Lord of the Truth

167 Years After Robin Entered the Mid Belt – Mid-Sector 101

Drip... drop... drip...

From his torn fingertips, blood trickled down—not in mere drops, but in mournful streams, as if the very soul of the body was weeping through its wounds.

The earth, thirsty and cursed, drank it in greedily... only to spit it back out like a venom it could not digest.

"Huuu... huuuh..."

His breaths came like thunder—ragged, forced, hollow.

Through bloodied eyes, half-closed and inflamed from burst vessels, he gasped for air like a man drowning in a sea of agony.

He pulled at the air with desperation, as if trying to inhale the sky itself—but his lungs were traitors. They gave him nothing.

He tilted his head ever so slightly... and saw it.

Or rather, what was left of it.

What once may have been a body now lay shattered beside him. Unrecognizable. Horrific.

The skull had split open and its contents had mixed with dirt and gravel.

The torso looked like trampled dough, a thing beaten without mercy.

The face was stripped of its skin—a red, raw, flesh-covered horror.

And still, he... smiled.

"Heh... hehe..."

That sound. That twisted laugh.

Even lying half-dead in a pool of his own blood, even as the battlefield groaned beneath the pressure of accumulated pain and death, his lips cracked open into a smile so disturbing, so out of place, it sent shivers through the realm of reason itself.

His eyes, though dimmed, flickered with rage—like dying embers refusing to extinguish.

Then, all at once, his expression calmed.

The green flame that once floated around his head flickered out, and his shoulder long, white hair—soaked in blood—fell down like dead silk.

He now lay motionless, submerged in his own suffering.

He was barely recognizable. But there was no mistaking it.

It was Richard.

"What the hell are you smiling about...?"

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"We've burned through every drop of the life energy we were saving dearly. Even the 50,000 units of refined soul force… all gone. Wasted in one useless battle."

"Yeah... but what a damn battle!"

Suddenly, laughter exploded from his lips. The green flames blazed once more on his scalp, as if mocking the despair.

His face contorted into a devil's grin, a mask of madness.

"Power, my friend, Power is what we need! May the heavens never bless the weak!"

"So power justifies slaughter? Even if it means massacring an entire family—tens of thousands of innocent souls, women and children included?"

Richard's eyes dulled again.

His shoulders sagged with a thousand years of regret.

"Damn it... it's been over two centuries since you last surfaced. I thought you'd finally faded away. Why return now, at the first hint of danger? Are you really going to haunt me forever?"

"Ha! Haunt you? You speak as if I'm a parasite inside your mind."

The voice echoed through his skull, cold and confident.

"But I am Richard—the real one. Shouldn't you be the one questioned? This soft, guilt-ridden version of us... You're just a broken reflection. A coward."

A silence. Then the voice continued:

"And let's not forget... I saved us. You hesitated. You pitied that pathetic little girl. Had you ended her when you should have, none of this would have happened. You think mercy has a place in war? You think kindness will shield you when they come to rip you apart?"

"Every time you let your precious morality surface, I have to rise up and clean your mess. You think I'm evil? Fine. But I build us strength. We survive by walking paths made of blood. That's how experience is earned. That's how warriors rise."

"You call that survival? I-" Richard's voice trembled.

But before he could continue—

A soft voice echoed from the distance. Feminine. Calm. Intrigued.

"Who are you talking to?"

"…?!"

Richard's instincts screamed.

He rose immediately, the green flame roaring atop his head once more. His tattered robes fluttered from the sudden motion, and his bruised muscles tensed for a fight.

His gaze sharpened to a razor's edge.

"Show yourself. Now."

"Oops! Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

From behind a still-whirling storm of dust and broken energy, a shadow emerged.

Large. Towering. Dangerous-looking.

"...!!"

Richard clenched his fists. He had nearly no power left—just the raw resilience of his body.

But then, the massive form began to shrink.

With each step forward, the shadow lessened—diminished—until finally, the dust cleared…

And standing there, with an innocent smile on her face—

"Hi there!"

—was a girl.

A human girl.

She barely reached Richard's shoulders—at least 30 centimeters shorter.

Her frame was slight, almost fragile.

But she didn't look starved or sickly. No, she had just enough softness in her cheeks to give them a faint, healthy blush.

She wore a loose, slightly short dress—modest in its form, yet flowing with a simple elegance. Its upper cut left her delicate arms bare from shoulder to fingertip. Her long black hair, tied back in a ponytail, swayed gently behind her like a soft banner in the breeze. Aside from her simple garment, nothing adorned her body... save for a glowing necklace that shimmered faintly around her slender neck.

Her face was unremarkable by conventional standards—soft and modest. Large, expressive eyes. Small, tender lips. No extravagant beauty, no striking features.

But the faint blush on her cheeks, combined with her petite frame and gentle posture, gave her an aura of innocence that blurred the line between a child and a young woman.

Yet something deeper whispered otherwise—an ancient stillness in her eyes that told Richard this was no mere girl.

"Who are you?! What are you doing here?!"

Richard's voice cracked as he staggered forward, trying to spark the green flame above his head, trying to wrap his voice in power and threat.

But it didn't work. The flame faltered. His tone remained level, almost calm—as though he were questioning a friend, not an intruder.

Even his glare—normally sharp and wild—wavered.

"Don't be alarmed," the girl said softly, her tone as light as drifting petals.

"I'm not with them…"

She took two steps forward, her feet barely making a sound.

"I saw everything from the very beginning. I was in the street that day… when you healed that girl. The one with no legs."

"Stop! Don't take another step!"

Richard's voice raised, but his body betrayed him—he stepped backward.

"There's no way! You couldn't have seen everything—I would've sensed you! My soul perception would have caught the faintest movement!"

"You were too preoccupied," she said simply.

"You wouldn't notice a girl like me."

Then, gently, she raised both hands in front of her, palms open.

"Let me help you… please?"

"Impossible… Even a bird wouldn't have escaped my soul sense! Who are you?!"

The green flame above his head began to dance violently, warning him. His warrior instincts screamed 'Strike now!'

But…

Something held him back.

Her eyes.

They weren't sharp. They weren't threatening.

They were sincere. Direct. Deep.

They looked into him—not at him.

"I was watching the whole time," she said, stepping forward again.

"I saw you in the market, when your heart broke for that poor beggar girl—when you knelt and healed her with your green flame. I saw the moment the planet's spirit confronted you… questioned the flame, and you ran. I followed you through the city gate."

Her voice was calm, almost dreamlike.

"I saw how you tried… so hard… not to fight. You didn't want a meaningless battle. You only wanted to help the child."

"Stay back…"

Richard's flame whipped in the wind. His feet moved again—backward.

"I was there when the planet's owner sealed the space portals. When he mobilized his armies to trap you. I watched as he captured the girl—used her to threaten you. He knew you'd lose control."

Her eyes darkened with the memory.

"He killed her. For no other reason than to twist your soul into rage. And he succeeded, I saw your face shift. I saw the massacre. I watched you tear the head off a World Cataclysm with your bare hands."

"He deserved it!"

Richard roared, his voice hoarse.

"That bastard deserved worse! All of them did! They brought it upon themselves!"

"…And the children?"

Her voice shook.

"What crime did they commit? You kept him alive just long enough to witness their slaughter—one by one. By your hands. What had they done to you?"

Her eyes were wide now—filled not with fear, but sorrow.

"What are you, really? Are you the kind soul who healed a dying girl? Or the monster who painted a palace in blood? You… are the most conflicted person I've ever seen."

"…You're just a child," he said quietly, pain creaking behind his voice.

"You don't understand how this rotting world works. You think their lives meant more than mine? You've never walked this path—never lived with death sitting on your shoulder, whispering every hour…"

He stumbled backward into a tree, then collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily.

The green fire extinguished above his head, and the weariness returned to his face.

"You don't know what these hands have done. What they had to do. What I've had to become to survive this far."

Step.

She moved again.

Quietly. Fearlessly.

She knelt before him. Not with judgment. Not with pity.

But with something gentler—understanding.

Then, without hesitation, she reached forward and placed her hand upon his trembling fingers.

And with a soft smile, she said the words that shattered his silence—

"Then teach me."