Lord of the Truth

Somewhere within the vast expanse of the Young Sector 101 —

"Umm…" Marshal Fargus slowly opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy as stone, his mind swimming in a fog of confusion. He stared forward blankly, vision adjusting to what appeared to be a wall of pure white — seamless, unbroken, with no door, no window, not even the faintest shadow of a line. "…" After a long pause, he raised his hand and began to gently massage his forehead, fingers trembling as if trying to coax his scattered memories back together.

"Ah— the Young Space Beast!" Fargus suddenly jolted upright, his entire body tensing as adrenaline surged through his veins. He sat up violently after having been sprawled on his back, panic flickering in his eyes. "This…?!"

It took him a few seconds to realize what he was actually seeing. He hadn't been staring at a wall at all — it was the ceiling. Even so, his surroundings were still peculiar: a perfectly sealed room, smooth on all sides except for a small metallic door to the right. A faint hum reverberated through the walls, accompanied by rhythmic tremors beneath him. The sensation was unmistakable. He was inside some kind of moving structure… perhaps a spaceship.

"…What exactly happened…?" Fargus murmured, his voice hoarse. He lowered his gaze, trying to piece together the fragments of his last memories. The final thing he could recall was deploying a fourth-degree Extremity Gear to erect a barrier that shielded Verilion from annihilation. Then… the Space Beast had smashed through his defense — and after that, everything went black. Nothing remained in his mind but silence and void.

"Hm?" His thoughts were interrupted as his eyes drifted downward — and then widened in disbelief. He realized he had been lying atop a bed woven entirely from Energy Pearls, their soft glow pulsing faintly beneath him like a living heartbeat.

He raised his hand again, examining it closely, rotating it in the light. Then he looked over his uniform, his chest, his arms. The dried blood that once covered him was gone. The deep wounds he'd suffered — nearly all of them — had vanished without a trace. Even the energy core within him, which had been cracked and completely drained, now shimmered weakly once again — about five percent recharged. The conclusion was clear: the Energy Pearl bed had been designed to restore him.

His body still felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion, and the dull ache of internal injuries lingered deep within. Yet, despite all that, his energy pathways were stabilizing. His life force was no longer fading. It was recovering. Somehow — impossibly — he was alive, breathing, and conscious.

"Just what in the…" Fargus muttered faintly, voice barely above a whisper.

Shhhk — the small metallic door slid open with a hiss, releasing a soft gust of sterilized air. A crimson-armored soldier stepped in, ducking slightly to squeeze his curved horns through the narrow doorway. Once inside, he straightened his back, his presence firm and disciplined.

"The guards heard a noise and called for me," the soldier said from behind his mask. "Had a pleasant rest, Marshal?"

"….." Fargus looked at him from head to toe, his expression unreadable. "It's you… the one whose horns grow from his eyes. The wielder of those bloody daisies." He gave a few small nods, then exhaled deeply. "So you're the one who pulled me out of that mess."

"You survived because you're strong, Marshal," Sakaar replied, stepping forward with measured calm. He took two slow steps and crouched before Fargus. "All of Verilion survived because of you."

"Don't try to flatter me," Fargus said with a dry chuckle that turned into a cough. "If it weren't for you and the Hammerbearer, both I and Verilion would have been erased from existence." As he spoke, Fargus raised his gaze toward Sakaar's face, his tone softening. Then he extended his hand forward. "I don't say this often… but thank you."

"...." Sakaar hesitated — just for a moment — then reached out and clasped Fargus's hand firmly.

Clank!

In that instant, Fargus's grip tightened like a vice, refusing to release him. "It's you, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" Sakaar's brow furrowed as he tried to pull his hand free, but Fargus's strength, though diminished, was still formidable.

"You're the one who spoke to me from within the planet," Fargus said sharply, eyes narrowing. "The voice that told me reinforcements were on their way. You're Marshal Sakaar, the silent guardian who's watched over Verilion's surface for the past century and half."

"…Release my hand," Sakaar said flatly, his tone composed but laced with warning.

"….." Fargus held on for a few more seconds, the tension heavy in the air, then finally let go. He leaned back slightly, breathing out. "I still owe you my life, Marshal Sakaar. All I ask for… is an explanation."

"The armors are similar," Sakaar replied, resting his palm calmly on his thigh, "and our voices — even more so."

"This is absolute nonsense." Fargus swung his arm through the air with force, his voice echoing off the white metallic walls. "What kind of fool do you take me for? I'm the one entrusted with guarding Verilion — its shield, its wall against annihilation. I've seen you with my own eyes before fighting on the surface of the planet. Do you honestly believe I wouldn't recognize you sitting right here before me?" He leaned forward, his tone deepening. "And not just you! The one wielding that monstrous hammer who grows to titanic size in battle, and the other commanding that squad of projectile warriors — I've seen all of you, scattered across Verilion's surface, appearing in separate incidents whenever disaster struck. Don't treat me like a blind fool."

"That's all you'll get from me," Sakaar replied without hesitation, his tone sharp and controlled like a blade barely sheathed. "Don't make me regret pulling you out of that battlefield alive."

"..." Fargus's face hardened. His thick brows furrowed deeply as silence fell between them. He didn't respond — but his eyes said enough. He didn't believe a single word of what Sakaar just said.

"You don't need to believe my words," Sakaar continued, his voice steady, though the faint edge of fatigue crept into it. "You don't even need to investigate or question me. All that's required from you, Marshal, is faith — faith in the one who sent us to defend Verilion." He lifted his chin slightly, the dim crimson light from his armor gleaming across his face. "Have we not fulfilled our duties? Haven't we done exactly what we were sent to do?"

"…You've done that — and more." Fargus finally muttered, nodding once, slow and heavy.

"Then there should be no tension between us," Sakaar said curtly, his words deliberate and clipped. "That's the only reason I came here — to confirm that much."

"…You realize I have to ask, right?" Fargus's tone dropped, deep and grave, like a judge preparing a verdict. "There's only one kind of entity in the entire Young Sector capable of entering and leaving planetary boundaries without triggering any of the sector's restriction protocols." His gaze traced over Sakaar from head to toe, evaluating every inch of him — the armor, the horns, the faint aura that seemed to ripple unnaturally around his body. "…You're not one of those, are you?"

"….." Sakaar went silent. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the ship's core.

The plague…

He knew what Fargus was referring to. The plagues — the various forms of that ancient corruption — were the only things unaffected by planetary restrictions. They weren't classified as living beings, merely self-propagating infections of reality itself. And now, Fargus was testing him.

How was he supposed to answer this?

Did the Shadow Swords foresee that this moment — this exact confrontation — would occur the moment they revealed themselves?

Should he have let Fargus die on Verilion's surface instead of interfering? Yet if Fargus had perished, who would remain to lead the armies, to stand as the celestial shield and spearhead of Verilion's defense?

"…Whether I am one of them or not," Sakaar finally said after a long pause, voice low but firm, "shouldn't concern you too deeply, Marshal. What matters is that we will continue — our vigilance, our protection, our unseen service. You, on the other hand, must continue your tireless work, as you always have. And in time, everything will return to how it once was." He folded his arms. "Do we have an understanding?"

"…" Fargus didn't answer immediately. He simply stared into Sakaar's eyes, his gaze heavy with thought and a hint of defiance. After several seconds of silence, he said slowly, "No. We don't."

"…?" A subtle shift coursed through Sakaar's aura — a ripple, like tension in the air.

"We're not going back to how things were," Fargus said with conviction. "I want you — all of you — to keep fighting by my side, to remain stationed around Verilion." His brow tightened as he spoke, his tone ironclad. "The battles have evolved beyond anything we've faced before. The frontlines are collapsing faster than ever. I can't hold the defense alone anymore."

"….." Sakaar turned his head slightly, exhaling a quiet breath. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice carried a restrained heaviness. "That will be… difficult. You said it yourself — you've already seen all of us across Verilion's surface. Whether that's true or not, don't you think the allied fleets might have noticed the same?"