey… thank you."

"..." Kristan froze mid-hop, his fists still clenched, brows pressed tightly together. "For what? I've done plenty. You killed my parents, you tortured me, and yet I built your empire for you."

"Well, don't exaggerate," Robin replied, laughter rumbling lightly in his chest. "The demons killed them, Richard tortured you, and my empire stood long before Richard ever dragged you out of that hell. Still… I won't deny it—you have helped greatly." He shrugged, his tone shifting into one of begrudging acknowledgment. "But that isn't what I'm thanking you for."

Kristan's lips trembled as if he wanted to hurl another insult, but he forced himself to hold back. As much as he hated Robin, he could not deny the truth—he had worked for centuries, all under Robin's shadow. Pretending otherwise was a farce.

Finally, a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "Then what are you thanking me for?"

Robin's expression shifted, becoming softer, almost wistful. "For Peon."

A silence fell across the hall. One of Robin's heaviest burdens had always been Peon's suicidal tendencies, the fear that he might lose him at any moment. Yet Kristan's schemes had forced Peon to confront himself, to heal, even to bring Robin grandchildren. For that alone, Robin's heart carried a weight of gratitude he could not dismiss.

Zara and Emily exchanged stunned looks, whispering almost in unison: "Peon?"

Kristan, however, was not surprised. He tilted his chin high with pride, his voice ringing with arrogance. "I want a reward."

"Oh?" Robin's smile returned, sharper this time, a predator's grin. "You've aided the empire enough to warrant such a request. Very well—a planet of your own, a mereged technique, a custom soul artifact… tell me, what is it you desire?"

Kristan's eyes glinted, and his answer cut through the silence with the weight of ambition. "I want planetary artifact."

"Oh? A planetary artifact, just like that?" Robin leaned back against his throne, his lips curling into a mocking grin before a deep chuckle escaped his chest.

Kristan's demand was laughable. The man had never even left the Young Belt in his entire life. Even if by some miracle he stepped foot into the Mid-Belt, it was doubtful he would ever see a planetary artifact, let alone touch one. To put things into perspective—even Pythor, with his ancient bloodline and vast empire stretching across worlds, didn't possess a single planetary weapon!

"Yes," Kristan snapped back with full arrogance, standing straighter as if the very weight of his pride could bend reality to his will. "Brother Theo delivered a report on every known type of planetary equipment to headquarters. Naturally, I read them thoroughly." He jabbed his finger toward his own chest with exaggerated drama. "And I want one in particular. Do not try to appease me with some random trash you pick off the roadside. I'll accept nothing less!"

"Hahahaha!" Robin burst into laughter, his voice echoing across the vaulted hall, bouncing off the pillars and banners until it filled every corner.

Planetary artifacts—trash in the street? Even a first-grade piece of equipment required entire empires to pool their fortunes for a chance at auction. Yet here was Kristan, speaking of them as if they were trinkets scattered in a bazaar. But what amused Robin most was the casual way he called Theo "brother." Technically it was true—Theo was Robin's son, Kristan his nephew, making them the same generation within the family.

But the sheer contrast between Theo's calm refinement and Kristan's wild, bedraggled appearance was enough to make Robin's stomach ache with laughter.

"Very well." Robin tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Which one do you want? Let's see what can be arranged."

"I want Planetary Beast-Taming Equipment!" Kristan declared with thunder in his voice. He stomped his foot as if sealing his demand into the very floor. "I don't care how long it takes you to track it down—I want that one, and nothing else will satisfy me!"

Tap. Tap. Robin's fingers rapped thoughtfully against the armrest of his throne. He had heard many times of the Prime Minister's odd obsession with the three Beast Kings, how Kristan would spend hours, even days, in their company as though they were confidants instead of monsters. Now it seemed he wished to expand his collection, to draw more beasts under his sway.

Robin didn't truly understand the root of this mania, though he could imagine the countless years of torture had twisted Kristan's mind in strange ways. Still, it wasn't entirely illogical—bonding with beasts of such caliber could yield terrifying results.

"Very well, I'll bring it to you," Robin said at last, rubbing his short beard with deliberate slowness. "But… on one condition."

"Your Majesty, you don't need to make promises like this," Emily interjected quickly, stepping forward. She adjusted her glasses, her voice trembling with urgency. "According to His Highness's report, beast-taming artifacts are among the rarest planetary weapons in existence. The few individuals who possess them are known across the entire cosmos by name. This—"

"Silence, you hag, Don't meddle in my negotiations!" Kristan barked, cutting her off with a violent wave of his arm. His eyes gleamed with fury as he turned back toward Robin. "Now… what's your condition?"

"..." Robin's grin widened into something sharper, predatory, as though he had been waiting for this exact moment. His voice dropped, filled with playful cruelty. "I want you to call me uncle—just once."

Pfft! Zara clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders trembling as she tried to stifle her laughter. Emily, meanwhile, exhaled a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head. Both women knew well the abyss that separated His Majesty and the Prime Minister. For Robin to demand this—it was crueler than any battlefield punishment.

"Tsk…" Kristan clawed at his white mane furiously, strands falling across his face. His jaw tightened as he spat out his words. "Just find it for me first. Then we'll see. Who knows which one of us will even live to see that day?"

Robin's laughter was low and confident, a sound that carried certainty. "Heh… oh, I know."

With a flick of his wrist, light shimmered from his spatial ring. A short, violet flute materialized in his hand. Its surface glistened like polished crystal, glowing faintly with runes that pulsed as though alive. On each side were exquisite engravings of two immortal beasts: the lion-headed eagle Anzu, wings outstretched as if ready to tear the sky, and the sea-dragon Tiamat, its serpentine form coiled in endless majesty.

"Catch," Robin said casually, as if tossing a worthless trinket. He flung the flute toward Kristan with almost careless grace. "Planetary Beast-Taming Equipment, grade two."

Then he leaned back into his throne, one hand cupped mockingly behind his ear. His grin widened to its fullest as his voice rang with teasing cruelty:

"Come now, my dear nephew… let's hear it nice and loud."