Lord of the Truth

After One Hundred Years — Middle Sector No.100 — Planet Azakra

Step... Step... Step...

A man who appeared to be in his early fifties was making his way steadily through the grand corridor of an enormous palace. He walked with an air of authority, his gait calm but purposeful. Behind him, eight tails extended from his lower back, tightly bundled together to form a single thick, fur-covered tail that swayed with each step.

His facial features were slightly elongated—his cheekbones higher, his jaw more pronounced—and sharp fangs glinted subtly beneath his lips. His eyes were wide and entirely black, with vertical slits for pupils, much like those of a predator. It would be difficult to classify his appearance as entirely human, nor did he fully resemble a fox. He was something between the two—a hybrid entity that embodied both.

The corridor he walked through was not just vast but a masterpiece of architectural magnificence, lined with colossal statues carved with extraordinary precision and care. These statues depicted figures with tails and hardened expressions, warriors of an ancient bloodline. Others were of fearsome foxes, each uniquely crafted, ranging in shape and size—from slender and agile to massive and imposing.

Guarding the corridor were soldiers clad in identical, glowing uniforms that radiated faint light. As the man passed by, each guard saluted him promptly and respectfully:

"We salute the Royal Uncle."

"We salute the Royal Uncle."

The man—referred to as the Royal Uncle—did not acknowledge them. He neither nodded nor gave them a glance. His brow was deeply furrowed, his expression consumed by concentration. Clearly, his mind was immersed in thoughts of great weight.

Whoooosh...

At last, he arrived at the towering doors at the end of the corridor. Without hesitation, he pushed both doors open with strength and urgency.

"I bring news," he declared in a firm, resonant voice.

Far across the vast chamber he had just entered stood a majestic throne, elevated atop several steps. Seated upon it was a regal woman.

"Darmik," she said, her voice calm yet commanding, "what is it this time?"

The woman wore an ornate veil that concealed the lower half of her face, leaving only her eyes visible. And what eyes they were—enchanting and deeply expressive. Their sclera glowed orange-white, while her pupils were a rich shade of brown, framed by dark natural shading that gave the impression of a master artist having spent years perfecting every detail.

The only skin visible besides her eyes was a thin strip between her brows and the back of her hand. It was pale—almost alabaster—with a hint of cold elegance. Two large, furred ears sat atop her head, twitching slightly, and behind her fanned out nine grand, fluffy tails that swayed in rhythm like tall grass in a gentle spring breeze. Her hair flowed down her back like a waterfall of snow—pure white, without a trace of impurity.

She wore a long, flowing robe of white and soft brown, covering her entire body up to her neck. The only form-fitting part was around her narrow, graceful waist, accentuating her refined figure.

Had Robin been present, he would have recognized her immediately as Renara—not by her appearance, which was vastly different from her spiritual shard form, but by her aura. The way she sat, dignified and regal, exuded the presence of nobility, power, and centuries of command.

The man she had called Darmik clenched his sharp teeth and stepped closer to the throne. His voice was tight with concern.

"Planet Surina... has fallen."

"…That is acceptable," Renara responded with a composed tone. "Its fall was expected for quite some time."

Darmik's eyes flared with disbelief. "Acceptable, Your Majesty? The fall of Surina marks the sixth planet we've lost in less than a century! This level of attrition is unheard of in our history. Never before have we suffered such consecutive losses without gaining anything in return—at least not in such a brief period!"

His voice rose, echoing through the vast chamber. Yet none of the guards present showed the slightest reaction. As Renara's uncle and one of the most senior figures in the empire in both age and status, he was one of the very few allowed to speak to her with such candor, even frustration.

"How are the other fronts?" Renara asked, regaining her full calm. "Surely, withdrawing from six separate battlefronts must have reinforced our defenses elsewhere. That should buy us at least thirty years before another significant loss occurs, shouldn't it?"

Darmik's voice turned grim. "I can't say for certain. The attack from the Centennial Empire of the Twilight Specters this time is unlike anything we've faced before. It's not just an offensive. It's a total invasion."

He began pacing slightly, fists clenched.

"They've signed peace treaties with two other empires to close those fronts. Leaked terms reveal that the Twilight Specters paid two million energy pearls to each empire in exchange for five hundred years of peace."

He paused for breath.

"And they paid five million pearls to a third empire to end a prolonged dispute over a mineral-rich planet full of Asnarium. Now they're engaged in negotiations with six more factions, offering temporary truces... Soon, they'll have no enemies left but us."

"….." Renara's brow furrowed. This was dire news.

In the cosmic order, planetary empires naturally attracted enemies due to their size and resources. A Centennial Empire might just over a hundred adversaries. Even now, as ruler of the Empire of the Nine Paths, Renara was facing seven simultaneous foes—each hungry for a different planet.

The Twilight Specters calming multiple fronts meant they had significantly more troops to redirect to a single target. That was an edge Renara simply didn't have.

And the reason they weren't offer peace? Because this wasn't a war over land or wealth—it was something much worse. The Twilight Specters coveted the Kyomaji bloodline—the nine-tailed fox heritage.

Their aim was horrifyingly clear: to capture the women of the Nine Paths Empire for breeding, and exterminate the men.

This was a war of extermination—a war for the very survival of her people.

"…Where did they acquire so many energy pearls?" Renara asked, perplexed. Nine million pearls spent on treaties was not something most empires could ever dream of affording.

Even one million pearls could take thousands of years to accumulate through war and trade. Spending that amount on limited-term peace? It defied logic.

"…Luciander has become a Royal Soul Lord," Darmik said quietly, casting his eyes downward.

"What?!" Renara nearly rose to her feet in shock. But she stopped herself, forced calm back into her voice. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Darmik nodded solemnly, his expression etched with gravity and exhaustion. "There is absolutely no room for doubt. The rumors are true—Luciander, the younger brother of the Emperor of the Twilight Specters, has ascended. He has officially reached the exalted rank of Royal Soul Lord—a feat that only a handful in history have achieved."

He paused for a moment, the weight of what he was saying settling between them like a dense fog. Then he continued, "Even as we speak, he's flooding the Soul Society with his creations—artifacts, talismans, relics of immense power and elegance—all selling in astronomical quantities. The demand is insatiable. Merchants, collectors, and cultivators alike are scrambling to acquire anything from him."

His voice dropped, quieter now. "In short... energy pearls are no longer a limitation for their empire. What we consider priceless, they now consider abundant."

With a slow breath, he bowed his head even further, almost in defeat.

"And there's something far worse..." he said, his tone almost a whisper. "I believe you already understand what it means to have a Royal Soul Lord standing among our enemies."

"….."

Renara said nothing at first. Her fingers clenched slowly into a tight fist, the sound of her glove creaking faintly under the pressure.

Of course she understood. How could she not?

The implications were beyond dire.

At a bare minimum, the existence of Luciander in this new form meant that the Twilight Specters now possessed a being whose strength equaled—if not exceeded—that of a Nexus, a level of cultivation that very few ever reached, and even fewer managed to hold onto for long. A being who could crush worlds with a flick of the wrist.

But that wasn't the full extent of the threat.

No—the truly terrifying aspect of a Royal Soul Lord was not merely in their raw power. It was in their influence. Their reach. Their dominion.

Because of Soul Burrowing, Royal Soul Lords were not just warriors or masters of soul cultivation. They were symbols—entities who could alter the course of empires without drawing a blade. With a single signature or whispered word, they could reroute interstellar trade, collapse entire markets, influence the ruling councils of neutral worlds, or even command loyalty from sects spread across galaxies.

They had access to forbidden materials, ancient blueprints, celestial auctions, hidden vaults, and connections that ordinary rulers could only dream of.

And with all of that came an unmatched ability to amass wealth, Real Wealth.

Renara understood instantly what this meant for their million years long conflict.

The war between the Empire of the Nine Paths and the Twilight Specters, a war that had already dragged on for millions of years, was no longer the same.

It had evolved.

What had once been a grueling battle for survival was about to become an entirely different kind of conflict—one waged with weapons of unimaginable power, on planes of influence that transcended physical battlefields.

The presence of Luciander—as a Royal Soul Lord—would change everything.

That single revelation from Darmik...

It wasn't just concerning.

It wasn't even catastrophic.

It was a revelation that dwarfed the loss of a planet—a hundred times over.

Because while a planet could be reclaimed...

The balance of fate itself could not.