Lord of the Truth

"…I thought you had appointed Amon as your official spokesman in your majesty's stead." Robin's eyes glimmered with a tempered, dangerous fury. His tone was measured and composed, steady as still water, but the sarcasm that dripped from his words was like venom, impossible to ignore.

Sakaar's entrance this time had been conducted with his usual formality, armored in discipline, yet he did not move to dominate the atmosphere as was he usually does. He had not claimed responsibility for the discussion, nor had he cast even a single glance toward Robin since taking his seat.

The air surrounding him was taut, as though shackled in invisible chains—perhaps he was consumed by thought, or perhaps he was restraining himself, holding back from an impulse that threatened to break loose at any moment.

"No one is worthy of that title but you, my lord." Sakaar inclined his head ever so slightly, even while seated, the gesture subdued but not without weight.

"Ha ha…" Amon's gravelly laugh rolled through the chamber, rough and unrefined, an attempt to smooth the jagged edges of tension. "Do not take offense, my lord. He has not been himself these past few years."

"And what affliction robs you of your composure, my Supreme General?" Robin's eyes narrowed like the drawing of a bow. "Is it because you sense your grip slipping… that you no longer command the loyalty of those under you?"

"…" Sakaar lowered his gaze, face turning forward, silence his only answer.

Even Amon released a weary sigh. "…Has word reached you already, my lord?"

"I cannot fathom how this could happen. How could my decrees be so brazenly violated, disgraced to such an extent that a Demon King dares cast them aside and proclaim open rebellion?!" Robin's hand struck the arm of his throne, the impact resonating like a drum of war. "Do these new generations not know who I am? Do you not teach them that the Blood Atlas —the very scripture of evolution they gorge themselves upon— was my creation, born from my own hand?"

"A fool of a World Cataclysm took root in my lands to be born, used my space portals as his stepping stones to invade, wielded my weapons to slay, absorbed my knowledge to mutate— and in the end, he dares rise against me?!" Robin's voice roared like thunder, shaking the pillars of the hall. His finger stabbed the air toward Sakaar and Amon. "Has your thrones truly rotted into nothingness? Has it grown so weightless that such treachery festers unchecked beneath your watch?!"

"…." Even Amon bowed his head at that, his voice faltering. "My lord… surely you have heard of our response, and… and…"

"And what exactly?!" Robin's shout was a whipcrack, lashing through the grand hall. "You engaged in a battle of such scale that it claimed the life of a World Cataclysm and countless millions of my followers. Yes—even if they were rebels, they were still a part of my strength, a fraction of my dominion! Such rebellion should never have taken flame to begin with!"

He struck the throne again, the stone quaking beneath his hand. "Instead of idling away, hunting for the next feast, you should have been vigilant! Your duty was to watch every shadow, to seed spies in every corner, to strangle such disasters before they ever drew breath!"

...The truth was bitter.

When the two had first entered the throne hall, Robin had endeavored to guide the air toward composure, to shift the discussion toward the power of the demons, the marvel of the crimson armors, and matters of their mutation.

Yet Sakaar's disgraceful silence, his posture, his every motion, had betrayed him. It was as though he were burning from within, desperate to confront the truth—or else cowering before it so utterly that it consumed every thought he might have had.

But in either case, Robin would not spare him. If you yearn for judgment, then come forward. I will judge you.

"And you!" He pointed at Sakaar with the same raised voice, not softer by a bit. "After that incident, your choice was to limit the movements of the other Demon kings?" Then he leaned forward a little, slow and deliberate. "Do you understand what that move really means, O best strategist in my empire?"

"..." Sakaar stayed silent for two long seconds before he spoke. "My decision looks hasty and not well planned. It sounds like panic. It shows I'm afraid the same problem will happen again, and that I still don't have a real solution."

"If you know that, why did you make it?" Robin kept the same tone, steady but hard. "Should a Supreme General look reckless, afraid, and without answers?!"

"Because I truly have no answers." Sakaar replied in a weak voice, honest and bare.

"...."

Robin had not expected this answer at all. The reply cut through the hall like a cold draft, simple but heavy.

"I could leave right now and kill every king I suspect —no matter how small the doubt— of failing to carry out orders." Sakaar explained, then raised his head to face Robin fully. "But I know that's not what you want, my lord. If I keep killing anyone I suspect of poor self-control, soon there will be no one left to command."

He clenched his hand until his knuckles showed. "...And there isn't a single king of specters who isn't loyal to you, Your Majesty. Even the fool we killed was calling your name and asking for protection at the moment of his death. I have no excuse to kill anyone. And even if I plant spies among them, they won't help much. The problem is instinct—an inner urge that grows stronger as the Demon becomes more powerful and tastes more blood. How do you tell a fish to stop swimming, or tell a rabbit to stop jumping?"

"...Are you telling me there's no use for you anymore?" Robin tilted his head to the side, as if testing the thought from a new angle.

Amon stepped in quickly, eager to catch the falling tone. "All demons are loyal to you, my lord. If you order them now to fight above the sky or under the ground, even the children will not hesitate!"

"And if they see a chance to get more food, they'll ignore my orders. That's what your friend here is saying." Robin pointed toward Sakaar without looking away. "What is the solution other than killing every king except you and Amon? I know you've thought about this for a long time."

"I don't see a good solution ahead." Sakaar shook his head slowly. "I can kill everyone now. Up to a total of one hundred, I, Amon, Helga, and two other close kings can work together and kill the rest if any rebellion happens. But after the number reaches one hundred Demon Kings, full control will be impossible."

Amon raised his hand to draw their attention, his voice ready and smooth. "I want to say that brother Sakaar is overthinking, as usual. By 'rebellion' we mean attacking Category R-planets while ignoring the laws of war. It's not a rebellion against the lord. Everyone loves you without exception, my lord!"

"No need to polish the words, Amon. We're talking about something else." Sakaar shook his head again. "The reason for rebellion doesn't matter; the result does. If I lose the obedience of a large number of kings at once, huge splits will happen. They'll leave with their own groups and live on their own planets, forming plague clusters outside our control—plague clusters that act wildly, like a true Crimson Plague."

"So what? If we can't kill them, then let them leave. They will be the one to lose!" Amon didn't find any problem in this, if they want to get back to being an ordinary Crimson Plague, behave like animals, then why stop them?

"You don't understand!" Sakaar raised his voice a little, his tone grew darker and slower, each word heavier than the last. "Their actions will attract the eyes of the other empires. They will also lose the supply that gave them the armor which hides their true nature. In the end, people will report their presence on those nearby planets. That will make everyone notice that there is a plague outbreak spreading in Young Sector 100—especially in the star field where we are based. And in the end, they will find us too."