Lord of the Truth

"Higher?" Zara's brows knitted more tightly, her tone edged with doubt and curiosity.

"Mhm." Robin nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Star cores, refined miniature black holes, fragments of collapsed suns—stabilizers forged from things that are far beyond ordinary planetary hearts. The true higher tier. We will need a handful of them—whatever the cost." His voice carried authority that brooked no argument, his words heavy with intent. "Theo doesn't need to keep throwing funds into purchasing World Cataclysms from others. That era is over. From this point forward, it's time to invest directly into our own future, into what belongs solely to us."

His gaze shifted toward Emily, sharp and steady. "As for your concern about an immediate ascension if one of them succeeds, I suggest dividing Sky Opening City and headquarters. Send half the staff who aren't from Jura to Nihari. They must begin training now to manage affairs there in case the ascension happens suddenly. When the day comes, they cannot afford to be unprepared."

Emily froze, her lips parting slightly. "I… I don't know. I'm not comfortable with the idea of splitting my work and creating another command post far away from me." The woman who prided herself on having her hands in every detail, who loved to micromanage every string of power, faltered as she realized this meant diluting her grip. Her tone dropped into unease before she caught herself abruptly and forced her voice higher, almost pleading. "Oh! I didn't mean to question you, Your Majesty. If you command it, then it will be done!"

Robin's smile widened, though his voice was firm. "This isn't a suggestion, girl. Even if no one from Jura manages to break through, you must establish new headquarters. Not one—several. Across different planets. In truth, it is not merely wise, it is an obligation. An empire without multiple pillars collapses the moment its center is shaken." He leaned back slightly, his tone deepening. "We currently control 877 class-S planets. Who can say how many we'll possess in six hundred years? Perhaps far more than we can move into Nihari's orbit in time. When that happens, you will curse yourself if you haven't prepared a network of secondary centers."

"Your Majesty, do you mean…?" Emily's eyes widened, though she already sensed the answer. She needed to hear it confirmed.

Zara and Kristan both straightened unconsciously, their expressions tense.

Robin did not disappoint. His words fell with the weight of iron: "The presence of the Empire of True Beginning in Young Sectors 99 and 100 must endure even after Nihari, the Galaxy Seed, ascends. No—not endure. It must dominate. The goal will be to claim both young sectors outright, even after we depart for the Mid-Belt."

Emily's eyes trembled, her composure cracking. "This…"

"Heh, now that's the kind of ambition I admire, Uncle," Kristan muttered, stroking his chin in thought.

Then, realizing the word had slipped from his mouth, he smacked himself on the cheek *Bam*.

A moment later, he smacked his hand too, cursing his own carelessness.

Zara's expression tightened. Her voice was calm but layered with caution. "That's a towering ambition, Father, but is it even feasible? Once Nihari, Jura, and Blood Orphan ascend, the core of our strength will be gone. What will remain to defend the planets left behind? How will we continue to expand in two vast sectors without our heart?"

"That," Robin replied with a flick of his hand, "is your problem to solve. My role is to pour wealth and resources into your hands, and I've given you more than enough of both. What you lack is not coin or weapons—it's strategy. Use your minds. That's your responsibility."

The three exchanged uneasy glances, silent but heavy.

Could it really be so simple? To seize not one but two entire sectors? Until now, they had barely stretched beyond the starfield encircling them. They had not yet seen the vast oceans of territory that lay beyond. The thought of dominion over two sectors was staggering, almost absurd.

Robin exhaled slowly at their hesitation, then leaned forward. "If I were in your place, I would choose a colossal class-S planet rich in resources—but not one of our main worlds. A planet with at least two hundred thousand years left before ascension. I would begin grooming its people, teaching them governance, forging battalions from their sons and daughters, and sending them to fight in our Mid-Belt armies. Let them bleed there, learn there, earn loyalty there. When the time comes, those people will return as administrators and commanders. They will be our eyes, ears, and blades within the Young Sectors."

"Father…" Zara's lips parted into a faint, incredulous smile. "You truly mean to become the Overlord of a Young Belt sector… while still in the Young Belt?"

Robin laughed, the sound rich and unshaken. "And why not?"

Emily's body shivered. Her voice wavered as she asked, "Your Majesty… has anyone in all of history ever managed to seize control of an entire Young Sector before?"

Robin's laughter rolled through the hall. "Not as far as I know. Wars in the Young Sectors are always fought through proxies. No great power has ever been willing to commit the oceans of resources needed to push a vassal empire to conquer a sector outright. Too dangerous, too costly. What if that empire, once strong, refuses to submit? What if they entrench themselves in the Young Belt, refusing ascension? What if they ascend later and, drunk on newfound strength, strike down their old masters? No… it has never been done."

"As you all know," Robin began, his tone deliberate and heavy with meaning, "the ascension of a planet does not mean you yourselves will ascend at the same time." He slowly raised his hand and gestured toward each of them in turn, his voice deepening with emphasis. "What that means is this: if Jura alone ascends according to the plan, while one of you happens to remain on Nihari, then that person will stay on Nihari, bound by the same restrictions as before. Those chains will not break until you step with your own will and your own feet into the Mid-Belt. And once you cross that threshold… you will never be able to return to the Young Belt again."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink into them before continuing, his tone colder, quieter. "…That is why it is not strange to find empires lingering in the Young Belt for millions of years, clinging to existence by hopping from one planet to another, refusing ascension entirely. They live like kings among the weak, predators in a pasture of sheep, pretending to be rulers while in truth they cower—wolves too afraid to leave the forest, terrified of what awaits them in the wider hunt."

Robin let out a long sigh, one that seemed to echo through the chamber. He knew that line of thinking well—it had its own twisted logic. Yet its flaws were deadly. A planetary emperor could stretch out his lifespan only by refining planets, since in essence he would always remain just a martial emperor at the core. But the refined planet itself would inevitably ascend within five hundred thousand years, no matter how "young" or carefully chosen.

And on that inevitable day, the emperor would face an impossible choice: abandon his planet willingly, tearing away half of his soul domain, or cling stubbornly to it and wait for the Mid-Belt predators to arrive and seize it by force.

Either way, the price was near certain death. His soul domain would be split in two, his essence torn apart. The chances of survival were less than ten percent. Nine times out of ten, the emperor perished outright. And even in the rare chance he lived, he would be left crippled, a broken remnant of what he once was, condemned to waste away weak and powerless for the remainder of his life.

That was why the annals of history were filled with ancient empires flourishing in the Young-Belt, their banners spanning across the stars—but never with ancient planetary emperors. Such figures did not exist. Their dynasties fractured too quickly. Generations succeeded each other with unnatural speed, children inheriting thrones before their time, while the rulers themselves grew weaker and weaker.

With each forced relocation to a new world, the roots of their empires grew thinner, their foundations more fragile. And in the end, inevitably, those empires crumbled into dust, their names remembered only in fading whispers.

"Your Majesty…" Emily's voice broke the silence, sharp with worry. She leaned forward, her brows pinched together, her fingers tightening into fists. "Do you not fear the same outcome for the people we choose to raise and prepare? That we strengthen them, grant them power, give them everything—only for them, after a few generations, to turn their backs on us? To rebel against the very empire that nurtured them?"

Robin's response was not words at first, but a smile—a calm, knowing curve of the lips, as though the question itself amused him.

Kristan's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with realization. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "So that's it. His Majesty has never entertained that concern, not even for a single moment."

"But… why?" Zara's voice, usually steady, wavered slightly as she tilted her head. Even she could not fully grasp his reasoning, and it unsettled her.

"Because His Majesty," Kristan said slowly, his eyes locking with Robin's, as if seeking confirmation, "already has another power at his disposal. A force that will maintain balance in the Young Belt no matter what." He gave a faint, almost knowing smile. "Isn't that right, Your Majesty?"

"Another power?" Emily echoed in confusion, her brows furrowed deeply. "But who could—"

Knock Knock

The heavy sound of fists striking against the great doors broke the tension.

"Your Majesty," came the voice of a guard from outside, firm and respectful, "Grand General Sakaar and General Amon request permission to enter."