Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1646: Pay!

One year later — the year 530 After the Coronation.

Middle ector 99.

Creeeek...

The heavy metallic gate opened with a deep groan that echoed through the colossal hall.

”Ha ha, welcome, welcome~” Aro rose from an enormous seat that resembled a throne carved from dark obsidian. His movements were graceful yet imposing, and as he stood, the runes etched across the armrests shimmered faintly. He spread both hands toward the great gate in a gesture filled with confidence and warmth.

”Hmm...” A figure stepped through the gate — humanoid in shape, yet unmistakably he wasn’t one. His head was crowned with a forest of short, jagged horns that pierced through his thick black hair like blades of bone. His gait was measured, deliberate. With both hands clasped neatly behind his back, the stranger turned his head slightly, observing every corner of the chamber with a cautious, calculating gaze.

This was the capital of the Centennial Empire of the Grave— Planet Necropolis, the beacon of might and destruction that had erupted like a starburst in Sector 99 Mid.

And the imperial palace itself perfectly reflected that status — its shifting walls and ever-moving ceilings were inscribed with ancient murals that told forgotten stories of conquest and ruin. A gentle hum of Nexus States enveloped the entire palace like a living mist, an invisible ocean of bound energies that pressed against the skin of any who entered.

The vast gardens were filled with legendary Trent creatures — ancient walking trees whose roots were older than some worlds — and archaic flora that glowed faintly under the dim crimson sun of Necropolis. Every step within these halls, every breath taken in their air, demanded reverence. It forced even the proudest visitors to bow their heads in awe.

Everything here screamed authority and majesty...

Everything—except for one man.

”Hmm? Oh, Marshal Aro, I presume?” The newcomer’s tone was calm but laced with curiosity. His eyes — sharp, gray, almost metallic — finally rested on Aro. ”I was told this was an official audience with the Centennial Empire of the Grave. Where, then, is the Silent Emperor?”

Aro, at that moment, looked every bit the ruler. He wore a flowing sapphire robe encrusted with rare gemstones that caught the shifting light, and on his head rested something that looked like a crown — though it was more of a symbolic circlet, shaped from celestial alloy and pulsing faintly with soul energy. His entire figure exuded the elegance of a young, confident monarch basking in his own glory... yet his aura betrayed him.

He was but a martial emperor.

”Ha ha — indeed, this is an official meeting. Whatever we agree upon here today will be binding for the Centennial Empire of the Grave.”

Aro motioned with respectful composure toward the identical seat across from him. ”Please, take a seat, Lord envoy.”

”.....” The guest studied Aro in silence for several long seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint tilt of his head, he stepped forward. His boots echoed on the polished black marble floor.

”When we received the invitation for negotiations — and this so-called offer of friendship — my uncle decided to send me as his envoy. I came as a Nexus State, third in the imperial succession.” His voice carried the pride of someone used to authority. ”And yet here I find... this.”

He gave Aro one last slow glance before sinking lazily into the chair. ”...Not exactly the best first impression.”

”As long as you know my name, then you already understand my station within the empire, Lord Hezekiel.” Aro sat down in turn, maintaining a practiced, diplomatic smile that neither warmed nor cooled. ”Our emperor is not the type to concern himself with matters of negotiation. Whatever we agree upon in this room — he will sign without question.”

”Heh~” Hezekiel leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, his tone mocking but not hostile. ”Even when negotiating with another centennial empire, he does not appear in person? Perhaps the Sleeping Emperor would be a more fitting title.”

He smirked slightly, then raised a brow. ”So? What exactly is this offer of friendship you spoke of? My uncle is quite intrigued by your proposal.”

”...” Aro released a long, steady breath — not quite irritation, not quite restraint. His smile remained, though it thinned. ”Very well. Let us speak plainly.”

He straightened his posture, his voice gaining weight. ”You are aware that within the Specterblood Starfield, where we both dwell, there exist only five centennial empires. The rest are either multi-territorial empires or minor powers that cannot even claim such titles.”

Aro leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with conviction. ”One day, while contemplating the endless conflicts between us, I thought — what truly prevents our five great empires from uniting? If we were to stand as one, if we joined our strength, we would become an unparalleled force. Together, as the five crowns of the Specterblood Starfield, even a Millennial Empire would think twice before daring to interfere with us!”

”Oh? Heh...” Hezekiel chuckled, his tone dripping with mock amusement. ”Such noble sentiment. I’m touched — my tears are about to fall.”

”Lord Hezekiel,” Aro said, his voice losing its previous patience, ”were you sent here to negotiate... or to jest with me?”

His smile faded entirely, replaced by a cold, sharp authority that seemed to make the air heavier. ”If you cannot take this meeting seriously, you may proceed to the Guest Hall. A banquet is prepared there — we will host you properly, and then return you to where you came from.”

”...” The sudden shift in tone silenced the mockery in Hezekiel’s face. For a long, tense moment, he simply stared into Aro’s eyes — as if weighing whether to crush this insolent warlord for his audacity... or to see where this meeting might yet lead.

In the end, Hezekiel chose to listen to the other man instead of leaving outright.

”You’re the one not taking this seriously,” he said, his voice thick with disdain. ”What is this childish talk about a united front and such nonsense? Do you think we’re some group of naïve students in a military academy? Spare me the ideals — speak to me with numbers.”

Aro exhaled softly, forcing his tone to remain calm. ”Lord Hezekiel, the coming age will not be kind. Calamity is approaching from every direction, and whether we acknowledge it or not, none of us can face it alone. Have you not seen what’s unfolding in Mid Sector 101? Entire planetary systems have vanished from the charts in less than a decade. And even if you ignore that, surely you’ve heard the rumors — the whispers about the death of that dominant figure? Before he as only a legend, now, even the petty kings and lesser lords have heard of its existence and his demise, and they are trembling. That alone should tell you something.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a persuasive tone. ”We need to act before it’s too late. If we do not form a coalition now, the flames will reach us next. We must build a front of equals — five empires standing together rather than five targets waiting for annihilation.”

”Numbers!” the guest snapped sharply, cutting him off. ”Enough with speeches and fears. Give me numbers, not philosophy!”

Aro’s jaw tightened. His expression twitched slightly at the lack of decorum, but he swallowed the anger that rose within him. Hezekiel came from one of the oldest centennial empires in the Specterblood Starfield — an empire that owned two hundred and thirty worlds, with foundations stretching back seventeen million years. Arrogance had become part of their bloodline; for such an ancient power, pride was as natural as breathing.

”Fine,” Aro said at last, leaning back in his seat. ”I’ll give you something solid. Three Note tyoe fleets — complete and operational. They’ve seen light usage only, each one ready to move at command.” His tone grew heavier with every word. ”That will be the foundation of our agreement — a pact of solidarity, to aid one another through prosperity and ruin alike, to stand as one force when the storm comes.”

”....”

Hezekiel leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, his little horns catching a glint of the hall’s blue light. For the first time, he didn’t answer immediately or smirk mockingly. Instead, he looked genuinely thoughtful.

The fleets of the Centennial Empire of the Grave were the pride and horror of the starfield — legendary machines of war that needed no protection from world cataclysms. Their engineering defied convention.

The mothership, Note of Supremacy, was the infamous small planet. A single blast from its primary cannon could unleash the power of a mid-tier world-cataclysm every ten minutes — and it carried two of those colossal weapons.

The support vessel, Note of Destruction, was as massive as a mothership in most other fleets. Its armor could withstand apocalyptic bombardments, and its twin reactors fueled a storm of relentless fire that let it wade into enemy formations unscathed.

And then came the small warships, Note of The Flood — agile, deadly, almost impossible to hit. Each one carried the firepower to slay a martial emperor or harass even a world-cataclysm. Five hundred of them moving in unison could turn a battlefield into a graveyard of burning metal and shattered souls.

That azure fleet had risen to fame with terrifying speed. Entire empires spoke of it in whispers of awe and jealousy.

”Hmm... your offer isn’t bad,” Hezekiel finally said, rubbing his chin. ”But it’s not quite enough to move an empire. Make it ten fleets, and then we’ll talk about sealing this pact. And understand — this agreement will be temporary. A period of cooperation, not eternal servitude.”

Aro’s eyes narrowed. ”And what will you give me in return?”

Hezekiel smirked and spread his hands. ”I’ll give you my sincere feelings, haha!” He laughed loudly, a sound that echoed mockingly in the grand chamber. ”To be honest, we don’t sense any real danger breathing down our necks. Even if a Millennial Empire were to attack us, we believe we could still make them bleed before falling. So if you want this alliance, Marshal Aro — you’ll have to pay the price.”