Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1966 Arkail

Sector 98, Middle – Spell Galaxy

Inside what looked like a laboratory overflowing beyond all reason with papers of every kind-old, new, half-burned, scribbled over, and discarded without care-stacked in chaotic piles that reached the walls. Ink bottles lay scattered everywhere, some sealed, others spilled and dried into dark stains. Flasks and refining vials filled with partially processed raw materials crowded every surface. Barrels lined the corners: some brimming with thick, dark blood, others packed full of finely ground bones reduced to pale powder…

It was a vast space crammed with materials and devices worth hundreds of millions of Pearls, yet despite that staggering value, the place was filthy, disordered, and worn down-no different from the room of a neglectful, obsessive teenager who cared only for his experiments and nothing else.

A person opened his eyes.

Bang.

A bald man with narrow, sharp eyes, heavily ringed with black kohl, shot to his feet and struck the nearest vial with savage force, shattering it instantly. Glass exploded outward as liquid splashed across the floor.

“Damn it!” he roared, clenching his fists until the veins bulged. “Lord Human- Robin Burton, that bastard… what is wrong with these four innovations? Is he trying to set the entire universe ablaze and stand aside to watch it burn?!”

He began to pace forward slowly, one hand clasped behind his back while the other rested beneath his chin, his thoughts grinding like broken gears.

“Those innovations, paired with that shameless, unmistakable promotion by the Soul Society, point to only one conclusion.” His lips curled. “Astronomical profits. Profits my galaxy has never witnessed before… Just a few months ago, I sent him a threat. A clear warning” His steps halted. “And his reply was these four products? His reply was to become obscenely wealthy?”

He raised his face, eyes blazing.

“He’s challenging me.”

Bam! Bang!

With a violent sweep of his arm, raw power surged outward. Tables snapped, shelves collapsed, and nearly everything inside the laboratory was obliterated in an instant.

“Daaaaamn it!!” he howled, his voice echoing through the ruins.

Without another glance, he turned and stormed toward the staircase leading downward.

His appearance resembled that of an old man, yet his movements were filled with wild, unstable energy. His loose garments and bare chest made his figure look grotesque as he ran down the stairs-like a lunatic escaping an asylum moments before being restrained.

At the bottom of the staircase, he entered a colossal hall. The space was lined with towering statues-figures of greatness holding vials aloft or wielding brushes like swords. Each statue depicted a different imagined version of himself, frozen at various stages of his long, twisted life.

He shouted without hesitation, his voice shaking the hall itself:

“Summon all ministers and all remaining generals in Mid Sector 98!!” “Yes!!”

The guards burst into motion, scattering in every direction like a disturbed hive of bees.

“Robin Burton…”

The old man-no, the Sorcerer Behemoth, Zargul-glared toward the distant gate, his rage thick and suffocating.

“Your answer to my threat was to grow richer. To grow stronger.” His teeth ground together. “Do you believe you can resist me? That you can ignore my power?”

He spread his arms wide, laughter laced with venom.

“Very well. You will watch as I annihilate Sector 97, Middle-where the Shadow Swords run rampant. Then I will crush Sector 99 where you placed your bull. And I will do it before this money of yours can be forged into real power!”

His voice rose like a proclamation to fate itself.

“Let the universe bear witness to the true power of the Spell Galaxy.”

Sector 96, Middle – Sands of Time Galaxy

Krrrr.

A figure stood silently.

Long hair fell to his shoulders, pale yellow like endless desert sands. His eyes were half-open-tired, distant, carrying the weight of countless eras, as though he had already seen everything the ages could offer and found it wanting. A wide white scarf was wrapped loosely around his head, and flowing garments of white and blue draped his body, their design clearly meant to shield against the merciless heat of a desert sun…

He did not move.

And yet, time itself seemed hesitant to flow around him.

Lord Saher opened a small wooden gate, its surface rough and aged, then stepped beyond it with an exceptionally respectful, measured gait, his posture straight and his hands clasped together in front of his abdomen as if entering a sacred space.

He advanced in silence until he stood before an ancient, time-worn seat whose edges had been smoothed by countless years. He bowed slightly, lowering his head just enough to show deference.

“Have news from the Soul Society reached you, Father?”

“The Lord Human new market hall, you mean?”

The person seated upon that antiquated chair spoke slowly, his voice calm and

unhurried, as though time itself bent to his rhythm. His eyes were obscure-so deeply veiled that it was impossible to tell whether they held fear or

excitement, joy or sorrow, anticipation or regret.

He appeared to be in his forties, with a tall build for a human and broad, well-defined shoulders that hinted at strength long tempered by experience. He wore loose garments and a wide headscarf, identical in style to Saher’s, and a long beard whose color shifted subtly between white and yellow, much like his eyes-eyes that seemed to reflect the passage of eras rather than mere years.

“And what do you think, then?” Saher asked again after a brief pause.

“You, of all people, surely understand what this means.”

“Hm.”

The man nodded gently, as if weighing invisible scales.

“It delivers a message-a very clear one-directed at both his enemies and his allies.”

He continued evenly, “To his enemies, it says: Fear me. And to his allies, it says:

Do not worry, I am here.”

He paused, fingers resting lightly on the arm of the chair.

“He is someone who can be relied upon… far more than we had originally expected.”

“…I do not wish to be among his enemies,” Saher admitted after a slight hesitation, his voice quieter, “if I am given the choice.”

“And who said we will be?” the man replied calmly, without the slightest hint of concern.

“Lord Human may be inexperienced, and the Greater True Beginning Empire

may be young, but he is frightening in his own way-dangerous not through

recklessness, but through momentum.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“At the very least, he is suitable for extending partnership offers.”

“Then am I to understand that you accept his proposal?” Saher asked quickly, a

trace of urgency slipping into his tone.

“Should I stop tightening the conditions on the delegation that has spent years stationed here, and announce our official partnership with him?”

“No.”

The man raised one hand, halting the thought itself, then lowered it slowly.

“We will not announce anything officially-not yet. Not until I see how he

resolves the problem of the boy, Hedrick.”

His voice grew firmer.

“Only if he is able to support him under those circumstances will he qualify as a

true ally-one we can rely on, and one who can rely on us in return.”

He leaned back slightly. “Otherwise, he may come to believe that he can move us with money… move

me-Arkail the Temporal-as someone who works for his benefit in exchange

for profit alone.”

A faint, restrained smile appeared on his lips.

“And that would not do, would it?”

“Of course not. And he would never dare think that way,” Saher replied

immediately, then hesitated before adding in a lower voice, “So…?” “So then,” Arkail the Temporal continued unhurriedly, “the partnership offer he sent us contains no clause that forces us to publicly declare an alliance.”

“It is, at its core, a matter of mutual benefit. He provides us with additional formulations that will invigorate galactic trade, along with a few other peripheral advantages, and in return, we perform that task for him.”

He paused, eyes thoughtful.

“And in my view… there is no obstacle to accepting this arrangement for now!”

Saher nodded several times, absorbing every word.

“It seems the coming century will not be a peaceful one for this galaxy, as it has

been since my birth.”

“The entire universe is no longer peaceful,” Arkail the Temporal replied, gazing into the distance as if seeing currents no one else could perceive. “The waves of change would have reached us sooner or later. It would not be a

poor decision to take the first step and enter the maelstrom by our own will.”

He remained staring at the horizon, silent for a long moment.

“…Is it a coincidence?”

“What is, Father?” Saher asked respectfully, waiting.

“…Is it a coincidence,” Arkail the Temporal said slowly, “that the War Chosen

appears, and soon after, the entire universe falls into a chaos it has not known since the end of the War of the Abyss of Doom?”

He continued to stare ahead for nearly a full minute, then finally shook his head

slightly. “Perhaps… I am simply overthinking it.”