Lord of the Truth

Chapter 2157 Seizing opportunities

The locations that were struck were productive military sites, carefully selected nodes within the infrastructure that sustained Zargolʼs presence across the sector. No planets were destroyed this time, and no unnecessary massacres were carried out, but the nature of the sixty strikes made them far more effective than simple destruction ever could have been.

Each strike was precise.

Each strike was deliberate.

Each strike was painful.

Factories were crippled.

Supply chains were disrupted.

Strategic hubs were shaken to their core.

Although most of the attackers were unable to fully complete their missions, as one or two Nexus State experts appeared at several sites, or reinforcements arrived through space portals forcing them to retreat prematurely, the damage was still significant enough to make the Sorcerer Behemoth feel a sharp, suffocating pain in his chest.

It was not the scale of the damage that mattered...

It was the message.

More importantly, it served as a clear reminder to him and to his five sons stationed in Mid Sector 99... that just as they threatened the Grave Empire, there was a force out there that could threaten them just as easily, just as unpredictably.

The following year passed in relative calm...

But it was not true calm.

It was the stillness before a storm, the heavy silence of warriors watching each other from across a battlefield, waiting for the first sign of weakness.

The five royal soul masters continued their observation of the

Double-Centennial Grave Empire, but the more they watched, the more confused they became.

The empireʼs scale was absurd.

Its planets were scattered across vast distances, its structure constantly shifting, its movements impossible to fully track. Mapping it had become an increasingly futile task, as if the empire itself refused to be understood.

All they truly wanted was one thing...

To determine how many ancient planetary defense arrays it possessed, and how it managed to distribute and deploy them with such terrifying speed and efficiency.

Yet answers never came easily.

At the same time, something far stranger was unfolding on the opposite side.

Whenever one of the five attempted to ”test” the situation by attacking a planet, even lightly, even as a probe... Aroʼs followers would immediately respond.

Sixty targets.

Struck across Mid Sector 98.

Every time.

Without fail.

It was as if their movements were being watched in real time.

As if every decision they made triggered a countermeasure that had already been prepared.

The pattern repeated over and over, tightening around them like an invisible net.

But no balance holds forever.

No one escapes unscathed.

Over time, some of those attackers began to fall.

Losses accumulated, small at first, then noticeable, then unavoidable.

In that moment, all eyes turned toward the Temporal Behemoth.

Everyone expected him to move, to take advantage of the situation, to strike Mid Sector 98 while Zargolʼs attention was divided.

And Zargol...

Zargol felt it too.

He felt relief.

A dangerous kind of relief.

Believing that the pressure had shifted elsewhere, he began sending more of his sons away, extending his reach once more, attempting to regain control of the battlefield.

But the Temporal Behemoth did nothing.

He did not move his forces beyond the barrier.

He did not launch an attack.

He did not even send a single son through the major space portal.

He simply watched.

This fragile balance continued, stretching on, tightening, until two massive events occurred almost at the same time.

The first was the emergence of Marshal Aro and his fleet from the buffer zone between sectors.

The moment he appeared, he did not regroup his forces, nor did he gather strength for a decisive strike.

Instead, he did the opposite.

He dismantled the fleet formation entirely.

He spread his ships across the entire sector, issuing strict and uncompromising orders that no two vessels were to remain in the same location under any circumstance.

It was chaos...

But controlled chaos.

Then came the second event.

Lord Robin announced the Soul Inheritance Array.

A formation that allowed its user to produce emerald units.

A creation that would not only change the balance of power... but redefine the economy of the entire Soul Society.

And as if that were not enough...

And then the unlimited budget for the Shadow Swords.

No limits.

No restrictions.

No hesitation.

Naturally, the Shadow Swords would never leave Aro in such a vulnerable, fragmented state without support.

These two events shattered Zargolʼs calculations completely.

Especially the second.

He had already known he was facing an enemy with deep reserves of wealth, someone capable of sustaining prolonged conflict without breaking...

But this...

This was different.

The announcement of the Soul Inheritance Array made his eyes spin within their sockets from pure, uncontrollable rage.

It was not just wealth anymore.

It was an endless source of it.

And then came the voices.

The whispers. The laughter.

Within the Soul Society, comments began to spread... comments that were far from kind.

Mockery.

Ridicule. Amusement at his failures.

His name, once feared across sectors, was now being spoken with laughter.

Every recent defeat, every misstep, every lost resource was being remembered, repeated, exaggerated.

And now, with Lord Robinʼs wealth confirmed beyond doubt...

Those voices grew louder.

Unbearably loud.

Zargol could endure defeat.

He could endure loss.

But he could not endure humiliation.

And so...

He responded by sending five more of his sons to Mid Sector 99.

He had to eliminate that troublesome empire before those vast amounts of wealth could be translated into real, tangible power... power that could no longer be contained.

Almost immediately after reaching that conclusion, ten of the Sorcerer Behemoth Zargolʼs sons launched coordinated assaults on the planets of the Grave Empire, moving with speed and precision that reflected their shared intent to crush everything before it could stabilize.

Within a short span of time, they destroyed five planets outright, one of which was protected by a planetary defense array that was obliterated along with the planet itself, leaving behind nothing but shattered fragments drifting in space.

But they did not stop there.

In a second wave of strikes, more aggressive and more reckless, they targeted three of the Grave Empireʼs wings, along with positions belonging to the Empire of Vast Ice, unleashing destruction across a wider range of targets. Fifteen additional planets were destroyed.

Entire regions were left in ruin.

Yet even as the flames of destruction spread, something felt... off.

Once again, the Temporal Behemoth did not move.

His forces remained stationed at the borders of the sector, unmoving, silent, watching. He did not attempt to subjugate local powers, did not intervene, did not even shift his formations in response to the escalating chaos.

And at the same time, neither the Shadow Swords nor Aro made any direct request for his support.

It was as if both sides had reached an unspoken understanding... or were waiting for something far greater.

In response to the offensive, Aro reacted in the only way that had become synonymous with his name.

He gave the order.

A massacre.

The two hundred fleets that had been scattered across Mid Sector 98 gathered once more, converging with eerie precision around the Spell Galaxy.

And then...

They opened fire.

Simultaneously.

Dozens of planets were struck by indiscriminate bombardment, their surfaces torn apart by waves of destructive energy. Entire ecosystems vanished in moments, countless inhabitants-intelligent and otherwise-erased without even understanding what had happened.

Ten planets lost their atmospheric layers entirely, their skies ripped away, leaving them barren and uninhabitable.

Two more...

Were reduced to nothing but drifting debris almost instantly.

The scale of destruction was staggering.

Thousands of Zargolʼs fleets, which had recently returned from Mid Sector 97, attempted to retaliate, targeting the Note of supremacy-4 vessels with everything they had.

But it was too late.

By the time the first round of bombardment ended, those fleets had already begun to retreat, breaking formation, scattering in disarray, driven by instinct rather than command.

Still... the cost was not one-sided.

Under such overwhelming firepower, hundreds of Nota Deluge-4 vessels were destroyed, torn apart in explosive bursts of energy.

Two Note of Destruction-4 ships were severely damaged, their structures barely holding together as they struggled to withdraw.

And yet...

The majority survived.

They slipped away.

Once again disappearing into the vastness of Mid Sector 98, blending into its countless systems and hidden routes as if they had never been there at all.

To an outside observer, it might have seemed chaotic, even meaningless.

But it was anything but that.

No matter how much Lord Robinʼs emerald-producing array had become the central topic of discussion across the universe, no matter how individuals and powers alike were consumed by the possibilities it offered, the wars of Behemoths still held a unique gravity.

And this war...

This war was different.

It was strange.

Unpredictable.

Difficult to define.

An ancient superpower was locked in conflict with what appeared to be a leaderless faction...

And yet, everyone knew that the true leader of that faction was connected to Lord Robin. And that alone made the situation far more dangerous than it appeared. While the eyes of the universe remained fixed on Mid Sector 98 and Mid Sector 99, analyzing every movement, every strike, every rumor...

Something else happened.

Quietly.

In Mid Sector 97.

The reinforcements that Zargol had summoned years ago-seven hundred full fleets, led by five of his sons-finally arrived.

They came with confidence.

With expectation.

Believing that the Sorcerer Behemoth was still holding his ground, still waiting for them, still engaged in a war they could help turn in his favor.

They believed they were arriving at a battlefield.

They believed they were joining a war.

They believed they would make a difference.

But they were wrong.

Because what awaited them...

Was not Zargol.

It was the Temporal Behemoth. Standing there.

Waiting.

With his full force assembled.

Nearly five thousand fleets.

Forty first- and second-row scions.

Every single one of them positioned at the exact point of arrival, fully armed, fully prepared... as if they had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

There was no warning.

No negotiation.

No hesitation.

The moment Zargolʼs reinforcements emerged in sector 97...

The guns opened fire. Seven hundred fleets...

Five sons, each possessing the strength of a royal soul master of seven stars or higher...

Caught completely off guard.

Surrounded.

Overwhelmed.

And within that single, devastating moment...

They were erased.