Lord of the Truth

"You're openly praising a military unit from the Young Belt," Renara said with a faint, curious smile, "while criticizing the performance of our own long-standing garrison? That's not something I expected to hear from you, Darmik."

Her voice held a subtle edge, not of anger, but of surprise mixed with a trace of amusement.

Darmik, after all, had always been notoriously stubborn, almost to the point of fanaticism, when it came to matters involving the Young Belt. In countless meetings and war councils, he'd made his position abundantly clear—he considered those from the Young Belt to be a necessary nuisance at best, reckless and short-sighted parasites whose gains always came with a hidden cost. He'd warned again and again that mingling with their kind was like playing a game where the rules changed with every move. His hardline stance—and that of his political faction—had been one of the chief obstacles preventing Renara from reinforcing their outposts and establishing stronger influence in that volatile region.

"The Orlando garrison," Darmik continued, gesturing with visible frustration, "has held that planet for centuries, your Majesty. Centuries. It was they who drove the Iron Boars out last time, and it was they who rebuilt and defended it under constant siege. They fought tooth and nail with limited resources, surrounded, isolated, and yet they endured."

His eyes narrowed. "But this time, the circumstances were different. The enemy came with unprecedented strength, overwhelming numbers, and a relentless push we were not prepared for. And because of our current situation—our inability to send reinforcements—we were forced to rely on others."

He paused, letting the bitterness simmer just beneath the surface of his voice.

"So no," he said at last, "there's no shame in what happened. There's no disgrace in acknowledging the simple, brutal truth of our condition. Our forces are stretched thin. And we were lucky—blessed, even—that the golden division happened to be there at the right time."

He lifted his gaze. "And credit must be given where it's due. After their success, we reached out—reluctantly, to the rest of your followers in the Young Belt. We requested special forces detachments from every one of them."

He exhaled, sharp and cold.

"Every single unit they sent was annihilated within days. Only the golden division still standing strong."

His voice dropped. "Meanwhile, the other five planets we're fighting over—five crucial fronts, each contested by rival empires—are slipping through our fingers. We're losing ground every day. Not a week goes by without reports of outposts abandoned."

He clenched a fist at his side. "At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if the next update you receive... is confirmation that all five have fallen."

Then, with a twitch of disdain, he added, "And I just can't understand it. You have forces in the Young Belt, elite divisions fully equipped with epic armor, even the War Domination Arrays themselves clad in epic-grade plating, their aura alone enough to level fortresses. All of them are human—and all of them use the Third Cultivation Path... the most resource-devouring form of power in history."

He shook his head. "How? How is it that you can afford that, while the rest of our followers in the young belt are absolute trash!?"

"If I hadn't personally witnessed the delivery of those Interstellar Scout Ships seventy years ago, I would have assumed—genuinely—that you gave them the pearls directly and they squandered them on indulgence."

Renara's expression hardened. Her brow furrowed as her fingers curled slightly.

"Enough circling, Darmik," she said flatly. "Get to the point. You didn't come all that way just to bring complaints and military reports. What is it you want?"

Darmik's lips tightened, and for a brief moment, his voice grew quieter—almost solemn.

"The golden division," he said, "was originally sent here for a thirty-year training mission. After seeing what they were capable of, we extended their stay—first by ten years, then another ten. We even offered a third extension, this time for twenty more."

"But General Raiden declined," he said, jaw tensing. "He claimed he needed an official edict from someone named Caesar before he could agree to any further extension."

Renara's eyes glinted with recognition.

"Caesar," she said softly. "The son of their emperor and their Supreme General."

A dry smile crept onto her lips, equal parts weary and amused.

"So let me guess," she said, voice laced with irony, "you want me to reach out to him? To pay to keep that division here permanently? And what should I tell him, exactly? That I'm losing a war and need his help? That I can't hold the line without his people?"

"No, your Majesty," Darmik said, shaking his head. "It's not about that division."

"This... is about everything."

"I'm here to ask for a full, total, and unwavering shift of our strategic priorities. We need to concentrate all of our might on the war against the Twilight Specters—just as they've concentrated theirs on destroying us."

"I know what this means," he added quickly. "I know it would require withdrawing our presence from every other conflict. Our six wars against the minor empires... we would have to abandon them, at least temporarily."

"And I know what that would cost us."

"But I have a solution."

His voice turned deliberate.

"We reinforce those outer battlefields—not with our own legions, but with units like the golden division. And we assign a few World Cataclysm generals to shadow them, to ensure they survive any overwhelming threats, and we let them hold the ground."

"Meanwhile, we pull the rest of our true military strength back to the front. To the Specter War."

He took a slow breath, then looked her dead in the eyes.

"This... is the only viable path forward. The only way we survive."

"BAAH!"

With a thunderous crack, Renara's hand slammed down onto the armrest of her obsidian throne. The booming echo reverberated through the grand hall like a shockwave, silencing even the subtle rustling of robes among the aides nearby.

"Darmik," she said coldly, her voice sharp as a blade drawn in the dark, "have you been struck in the head recently? Is your mind slipping, or are you simply testing my patience? Are you truly suggesting, with a straight face, that I entrust the sacred duty of defending our planetary holdings... to a young empire?! And you, of all people, are the one proposing this madness?!"

Darmik remained still, unflinching in the face of her fury. His expression didn't waver.

"Your Majesty," he began, voice level and composed despite the storm she had summoned, "we have witnessed what they're capable of firsthand. Over the last fifty years, their elite golden division has proven itself time and again. While I remain skeptical about whether they possess more divisions of equal might, even one or two additional units would dramatically lessen the strain on our forces in the battle against the Twilight Specter Empire."

He took a deliberate step forward, then added with conviction, "And if—if—they fail for any reason, it's still acceptable. These are resource wars, Majesty. Worlds can be reclaimed. Resources can be mined again. But this other war—this is a war of survival. We must concentrate our strength where it truly matters."

Then he raised his palm and gestured with intensity.

"And furthermore, let's not forget—they took 118 million energy pearls from us. A fortune of that magnitude should have bought us war fleets! Yet until now, we have seen no meaningful return for that expenditure. Let them fight in our name, let them bleed in our defense as partial payment. If nothing else, it will cool the fury of the Elders and buy you precious time."

Renara's jaw clenched tight, her teeth grinding ever so slightly.

"...If only you knew what I truly paid for," she muttered, voice dark and bitter, "you'd fall to your knees and beg for my forgiveness."

Darmik narrowed his eyes.

"Then speak it plainly, Majesty. Say it aloud and free yourself of the burden. What exactly did you purchase with such an astronomical cost? What could possibly be worth 118 million pearls of refined energy?"

"...Not now," Renara replied, her voice low, almost a whisper. "I will not speak of it until the moment of truth arrives—until the thing I paid for either comes into our hands, or vanishes forever. I will not offer false hope to you or the council. At this moment, I still don't know if that man is capable of accomplishing the task."

She drew in a long, controlled breath.

To create a merged law, with one of its components tied directly to the Path of Time... that would be an act that rewrites reality itself. It is no small request.

Then, she returned to his suggestion.

"As for your proposal... even I don't fully comprehend the true strength of the Beginning Empire's military might. I don't know whether they possess the resources or willingness to dispatch another elite division like the golden one. But... I will attempt it."

Her eyes narrowed as she pointed toward him, firm and direct.

"That General Raiden... he understands. He's no mere officer on a training mission. He is a strategic keystone in this war, a man who moves like one who knows what's truly at stake. That's why he needs to ask for permission. He knows this war is real."

She leaned forward slightly.

"Bring him to me. I will speak with him personally. If there is a way to bring in more battalions—if they exist—he will know how to make it happen."

"Understood." Darmik bowed low, his posture respectful, then turned to take his leave.

But after just two steps, something seized him mid-motion. He froze.

"What?!" he burst out suddenly, the word full of disbelief and tension.

Renara raised an eyebrow. "Darmik?" she called cautiously, her voice low, curious. "What happened? What news could shake you like that?"

Darmik slowly turned, his teeth pressed tightly against each other, his fangs slightly bared in frustration.

"...Despite the warnings. Despite the unstable circumstances that he's fully aware of. General Raiden has ignored everything—he's thrown caution to the wind... and departed."

Renara's voice was ice.

"Departed? To where?"

"He's gone to the Young Belt," Darmik growled. "He left without authorization."

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—One day earlier – Planet Jura – The Ancestral Continent – In front of a jagged cave nestled deep in the heart of a lonely mountain—

Tap. Tap.