Lord of the Truth

"Once every thooooooooousand years? You have a deal!!" Jabba's eyes flew wide open in utter disbelief, a smile stretching from ear to ear until his cheeks almost trembled with excitement.

His bright naïveté even made Robin's lips tug upward into a faint smile… When Robin first met Jabba, the man was around sixty years old, and at that time there were roughly forty-eight years left before the cataclysmic Nihari War.

Then the curse befell him, freezing his body and consciousness right after the war that lasted about two grueling, blood-soaked years, leaving him frozen or unconscious for hundreds of years—years that cannot truly be counted toward his age because he never lived them… so it is fair to say Jabba's real age is around one hundred years!

When someone who is a hundred years old —someone who fought, ruled, created wonders, built legacies, and lived a legendary life filled with triumphs and scars— hears that he only needs to create one technique every thousand years, then to him this is the most joyful, least burdensome promise he has ever been forced to take in his long saga of a life.

It is something that feels almost laughable, nearly too easy…

But… once he begins studying those three terrifying laws, he will understand just how badly he trapped himself, how heavy the burden actually is, and how deep this promise runs.

…As for Shaddad...

He still had his head buried in his palms, shoulders slightly trembling, his expression shifting from shock, to terror, to deep, biting shame.

Shock that someone could casually hand down items and knowledge of such immense, priceless value to a disciple—most masters would never hand something like this down even to their own blood, their own children.

Terror that Jabba was told to choose any of them freely, and that even more layers, levels, and mysteries would be provided if needed—what was with this overwhelming confidence? What was with this monstrous generosity and pampering?

And shame… shame cutting into his heart, because he knew with absolute certainty that such treatment, such warmth, would never be his, no matter how hard he tried.

One application from a MASTER law every thousand years? Jabba will almost certainly never manage to achieve this rate, and big brother Robin likely knows this all too well. It is simply a clever way to make him feel he's on a sacred mission so he will give everything he has, and when he inevitably fails, he will probably receive a firm smack to the back of his head—motivating him to push harder, to chase growth, that's all…

At the moment, Shaddad's face had become utterly pale and lifeless, eyes empty, as though his soul had stepped out of his body.

"Good then." Robin nodded with a bright, amused laugh. "If you choose one, then you have my full blessing and support. If you don't, continue searching and wandering through possibilities. The important thing is that you don't forget your promise. These runes will benefit you your entire life whether you use them to construct techniques or merely study and refine your understanding from the structure of the universe." Then he clapped his hands sharply. "Alright then, I'll leave you now—likely for a few decades. I have a rather urgent trip to the Soul Society."

A hundred and forty years ago, hundreds of missions were waiting for him inside the Soul Community—missions worth billions of Pearls, tasks that could shift destinies. But now, after all these centuries passing by like drifting dust, there are definitely even more missions accumulated, more rare Pearls needed by his three empires to fuel expansion and research!

Thinking about the three mighty empires… Robin showed a very faint, almost nostalgic smile, as if remembering a grand dream.

With seventh-grade planetary displacement artifact, the limits on planetary transport no longer exist—rather, even the limits on transferring celestial bodies between entirely different sectors have vanished completely. The size of the Nihari galaxy is now practically open-ended, limitless like an ocean without shores.

And the equipment can be used in completely different, ingenious ways. For example, if the Grave Empire had access to this gear, they could transport resource-rich planets from any region of the sector at any moment directly into the starfield beside them before occupying them, securing strategic gains instantly. They could even trade planets with the Cradle Empire if one of them needed a certain planetary environment, mineral template, or special ecosystem more than the other—creating a cosmic exchange economy beyond imagination.

Of course, he could easily transport Morgana's clean planets to the starfield beside the Grave Empire, executing the operation with almost casual efficiency, and he could even dispatch entire purification arrays to cleanse the remaining planets one by one, then deliver all forty-nine directly to Aro on a silver platter without lifting much effort.

The number of possible applications behind this extraordinary piece of equipment was immense—staggeringly vast—one simply had to spend enough time discovering its limits, studying the amount of power required to operate it safely, and perhaps figuring out creative methods to use it discreetly without drawing unwanted attention or stirring suspicion from cosmic forces that should not be provoked.

As for the Eternal Feather, Seraphim… Robin's eyes shimmered with a faint mystical glow, a spark of calculation and curiosity flickering within. Perhaps he should accept missions from the Soul Society and use the legendary quill to resolve them.

Thinking about this, Robin turned slowly and took a single step away, his coat fluttering slightly behind his heels.

"Ugh…" He abruptly halted mid-stride, lifting a hand to scratch his hair in frustration, muttering beneath his breath, "How did I not think about this sooner…"

Where would he go now?

Morgana was currently occupying the teacher's apartment—of course he wasn't going to climb up and sleep in the same residence with her, that would be beyond awkward, and he couldn't kick her out either, since she was actively using this arena for her weekly lessons and could not simply relocate.

So where was he supposed to stay then? This academy didn't have dedicated residential districts other than student dormitories, and perhaps a few modest quarters for guards, servants, and administrative staff…

Damn it, I should've asked Althera to construct a proper palace for me to spend the coming years in… Robin released a helpless sigh, shoulders drooping slightly.

"Master!"

"Hmm?" Robin turned again to face Jabba, brows drawing together ever so slightly. "What's the matter now?"

"…Can I share them with brother Shaddad?" Jabba pointed toward the space beside him with earnest eyes. "This way, you'll get two applications every thousand years instead of just one. What do you think?"

"…?!" Shaddad felt as though a thunderbolt erupted through the top of his skull. He jerked his head up from between his palms, turning toward Robin with wide, trembling eyes, hope bursting uncontrollably within his chest.

"Really now?" Robin chuckled toward Jabba, amusement dancing in his tone. "Are you worried about my personal benefits—or do you simply want a partner in crime to blame things on later?"

"Two minds are better than one, hehe…" Jabba laughed awkwardly, scratching his cheek. "Little brother Shaddad is kind-hearted, gentle like me."

A wide, radiant smile bloomed on Shaddad's face for a brief heartbeat—a spark of fragile hope igniting in his soul—but it disappeared almost instantly.

He lowered his gaze once again in silent misery; he already suspected what big brother's answer would be. He understood the reason behind refusal all too well… The Great Truth Chosen of this generation viewed him as a slow-thinking fool, someone unfit to stand in the spotlight, unworthy of carrying his name, and incapable of representing his legacy with dignity.

He could only console himself with one trembling reason… that big brother Robin chose to reveal those priceless, unimaginable techniques and grant them to his disciple openly—right in front of him. At the very least, that gesture implied he was trusted enough to witness such secrets.

"Shaddad."

"Eh?" When Shaddad heard that familiar voice call his name, his head snapped sharply to the left, almost instinctively. "Y-Yes, big brother?"

"…" Robin stared at his face for a prolonged moment, as if reading every expression and emotion carved into his features, then pressed his fingers firmly between his brows with a long, weary exhale, before finally clasping his hands behind his back once again. "It's clear my disciple no longer enjoys being alone… Would you like to become my second disciple?"