Lord of the Truth

Robin tilted his head back slightly, his face showing an expression of astonishment. He had asked that question to Pythor as a form of insult, never expecting him to take it seriously.

"You want a merged law technique that incorporates the minor Law of Corrosion? Do you even understand its value?" Robin chuckled, deliberately echoing Pythor's earlier words.

"Fine, I'll stand by my statement. I can create such a technique for you, but under one condition: dismantle the Great Serpent Empire and swear absolute loyalty to me for ten thousand years. Only then will I grant you the technique, and it will be yours alone, forbidden from being passed on to anyone else." Discover more stories at My Virtual Library Empire

"....." Pythor stared into Robin's eyes for several long seconds. Finally, he leaned back against his throne and let out a deep sigh. "No deal. I'll hold onto what I have."

"Haha, why not? Didn't you say earlier that you'd sell your planets?" Robin laughed heartily. His response was predictable, but his expression grew slightly serious. "In truth, you've given me an interesting idea. Why not follow me? You could become one of my Supreme Generals. Together, we could conquer the entire Young Planetary Belt and eventually make a powerful entrance into the Middle Planetary Belt at the right time. Why waste your strength fighting me here? Look at all these grand ambitions we're discussing, then consider the gains from this war. Do you see anything truly worthwhile? As for your Overlord or whoever it is you serve, we'll figure something out when the time comes"

"...Robin Burton, it seems you're the seed of a future Great Truth CHosen," Pythor said slowly. His tone carried grudging admiration. "I may be arrogant, but even I can recognize intelligence and awareness superior to my own. So let me ask you a mortal analogy." He gestured toward his opponent with deliberate slowness. "Imagine you're the owner of a large, prestigious restaurant. You've poured your sweat and blood into it for decades, growing its reputation. The restaurant has become a part of your identity, your passion, and your future goal. Then, one day, a small new restaurant opens right next to yours. Its owner has secret, ingenious recipes that quickly make it popular. Everyone predicts it will become the most famous restaurant in the entire country within a few short years!"

At this point, Pythor locked eyes with Robin, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "What would you do as the owner of the old restaurant in this scenario? Would you shut down your restaurant and go work as a waiter in the new one?"

A faint smile appeared on Robin's face. He understood Pythor's point instantly. "...No, it's impossible. I'd never abandon my restaurant to work as someone else's waiter."

Pythor had declared he would rather die than surrender.

"Good that you understand." Pythor nodded and began scanning the killing fields before them. "Perhaps the two restaurants could have coexisted. Maybe the old one could have stayed as it was, content with what it had. But unfortunately, the owners of the two restaurants were destined for conflict. Now, one of them must close forever, left to die in despair."

"The good news," Pythor added with a smirk, "is that it seems the one who will perish won't be the older one, Heh heh." Turning back to Robin, he grinned wider. "You made mistakes, Robin Burton. You erred when you split your forces across my eight planets, leaving them to face ruin instead of consolidating your strength. You made another mistake when you entertained this negotiation instead of retreating your forces, fearing the loss of planets. For a petty gain and psychological play against me, for the sake of your pride and self-satisfaction, you assumed you could walk out of here alive without your full army. Perhaps Truth Chosens aren't as intelligent as their legends suggest."

Robin smiled calmly, clearly unaffected by the remark. "...Do you know I have several hidden portals in the southern region? One of them was used by Sakaar to come to Poison Rock and meet with me before we all arrived here. And there are others that remain unused."

"...What does that have to do with what I said?" Pythor frowned, his brows furrowing in suspicion.

"Just stating facts," Robin said, shrugging slightly. "You still have a connection with Rocky, don't you? Why not ask her about the state of my army there? Go to your soul domain and take a look for yourself. I promise not to lay a finger on you until you return."

"...?" Pythor frowned slightly, his brows knitting in suspicion. Yet his curiosity got the better of him, and he chose to follow through with Robin's suggestion.

Robin chuckled as Pythor's consciousness disappeared into his domain. The man trusted the word of a rival he was battling over planetary ownership. Should Robin feel flattered? Turning slightly, he cast a glance at the open battlefields around him.

An hour and ten minutes had passed since Robin had instructed his son Richard to retrieve the small dark pyramid. By now, all the battles were nearing their conclusion. It wouldn't be long before the victors began to emerge one after the other.

"No... this is impossible!" Pythor's muttering wasn't far behind.

When Pythor had asked Rocky to show him the state of the remaining True Begining Empire troops stationed on his planet, he had expected to see a scattered force—perhaps a few hundred soldiers attempting to regroup, some scrambling to various corners of the planet. He thought he might see heaps of corpses, casualties of the poison rain he had ordered, or perhaps troops sheltering in fortresses to avoid further losses.

What he saw instead shocked him to his core.

The expansive military courtyard of his imperial palace was bustling. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers were lounging, chatting, laughing, and even roasting meat. Around one hundred thousand land mounts and an equal number of flying mounts roamed freely around the palace grounds, turning it into a grand stable of sorts.

In a designated area, a few hundred individuals sat with an air of pride and refinement— martial emperors, no doubt. Three towering treants from legend sat face-to-face like mountains in council, their colossal figures dwarfed even the palace structures.

Finally, Pythor's gaze fell upon several formations of elite soldiers sitting in disciplined, orderly rows. Despite their relaxed postures, their gear shone with intricate, individualized engravings that, when seen collectively, formed an interlocking design. These were the Warlord arrays—nearly twenty of them.

"Robin Burton!!" Pythor roared in anger. "What am I supposed to make of this?!"

It was clear to him now why Robin had casually mentioned the existence of hidden portals in the southern region. If that army were to arrive, it would completely obliterate any threat posed by the ongoing battle of the main forces. But that wasn't what infuriated him most.

What enraged him was the sheer complacency of that army. Despite the existence of those portals and the instant teleportation they could offer, the soldiers hadn't even been informed that they might be needed. Robin Burton hadn't accounted for the possibility that he might require their support.

"No need to panic. That army won't be summoned," Robin said calmly, his gaze fixed on the distance. "I don't need them."