Lord of the Truth

The Southern Region – Temporary Headquarters of the True Beginning Empire

At the foot of a towering mountain, surrounded by dense, ancient forests and the territories of ferocious beasts, lay one of the few locations carefully chosen as a contingency refuge for the empire. It was a place meant to serve as a last resort, a hidden sanctuary to fall back on should the Winter Eagle city be lost to enemy hands.

The moment this site was selected, Supreme General Sakaar wasted no time in issuing urgent orders. First, he commanded the construction of a fixed spatial portal to ensure swift evacuations if necessary. Then, he directed the placement of numerous defensive formations—preparing for the worst-case scenario where enemies might pursue them even here. But his most critical decision was the installation of multiple large-scale field hospital arrays across the area.

At the time, Sakaar had foreseen what such an evacuation would mean. He had stated plainly:

("If we ever have to fall back to this place… it will mean we are on the brink of destruction. And if that happens, what we will need more than anything else is the ability to treat the wounded.")

And his words proved prophetic.

"Urghhh..."

"Aaaah… Ahhh..."

The air was thick with groans of agony.

Everywhere, countless demons lay sprawled across the ground like lifeless dolls, their bodies twisted in pain. They were scattered across the battlefield like fallen leaves, motionless, broken, drained of all strength. Not a single one remained standing. Not even one was fully intact or unscathed.

Before this day's battle, the Demon Army had been a mighty force, numbering over 400,000 battle-hardened soldiers, including approximately 400 Demon Emperors— beings of immense power.

But now?

Now, there were barely 150,000 survivors, collapsing where they stood, barely clinging to consciousness. As for the Demon Emperors, the elite among them, those who had been the pillars of their forces? It would be lucky if even 100 remained alive.

There were no doctors moving among the wounded, no cooks preparing food, no hands tending to the suffering. No one had the energy to care.

The moment they arrived at this so-called "safe haven," those still capable of standing had immediately activated the vast field hospital arrays, allowing their green light to spread across the massive encampment. And then? They simply collapsed, unable to move any further.

Even those who had not suffered severe wounds found themselves lying on their backs, staring blankly at the vast sky above, their minds lost in the aftermath of battle.

They were Demons —creatures born to embrace battle, to thrive in bloodshed— yet even they could not suppress the deep-rooted terror clawing at their souls.

Their minds replayed the nightmare over and over again, forcing them to relive the horror they had barely survived. How were they even still alive?

But strangely enough, despite their devastating losses, despite their broken morale, the Demons were not the ones in the worst state.

"....."

The Saints and Sages, the elite human warriors who had formed the mighty Warlord Arrays, lay strewn across the battlefield like corpses discarded by fate.

They did not move. They did not speak. A quarter of them were already dead, their bodies devoid of life.

The rest? They were drained beyond measure, their very souls wrung dry.

How could they not be? Each Warlord had been forced to battle alone against twenty Imperial Guards. Twenty!

To fight such monstrous opponents single-handedly was a feat that defied belief, a battle that no one could have expected to walk away from unscathed.

What had kept them moving until now was nothing more than sheer survival instinct, an instinct that had finally faded the moment they reached the sanctuary of this hidden encampment.

And once exhaustion took hold of them, many simply surrendered to the inevitable. Some allowed themselves to pass away in peace, while others lay there in silence, too tired to care whether they lived or died.

Even the healing arrays, designed to restore life and mend wounds, could do nothing for them.

But injuries and exhaustion were not the worst problems they faced.

No. There was something far worse looming over their weary hearts.

They had no idea what had happened next.

His Excellency… Their Supreme Ruler… had given them one final order before they fled:

(Retreat. Leave the rest to me.)

And they had obeyed, despite the terrible weight in their chests.

Since that moment, they had heard explosions that shook the very heavens. They had felt earthquakes rippling through the land. The sky had trembled, and an overwhelming, suffocating aura of death had descended upon them.

It had felt as though an ancient calamity had been unleashed upon the world.

From the moment they had been ordered to flee, they had felt like nothing more than ants caught in a cosmic storm.

But then… it had all stopped.

The explosions ceased. The quakes subsided. The air returned to silence.

The world felt still once more.

And yet, no one dared to move. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

It was as if the weight of the unknown had crushed the very spirit out of them.

BZZZT!

A sudden, piercing sound shattered the silence.

An instant spatial portal had opened, right in the middle of the encampment.

"Huh?"

Every single pair of eyes turned toward it in unison.

From within the gate, a tall, battered figure emerged.

It was Richard.

He was supporting his father with his right arm, ensuring another man remained steady. But in his left hand?

He held a charred, blackened corpse, carrying it as though it were nothing more than a discarded sack of garbage.

"Take it easy, Father… Easy now…"

The battlefield, once filled with the sounds of the dying, now fell into a stunned, deathly silence.

"....?!"

"The Lord?"

"The Lord...!"

"It's His Excellency!!"

"Your Excellency, what happened?!"

"Your Excellency, did we win?!"

Commotion Commotion

A sudden wave of voices erupted all at once, as if an invisible force had struck everyone at the same time. Moments ago, the soldiers had been sprawled across the ground like lifeless bodies, drained of all strength, their spirits crushed under the weight of the battle they had barely survived. But the moment their eyes landed on him—the one they had sworn to follow—their exhaustion seemed to vanish into thin air. One after another, they scrambled to their feet, as if their injuries and fatigue had been nothing more than an illusion.

Even Richard's eyes widened in shock. Before he had left, the camp had been drowning in despair, heavy with the silence of the wounded and dying. He had expected to return and find them all barely clinging to life—or worse. But now, as he watched the sea of battered warriors surging forward, their expressions burning with newfound hope, he felt something shift inside him.

"Calm down, all of you!" Richard stepped forward, trying to regain control of the situation. "His Excellency is exhausted! He needs time to rest and reco—"

"It's fine."

Robin's voice, though hoarse, carried enough weight to silence the growing unrest. He placed a reassuring hand on Richard's shoulder before taking a deep breath, steeling himself. With great effort, he straightened his back, standing tall without any support. Then, slowly, he raised his right fist into the air.

"In this war... the True Beginning Empire... has prevailed!"

Clang! Clang!

The deafening sound of metal clashing against metal rang through the air, followed by an overwhelming roar of voices.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

"LONG LIVE THE TRUE BEGINNING EMPIRE!"

"LONG LIVE THE LORD! HAHAHAHA!"

The human soldiers, overwhelmed with emotion, covered their faces, their tears spilling freely. They wept—not out of sorrow, but from the sheer relief that the nightmare had finally ended. They cried because the sacrifices of their fallen comrades had not been in vain.

The demons, on the other hand, cheered with wild abandon, their roars shaking the earth beneath them. Their thoughts had already turned to one thing—feasting. After all, what better way to celebrate survival than with an endless supply of food?

Meanwhile, Richard stood frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard, "...Did we really win? Is Paythor... dead?"

Robin, still leaning slightly against his son for support, glanced at him with tired but resolute eyes. "I'll explain everything later." He exhaled deeply before shifting his weight again. "Take me to your brother. I need to see him."

Richard hesitated for only a moment before nodding firmly. "Understood."

Without another word, he led his father through the throng of celebrating soldiers, cutting through the noise and chaos like a silent shadow.

After several minutes of slow, steady flight, Richard finally descended in front of a small cave nestled in the farthest corner of the battlefield's outskirts.

"We're here."

Under normal circumstances, Richard would have reached this location in the blink of an eye. But carrying his father had slowed him considerably—not because Robin was heavy, but because Richard himself was barely holding on. His condition was dire. The fact that he was still conscious, let alone standing, was nothing short of a miracle.

Creaaaaak

As soon as they landed, Robin released Richard's shoulder and forced himself to stand fully on his own again. With slow, deliberate steps, he moved deeper into the cave. But as soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, his breath caught in his throat. His body stiffened in pure shock.

"...Caesar? ...Is that... Amon?!"

The sight before him was unlike anything he had ever prepared himself for.

Caesar's body was completely drained of color, his skin an unnatural shade of pale. He looked almost translucent—his features frozen, his limbs rigid, as if he had been sculpted from ice itself. The eerie stillness surrounding him sent a chill down Robin's spine. He looked less like a wounded warrior and more like a lifeless specter.

And then there was Amon.

Robin had barely recognized him at first glance. His entire face was swollen beyond recognition, his chest torn open, revealing the gruesome sight of his shattered ribcage and exposed organs. His arms and legs were in ruins—mangled, twisted at unnatural angles, with jagged bone fragments piercing through what little remained of his flesh.

Robin felt his own heartbeat slow, the sound of the cheering soldiers outside fading into a distant hum. His throat tightened as the realization hit him like a hammer.

These weren't just wounds.

These were closer to being corpses!