Lord of the Truth

Clack "...Sold!"

"Huh?" The sudden and jarring shift in the environment left Robin momentarily disoriented.

Just seconds ago, he had been standing in an endless, expansive hallway—one with no visible beginning or end—where every individual present seemed completely absorbed in their own affairs, minding their own business without concern for anyone else. Now, however, he found himself abruptly seated on a cushioned chair within a grand, circular auditorium.

At the far end of this auditorium stood a raised platform. Upon it, an elderly man stood motionless. His appearance was striking: a long white beard that extended all the way to the ground, and eyes completely hidden beneath thick, bushy eyebrows. His posture was upright and dignified, and there was something about the stillness of his form that made him appear more like a statue than a living being.

Despite how lifelike the old man looked—down to the wrinkles on his hands and the slow rhythm of his breath—Robin quickly sensed that he wasn't a real person. He was part of the system simulation, just like the fairy he had interacted with earlier.

Then, without even moving his lips, the old man's voice echoed through the chamber in a deep, resonant tone that could be heard clearly by all:

"We will now proceed to display the next item in the planetary equipment category."

Whoosh Whoosh

Dozens of graceful fairies appeared in a sudden burst of shimmering light. They fluttered delicately through the air in synchronized patterns above the platform before flying off together toward the left side of the room. A few moments passed before they returned, now carrying a velvet cushion upon which rested a single shoe.

The shoe was a vivid, radiant shade of orange. It had a tall collar that rose to cover the wearer's heel entirely. The outer surface gleamed as if made from polished metal, yet there was an evident softness to it as well—especially from the padded interior that appeared cozy and supportive. Regardless of its simplicity, the shoe held a captivating presence, almost demanding attention.

"So that's what planetary equipment looks like?" Robin muttered under her breath, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise. At first glance, it resembled nothing more than a well-made, ordinary boot.

<What you see here is merely a perfect replica meant to demonstrate the item's visual design. The actual artifact is safely stored in our vaults and will be delivered to the winning bidder using a secure method that we will agree upon later,> the fairy's voice whispered directly into Robin's ear, clear and informative.

"Oh, I see…" Robin raised his eyebrows slightly higher, his curiosity deepening. He had genuinely been wondering how they could possibly manifest physical equipment inside a place that clearly wasn't bound by physical laws.

Shoo Shoo Shoo

In that instant, the auditorium's seats began to fill again. Some individuals appeared out of thin air, just like Robin had, while others came rushing in through large doors—either walking briskly or flying through the air. One by one, they all took their places with practiced urgency.

"...The Moonlight Step Boots, First Grade. They grant the wearer a 10% increase in speed under all conditions, with that boost rising to 15% during nighttime hours." The old man's voice was calm, but it carried weight. "The opening bid is 60,000 Energy pearls or its equivalent."

Robin gave a faint whistle and leaned forward. "That much… just for a 10% boost in speed? Isn't that a little excessive?"

<When you're dealing with planetary-grade equipment, dear human, you should never compare it to ordinary gear,> the fairy replied gently, her voice now more serious. <When you hear '10% increase in speed,' it's not referring to something simple like running faster. This enhancement affects every action your body performs.>

<If you're someone who writes constantly, then your hand will write faster. If you're refining or forging weapons, your energy flow will accelerate. If you're attempting to break through to the next level of the Emperor Realm, this speed boost will manifest in how quickly and stably you form your foundational cores.>

"There's really something that incredible?" Robin turned to look at the fairy in astonishment. "…Forgive me if I sound a bit naïve, but I thought planetary equipment was just… well, a fancy name for high-level items. Isn't it just the tier above Epic?"

<That's correct—planetary equipment does belong to the tier above Epic. But understand this: the peak of the Epic tier represents the absolute limits of craftsmanship. That's as far as normal artisans, blacksmiths, or even artificers can go.>

"What do you mean by that exactly?" Robin's expression grew serious as he furrowed his brow in contemplation.

<The greatest achievement that both humans and non-human intelligent creatures can reach with their own craftsmanship is something we call Peak Epic gear. It represents the absolute limit of what mortal ingenuity and craftsmanship can achieve. However, planetary equipment… that belongs to an entirely different class. It is not created by tools or hands, but by the planetary spirits themselves.>

The fairy extended her hand toward the radiant boot on the cushion. Her expression was serene, her voice steady and filled with quiet reverence. She continued, her wings flickering gently behind her:

<This specific boot you see before you was forged by a planetary soul—after its master issued a direct command. The process continued or a period spanning five hundred long years, the soul tirelessly scoured its lands, gathering the finest, most potent, and most rare resources it could possibly reach. It did not rest. It did not falter. It shaped the boot with its own energy, embedding it with perfect law patterns. And now, as a consequence of such monumental exertion, it will enter a deep sleep, a hibernation that will last seventeen thousand years.>

"He... voluntarily pushed his planetary soul into a seventeen-thousand-year slumber? Just for this boot?!" Robin exclaimed, his mind reeling from the revelation. The very idea seemed incomprehensible. Even if the soul wasn't actively involved in battle or cultivation, it still served as a vital link—a means to monitor the planet, to keep tabs on distant events. Losing that connection for such an astronomical duration… was that truly worth it?

<Not for the boot itself, dear Human. But for what you are witnessing at this very moment.> The fairy tapped gently beside her ear, then pointed twice toward his own ears, emphasizing what he was meant to pay attention to.

"Sixty-five thousand! Sixty-five thousand right here!"

"Seventy-one thousand Energy Pearls!" another voice echoed.

Robin's brows furrowed slightly, his eyes sharpening. The bidding was accelerating with fierce intensity. It had already soared past seventy-seven thousand, and the numbers continued to climb steadily, each new bid like a spark tossed into a growing blaze.

Ah… so this is it, Robin thought.

The boot itself wasn't the goal. The real aim was this—this auction, this flurry of activity, this sudden river of wealth flowing toward its owner.

Whoever commissioned the planetary soul to make the item wasn't just sacrificing power—they were monetizing their planetary soul's sacrifice, trading decades of planetary potential for riches now.

And by the standards of the Middle Belt—one of the most economically dense regions in the known systems—this return was not just acceptable, it was extraordinary.

Yet... wasn't it also a dangerous move? Robin's eyes narrowed in concern. A planetary spirit in deep hibernation could not defend its realm. If someone hostile arrived while the soul was asleep and managed to refine it, the original owner would suffer catastrophic loss—perhaps losing half of their soul domain, or worse, facing complete soul collapse and death.

"What a perilous—but immensely profitable—gamble..." Robin murmured, nodding slowly in appreciation. He found himself eyeing the boot again, drawn to the idea. A ten percent boost to everything he did—not just running, but every task, every skill, every technique... The more he thought about it, the more it sounded irresistible.

Then his eyes snapped open in sudden realization. Something clicked.

He clapped his palms together loudly. "Hulak's purgatory armor!"

From the very first moment Robin encountered Hulak, he had taken note of the strange, nearly invisible armor the man wore. It clung to his form like a second skin, as if it were no more than an undergarment. But that was an illusion. It blazed with the flames of purification, possessing a density and resilience that made it seem unbreakable—even mythical. Hulak could channel its power into his fists, amplifying his strength while shielding his body from the destructive backlash of his own overwhelming force.

That armor... had not been bought, nor looted.

It had been forged specially for him. harvesting the scales of Crixus The Great. Then he had ventured into the territories of the Giant Tribes ordering them to gather the strongest, most sacred metals their people could offer.

And he had entrusted all of that—every rare piece—to Neri.

He hadn't given her blueprints or rigid instructions. He had simply provided his refinement ratio—Nihari-level precision—and told her: "Make me something that will never break in my hands."

What she created was the Purgatory Armor—sleek, unyielding, almost divine.

"So it's planetary-grade, then… or at least half-planetary?" Robin muttered, his fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Hah~ well, I suppose it doesn't really matter. If he's wearing that under the armor of the Imperial Guard, even a direct hit from a World Cataclysm wouldn't be able to harm him!"

"Eighty-one thousand Pearls!"

Whoosh!

"Eighty-two thousand!"

Whoosh!

Robin glanced around slowly, observing the chamber with a keen, cautious eye. But to his mild surprise, the atmosphere wasn't tense at all—it was eerily calm. In fact, every time the bids crossed a certain threshold, a few figures simply disappeared from the room, vanishing without a trace.

The remaining participants seemed… artificial. Their motions were repetitive. Their voices were eerily similar. Every time they raised a hand to bid, it was in the exact same way, at the same speed. No emotion. No outbursts. No frustration or bravado.

Even the old auctioneer on the platform hadn't said a word since the bidding began. He remained hunched over his staff, eyes half-closed, barely moving—like someone on the edge of sleep.

"What's with this... weirdly quiet vibe?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow in bewilderment.

The fairy was not offended by his tone. She answered patiently, as if she had been asked this question countless times before:

<Most of the people you see around you are not real attendees. They are avatars—remote projections—controlled by automated bidding systems. Their original owners sent them here because this auction had been publicly announced weeks in advance. Sometimes even years.>

<You, too, can do the same using the control panel interface. You can leave behind an autonomous avatar in your place. Simply set a maximum bid limit—say, five hundred thousand Pearls—and your avatar will participate in the auction accordingly. It will continue to place incremental bids until the limit is reached. If it wins, you will be instantly notified. Your consciousness will then be recalled to complete the purchase.>

"…Control panel?" Robin frowned, his curiosity piqued.

With a soft smile, the fairy gently raised her hand and made a small wave through the air, as if brushing away an invisible veil.

<Just raise your hand like this. That's all it takes.>