Lord of the Truth

Middle Sector 100—

Caesar stood before the vast war map, his wide eyes gleaming with a predatory focus. He did not merely glance at the sprawling display—he devoured it with his gaze, as though he meant to carve every line, every speck, into the walls of his memory for eternity.

The map itself was no ordinary creation; there were no valleys or rivers sketched across it, no mountains or borders. Instead, it was a canvas of endless black, and upon that darkness were scattered a multitude of glowing dots of various sizes, each one representing a world, a fortress, or a point of life waiting to be claimed.

Around the edges of this towering map stood a circle of human generals, their armor gleaming faintly under the cold light. The chamber was hushed, filled only with the rustle of cloaks and the occasional breath drawn too sharply. Every one of them held themselves in rigid silence, as though the faintest sound might shatter the tension pressing down on their chests. They waited—for a decision, for a spark of command.

Tap.

After long minutes of suffocating stillness, Caesar finally raised his finger. His hand hovered above the map like the blade of an executioner, and then descended upon a single glowing point. His voice cut through the silence like thunder: "Here."

"The Violet Dream Empire?" Alexander's brows knitted tightly as his eyes darted to the place Caesar had chosen. The name alone carried weight—it was no petty kingdom, but a formidable dominion. Slowly, he lifted his gaze again, meeting Caesar's face with searching eyes. "…Are you certain?"

"Of course." Caesar's nod was sharp and unyielding. His voice swelled with confidence, rolling across the chamber. "That empire controls twenty-two planets, and they have been bled dry by decades of struggle against us. If we strike now with a broad campaign, we will uproot them, planet by planet, until nothing remains but dust."

His gaze tore itself from the map and swept across the assembled generals, heavy with command. "Each of you will take an army, each will descend upon one of those worlds. Two weeks from this very day, the campaign begins. Ready your legions."

"Mmm," Raiden's voice rose, measured but edged, breaking the rhythm of certainty. "A strong plan, yes. And the Violet Dream Empire is indeed a fine target. After all, we crushed the three empires closest to them. They will not expect such boldness from us so soon… But…" He paused deliberately, letting silence build weight behind his words. "Haven't you overlooked something, Your Highness?"

Raiden lifted his hand, one finger pointing at a glowing spot on the map. Then another. Then a third. With every motion, the silence in the room deepened, and the other generals nodded almost instinctively, as if the truth in his gesture was undeniable.

Those three points marked not mere worlds, but the capitals of the empires they had already conquered—among them, the heart of the Iron Boar Empire, which now stood diminished, reduced to the Iron Boar Kingdom.

"Leaving three bloodlines behind us," Victoria's voice slid into the air, sharp and cold, "bloodlines that hate us with every breath they take and wait like carrion for our fall… that is folly. We must rip out the roots entirely. Otherwise, we may find them united, striking us tomorrow rather than centuries from now. Even crippled as they are, each of those capitals still shelters at least one Nexus State cultivator." Her eyes flashed with deadly certainty.

"It is good that you remember this truth," Caesar replied, his brows furrowing as his tone grew iron-hard. "But tell me, how exactly are we supposed to kill—or even bind—those Nexus State experts?" His hand swept outward, his voice thick with disdain. "With the hired relic who farts every time he coughs?" He jabbed a finger toward the shadows of the chamber. "Or perhaps with His Lameness, our so-called Silent Majesty, who needs a crane to be hauled from one chamber to another?"

"..."

In the corner, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor, was the so-called young old man—long white hair cascading down his back, a beard so pale and lengthy it seemed carved from snow. His eyes were half-lidded, his posture slack, as though the weight of centuries had dulled every spark of care. He had heard every word hurled his way, but he offered no reaction, not even a flicker of irritation.

"..." All gazes turned, one after another, toward their supposed planetary emperor—the Silent One. He sat unmoved, his expression empty, his silence heavier than words. A collective sigh rippled through the hall as the generals tore their eyes away, returning once more to the glowing map.

For now, their strength on land was undeniable: an army vast enough to crush resistance beneath iron heels. Their fleets filled the skies, and their banners promised dominion wherever their shadows fell. Even the number of World Cataclysms among their ranks had swelled with the arrival of more human powerhouses eager to join their cause. Yet, for all their might, there remained a chasm they could not bridge—Nexus States.

Neither the hired elders nor the Silent One could fill that void. Both were little more than ornaments—tokens to display, not champions to rely upon. The Silent One's uselessness was understood; Theo had explained the reasons for his silence and indifference from the day he was first brought into their fold. But the hired elder… ah, he had deceived them cruelly.

During the last invasion of the Iron Boar capital, his task had been simple: to neutralize the emperor, to push him aside, to keep him from the battlefield. Nothing more. Yet when the battle reached its fiercest blaze, when the moment demanded resolve, he had turned and fled.

It became clear, after repeated failures, that the hired Nexus States had long carried strict instructions from their true masters: preserve your lives above all else—never throw them away for another's cause.

They were not mercenaries bound by loyalty, but pawns protected like treasures. The moment they sensed real danger, they vanished like mist; if they judged a mission too perilous, they would simply refuse to step forward at all. Their power was mighty, yes, but chained by invisible orders.

Once the murmurs of frustration faded, Caesar slammed both of his hands down on the massive star map, the sound echoing like a war drum through the chamber. His eyes burned with the ferocity of a predator as his voice rose. "We have repelled the aggressors. We have crushed them, beaten them back. In the last sixty years, we razed two empires to ashes. Now the path lies open before us—continue forward, strike again, tear down the rest. Uproot every planet that can be uprooted, grind them under our heel, and spread our dominion swiftly across the starfield until no one doubts our reign."

He lifted his head slowly, letting his gaze sweep the room like a blade across their throats. Each general straightened under the weight of it. "We must become more than conquerors—we must become a colossus, an empire vast enough to claim the Nihari Galaxy Seed once it ascends! Not a mere centennial empire, no… we must aspire to become a millennial empire!"

His palm struck the map once more, a sharp bang that reverberated across the chamber. "We will seize their holdings, strip them to the bone, and let them rot in their capitals if they choose to cower. Or—better still—they may crawl, bow their heads low before me, and submit to the dawn of our new era!"

"Understood!" came the chorus of voices. Roughly twenty generals raised their hands in salute, their boots striking the stone as one. Even Victoria, Raiden, and Alexander—who frowned deeply, doubt shadowing their eyes—nodded in compliance.

Yet beneath the surface, unease stirred. It was clear to them all that their supreme general had not considered the possibility of those scattered remnants uniting, of the conquered capitals rallying together in vengeance.

They knew it too well: a coalition of desperate enemies could burn brighter than a healthy empire.

Still, they could not deny the truth—without a realm Nexus State at their side, their options were few. Halting expansion would be suicide, leaving them vulnerable to rivals. And so, what remained? Only to march forward, to gamble, to pray that momentum and fate themselves would carry them to survival.

Step.

The heavy silence fractured as the echo of footsteps entered the chamber. Heads turned. A newcomer strode in, his movements unhurried, a small, knowing smile curving his lips. His presence alone seemed to shift the weight of the room, drawing every eye as he approached the star map. His tone was casual, yet laced with intrigue: "Hmm… so the sprawling Violet Dream Empire is to be your next target? How very… interesting."

Instantly, the generals lowered their heads in unison, their voices a tide of obedience: "We salute Your Highness."

"Peon!" Caesar's face hardened, brows furrowing like thunderclouds. His voice cracked across the chamber. "What are you doing here? We agreed on the division of political roles! This year is yours. Sit at your desk, fulfill your duty, and leave this war council to me."

"Not today," Peon replied calmly, though his eyes glimmered with something that betrayed him—curiosity, eagerness, perhaps even hunger. He lingered near the map, drinking in its glowing points, savoring the atmosphere of the war council as though it were a feast. "A visitor has arrived—one beyond my jurisdiction. You must go yourself. Don't worry… I will keep your chair warm until you return."

"Beyond your jurisdiction?" Caesar's voice dropped, low and sharp, carrying the edge of accusation. "There is no one above you but myself and your father. Do not tell me you've come here seeking escape."

"You are correct," Peon admitted with a weary sigh. "But in this matter, it cannot be me. It must be Father who makes the decision… or you may go in his stead, and bear the burden upon your own shoulders. I want no part of it."

He lifted his face then, turning fully toward Caesar. His eyes, once gleaming with mild amusement, now shone with the weight of revelation. The chamber froze in anticipation, every heartbeat thudding louder than drums.

"It is Renara," Peon declared at last, each syllable heavy, striking the chamber like a thunderclap. "She has come… herself."