Lord of the Truth

Ten Years Later—

"Sir, I've brought the paper you requested," Pitso announced, stepping into the lavish suite with a proud smile stretched across his youthful face. He was cradling a spatial travel bag in both arms as if it contained the fate of worlds.

Robin, seated near a floating desk surrounded by layers of glowing sigils and partially-finished diagrams, looked up. With a flick of his fingers, the bag shot through the air and landed neatly in his palm. "Excellent," he murmured with genuine delight, unsealing it and pulling out a massive white board.

His smile widened. "Yes… this is it. Perfect." His tone carried the satisfaction of an artist reunited with his favorite brush. "The entire supply I brought from my homeworld is already gone. All of it was consumed." Without another word, he dipped his pen into shimmering ink and resumed drawing—each stroke deliberate, flowing like the path of a falling star.

Pitso, ever curious, stepped forward. "If you don't mind me asking, why this paper, of all things, Master? It's outrageously expensive. I've scoured the entire Zaron Commercial Planet, and only a single shop had any left in stock."

Robin chuckled, his eyes never leaving the page. "This isn't just paper. It's crafted from the bark—or more accurately, the skin—of Treant creatures. Highly rare. Incredibly tough. You can't just peel it off and call it a day; it must be harvested under very specific conditions." He paused to admire a stroke. "It's naturally resistant to the interference of most heavenly laws. Which means I can etch high level runes onto it freely, without worrying about tears... or combustion."

Pitso blinked. "Oh... I see. So what are we working on this time?" He leaned in further, his interest now fully captured.

This wasn't his first time witnessing Robin at work—but this particular project was different. The scope was monumental. Robin had started six months ago and already filled seven full panels. This was the eighth. The sheer size and intricacy of the task dwarfed anything he had seen him do before.

Robin's voice dropped into a tone of reverent awe. "You'll never guess. This is an exorcism array. You know the type—when initial spirits enter a space brimming with negative, chaotic energy, they undergone mutation. They become malevolent entities— Specter Race."

He let out a dry laugh. "This array is ancient. A relic lost to time. It dates back millions of years. Someone found a fragment of it—half a matrix—by pure accident. They hired me to reconstruct the missing half."

Pitso's brow rose skeptically. "An exorcism array, huh? That doesn't sound especially... practical. But judging by your pace and focus, this commission must be massive."

Robin's eyes glimmered with anticipation. "Oh, it is. The reward? Seven million energy pearls."

"Seven... Seven million?!" Pitso nearly dropped to the floor. His heart skipped a beat, and for a few terrifying seconds, he forgot how to breathe. "Seven million... for a ghost-cleansing array?!"

That amount was staggering. It was more than his entire family's fortune—several times over. With that kind of wealth, he could buy out his entire family's land and still have enough left to build his own floating city.

Robin shrugged, entirely unconcerned. "There's obviously a reason behind such a request. Maybe the client discovered something priceless buried in a cursed zone. Or perhaps it's a major sect that wants to expand its influence but is blocked by a haunted territory. I don't know, and frankly—I don't need to."

He suddenly stopped speaking. His breath slowed. His pupils dilated. He leaned forward, and with a swift, sweeping woosh, he etched a grand arc across the surface of the board. Then, clapping his hands together, he burst out in laughter.

"And just like that… the seven million pearls are mine, hehe."

"You're done?!" Pitso's face lit up like a festival lantern. "Shall I begin preparing the celebration feast?"

He had grown used to Robin's work style over the years. When working, the master was cold, quiet, and easily irritated—unable to tolerate even the sound of breathing nearby. But the moment he finished a project, he transformed into a different person: exuberant, indulgent, and full of life. Without fail, he would order a lavish meal from one of the top-tier restaurants and take a well-earned day of rest before jumping into the next challenge.

"Haha, of course," Robin said, stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. "Seafood. I want seafood this time. But the best you can find."

He flicked a spatial ring toward Pitso. "Get everything ready—and don't take too long!"

"Understood!!" Pitso caught the ring mid-air and dashed out of the room like a servant on a sacred mission.

Robin watched the boy disappear through the door, then let out a soft, thoughtful exhale. It had been nearly a decade since Pitso had tried to rob him. Since then, he had never left his side. Even now, Robin had no idea why the boy remained. Oddly enough, Pitso started calling him "Master" completely on his own just one year after that incident. Robin never asked for the title… but he accepted it.

At least he's useful, Robin mused with a small smile.

Then, shaking off his thoughts, he turned toward the glowing mirror in the corner of the room. With practiced ease, he reached out and activated the interface.

Time to submit the commission to the Soul Society.

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

Eight Days Later — Deep Within Mid Sector 770

Craaaack!

The ancient, towering door groaned as it was flung open with force. A burly man entered in haste, clad in the flowing, dark ceremonial robes of a high-ranking priest. His plump body and naturally purple-hued skin only made him seem more rooted in the aura of solemnity and power.

"Your Eminence," he said, bowing deeply, his voice thick with both reverence and tension. "A priority parcel has just arrived… directly from the Soul Society."

Within the vast, shadow-drenched chamber, upon a high obsidian throne, sat a gaunt and weathered priest whose age could no longer be guessed. His long silver brows curved downward like ancient roots, and behind him loomed an enormous statue — a half-human, half-bovine creature with eyes that seemed to judge the living and the dead alike.

The elder stirred at the announcement, a flicker of awareness dancing behind his nearly shut eyelids. "Hmm?" he exhaled. "A parcel from the Soul Society… without additional fees? Curious. They never waive payment unless the situation is truly… exceptional."

Without standing, he extended a trembling, skeletal hand. His spiritual sense whispered outward and brushed the surface of the box. After a heartbeat, he motioned lazily. "Open it."

"Yes, Your Eminence!"

The priest hurried forward and carefully unlatched the container. Inside, laid with almost ritualistic precision, were eight large slabs—panels of dense material etched with faint lines and symbols. Each bore a unique number and a shimmering insignia on its side, signifying its place in a larger construct.

"…What could this be?" the younger priest muttered, squinting as he examined the markings. He took a moment to decipher the positioning before carefully raising his hand.

The eight slabs hovered—then clicked into place.

A full picture emerged.

The room grew still.

The elder priest leaned forward, his bony fingers gripping the throne's armrests. His pupils dilated slightly as his eyes devoured every detail across the floating array. Minutes passed. He did not speak. He did not blink. Then—finally—his breath caught in his chest.

"No… no, it can't be…" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this… is this truly the solution to the ancient Exorcism Array?"

The younger priest gasped and nearly dropped the box. "What?! That's impossible!" he exclaimed, stumbling forward to get a better look. "We just received the solution for the Dead Earth Array three years ago! And now this? Both were submitted to the Chamber of Truth twenty thousand years ago! And yet… both have returned within a mere three years?!"

The old priest's voice turned hoarse with rising emotion. "Read the creator's name… now!"

The younger man snatched the note inside the parcel and stared at it, dumbfounded. "…It's him. The same one… the one who calls himself Human!"

"Impossible," the elder growled, slowly standing as if gravity itself fought him. His knees cracked with age and weight, but he stood nonetheless, trembling with awe. "The same Truth Chosen… solved both of the unsolvable requests… in only three years? There hasn't been a Truth Chosen for twenty millennia?!"

He sank back down heavily, his breath shaky.

"…I don't care what it costs. Find him. I want to see him with my own eyes."

The assistant reread the note again and again, his hands trembling. "But… but this will be costly beyond imagination, Your Eminence. The Soul Society surely knows what kind of gem they're protecting. They won't let him go easily…"

His eyes narrowed. "I've heard whispers. Several great powers have been scouring the Soul Society and the 1000 mid-sectors for this Human. So far, none have succeeded so far, the fact that we received this today is a seal about the matter, he is well protected."

The elder priest waved a hand, his decision like a hammer striking stone.

"You have now unrestricted access to the treasury," he said coldly. "Hire anyone. Spend anything. Bribe, persuade, threaten if you must. I don't care what means you use. Bring him to me."