Lord of the Truth

The Platform — in truth — was nothing like a grand stage or an ornate ceremonial structure one might expect in such a gathering. Rather, it was a three-story architectural enigma, brimming with secrets and purpose, each level steeped in intention. The front-facing side of the building, the one overlooking the Grand Plaza, consisted of spacious terraces — empty yet designed with deliberate elegance — where honored guests and figures of power could stand or sit to spectate the proceedings with full visibility.

The top floor, however, was a different story altogether — a domain of luxury and unmatched prestige. It held a single, magnificent throne — carved and reinforced with celestial metals — designed for His Excellency and His Excellency alone. There were no other seats, no space for equals — because none existed in his presence. That space was not merely exclusive — it was sacred.

But it was the back of the structure that defied expectations further. What seemed like a simple raised platform from the outside concealed within it a private world — a small fortress of diplomacy and command. There were large council chambers designed to host dozens of commanders, a more secluded strategic planning room reserved for delicate discussions, and even temporary bedrooms — elegant yet efficient — prepared for those who might be required to stay for long negotiations or sudden campaigns. In essence, the entire structure was not just a platform, but a miniature palace.

"...." A long breath — more a sigh of relief than anything — was released in unison by everyone in the square the moment His Excellency and the Soul Shard disappeared from view.

Only then did the crowd slowly begin to realize the state they were in. Many were still frozen in place, their minds only now catching up to the pressure that had just lifted. A few glanced down in horror — their robes soaked through, pools of liquid forming beneath them on the cold stone seats. Some of it was sweat — yes — but some puddles were sharp-smelling… acrid.

Could it be urine?

No one dared ask.

No one would admit it.

Because the truth was: they were all the same.

"Amon," Sakaar called out in a low voice, raising his hand to retrieve the Underworld Daisies, "We're leaving. This place is no longer for us."

"...I was thinking the same," Amon replied quietly, his voice hoarse from blood loss and emotional strain. With effort, he pressed what little essence he had left, compressing himself back to his normal form, "His Excellency saved us the humiliation. But if we linger, we may bring him problems he doesn't deserve."

"Wait!" Richard's voice cut through the tension like a whip. He rushed forward and placed himself firmly between the two departing figures. "What are you doing? My father — your Lord — risked everything to protect you today. He went back on his word for your sake. He didn't just do it out of loyalty to you — he did it as well to preserve his honor, as you are his subordinates! And now you would leave?"

"...."

Sakaar clenched his fists hard enough for his bones to crack. He understood — the boy was trying to soothe their bruised pride. He was offering them dignity in the face of rejection. That alone… was enough. But still…

"I agree with the Crown Prince," Aro's voice came in low but firm as he approached. His expression was unusually grim, serious to the point of somber.

"Much of the conversation happening behind those walls will be about you. It wouldn't be right for His Excellency to walk out and not find you waiting. But be prepared..."

He paused, then continued with quiet finality,

"There's a high chance he'll have to send you away once this meeting ends."

"Our Lord would never cast us aside!" Amon exploded, the pain behind his eyes visible even in the way his aura pulsed.

"He knows how loyal we've been — how long we've served! Just because we choose to step back to avoid harming him… doesn't mean we'll accept being thrown away!"

"I fear the odds are heavily against you," Haros interjected, his tone devoid of mockery — merely honest, perhaps too honest.

"Ninety percent, he will order your exile. Five percent, he'll be forced to execute you. And the remaining five percent… well, that would require either a divine miracle or the ignition of a planetary war."

He pointed toward the platform, now eerily silent.

"The Soul Shard's power isn't in her ability to defeat us — it's in the forces she can command. And frankly, if I were in His Excellency's position, I wouldn't risk making another Overlord into an enemy. Having one is already a burden."

Everyone understood what Haros was implying instantly.

His Excellency had already incurred the wrath of the Overlord of the Great Serpent Empire — one of the most terrifying forces across planetary systems. He had spoken clearly of potential attacks, of war councils forming. And now… another entity of equal or greater threat had arrived.

"....."

Sakaar said nothing in response. Even Amon, who moments ago seemed ready to shout Haros down, fell completely silent.

He wanted to believe that Haros was exaggerating.

But was he?

They knew the truth better than anyone else.

His Excellency had always seen them as disposable monsters — tools forged in blood and flame, valuable only in combat. That was why, in the final battle, it was their army he had sent forward, not the First Army of the Empire.

But this had never been a problem. It was not a betrayal — it was simply the truth.

Their lives had never held weight in this world. So why blame him now for seeing what everyone else had always seen?

And yet...

If that same gaze now looked at them as burdens, as problems to be cast aside at the first sign of political heat…

Then the pain was not in betrayal — it was in confirmation.

Sakaar and Amon stood silent.

Not in fear of death.

But in fear of losing their one true foundation — the only force that had ever made their existence feel… purposeful.

Their Lord.

------------------------

The Rear Section of the Platform — The Private Council Chamber

"Please, make yourself comfortable."

Robin gestured with a graceful sweep of his hand as he sank into one of the plush, scattered chairs, exuding a calm authority.

The chamber was designed to accommodate individuals of similar rank — high-ranking generals, elite tacticians, or perhaps an intimate strategy session between Robin and his sons. It was a place where equals spoke, not where one lord towered above the rest. The furniture reflected that: comfortable, intentionally informal, and without a central table to divide or create distance. The atmosphere encouraged conversation, not confrontation.

Rinara moved without hesitation. She sat directly across from him, her posture composed and poised. Her legs were pressed together elegantly, her left palm resting gently over the right, while her nine long, silver-blue tails moved behind her with a slow, calculated grace — not restless, but deliberate, as if every movement carried silent weight. There was a quiet power in her manner, the kind born of generations of nobility and discipline.

"I won't waste your time," she said with her voice calm but unwavering. "I want you to become my subordinate. I want you to serve under my command."

Robin tilted his head back and laughed — not mockingly, but with genuine amusement. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, not contempt. "That's it? Try harder."

"What? You refuse?"

Rinara raised an eyebrow, her tone sharpened by a thread of irritation. His reaction didn't entirely surprise her, but it clearly tested her patience.

"Yeah I refuse!" Robin replied with a small nod, still smiling. "You came at a very strange time, and to a very dangerous spot, Lady Rinara. You've seen fragments of what I can do, glimpses of the power my empire now commands. The infrastructure, the soul core systems, the cultivation grounds, the elite I've raised — they speak for themselves. So tell me, honestly: why would I need you?"

He made a dismissive gesture with both hands, as if brushing dust from the air.

"And please, let's not circle back to the matter of the Red Plague and alerting the authorities. If I really wanted to, I could move them to another planet, erase every last trace of them, and start anew — without lifting more than a finger. I could eliminate the evidence. So if your plan is to try and threaten me with exposure, all you'll be doing is turning me into an enemy — and gaining absolutely nothing in return. So don't bother."

"Did I ever say I was going to report anything?" Rinara's voice grew colder, a flicker of frustration showing through. "Clearly, you weren't as late to the scene as you pretend. You were there, weren't you? Watching from a distance. Watching as I fought your sons... as I stormed into your coronation like a tempest?"

"I prefer to know what I'm stepping into," Robin replied smoothly, lifting his shoulders in a small shrug. "Lady Rinara, I realized very quickly that you weren't looking for slaughter. You had multiple chances to kill, and yet you didn't take any of them. I respect that. In fact, I'm thankful. That's the only reason I'm having this conversation with you. Otherwise, I would have obliterated this soul shard the moment it appeared, without a second thought."

He opened his hands in a relaxed gesture, his tone shifting again to something warmer.

"But that's behind us now. You're a guest — and a special one at that. I value diplomacy, and I enjoy making allies out of potential enemies. So aside from a few non-negotiable lines... I'm willing to hear any offer you'd like to make."

"...."

Rinara narrowed her eyes, her brows drawing slightly together. There was something deeply unsettling about being subtly threatened by someone from the Young belt. This man — this boy, in her eyes — was still inexplicably stuck at level 23. By all measures, he was young — barely two hundred years old. An infant, by their standards.

And yet, just like everything else happening beyond the veil of this strange empire, Robin Burton defied expectations.

Still, she had no time — nor patience — to match threats with threats. And Robin, infuriatingly enough, had cornered her the moment he'd mentioned the real problem. As long as he remained within the protective range of the Young Belt, her hands were tied. There was nothing she could do to him — not here, not now.

Not while he was settled on a refined, fortified planet capable of activating third and even fourth-level resistance protocols. Not while he himself was a Soul Master with a power reserve exceeding nine thousand units — an absurd number for someone of his supposed age.

"Then consider this carefully, Robin Burton."

Rinara raised her chin slightly, her voice calm but layered with iron.

"I know you serve an Overlord. That much is as obvious as the sun in the sky. I don't know who your Overlord is, but I am telling you, without arrogance — I am stronger than them. I am richer, I command more influence, and I offer you something they cannot. The Empire of the Nine Paths stands ready to welcome you with open arms. We will prepare a grand stage for you in the Middle Belt — a theatre worthy of someone with your power."