Lord of the Truth

Chapter 2158 The cunning one

It is said that the Sorcerer Behemoth Zargol did not stop screaming that day. Not for a moment. Not even for a breath.

Anger, bitterness, anxiety, and sorrow... in that single day-and in truth, over the past few years-the Behemoth experienced emotions he had forgotten for millions of years, emotions that had no place in the heart of someone who had stood at the peak for so long.

The problem was that this time, he no longer knew where to direct that anger... toward Aro and the Grave Empire, who had dealt him the heaviest and most humiliating blow since the war began, or toward the Temporal Behemoth who was closing in on him from the other side, tearing apart his forces, dismantling his lines, and killing a number of his most promising sons as if they were nothing?

And in that suffocating mixture of bitterness and furious silence that lasted for days, when even his closest followers dared not speak in his presence... another piece of information reached him.

After the number of Shadow Swords in Mid Sector 98 increased dramatically, and it became clear they had come from the Young Sector below, the Spell Galaxy initiated a full investigation into what was happening there... and what they uncovered was not merely a problem.

It was a catastrophe unfolding in silence.

The True Beginning Empire had already acted.

They had sent massive legions into the Young Sector, crushing and occupying every force aligned with Zargol, systematically dismantling any structure that could support him. No reinforcements of equipment, no shipments of raw materials, no hidden reserves were allowed to pass through. Every route was cut, every connection severed.

At the same time, they had opened the gates for the Shadow Swords.

The Shadow Swords moved freely across the Young Sector, as if it were their own domain, entering planets without resistance, traversing space lanes without obstruction. They were not intruders there... it turned out many of them were born in the Young Belt itself, moving with familiarity and confidence that no outsider could replicate.

And worse... far worse...

The information they extracted through interrogations there gave them something priceless.

They now knew the exact locations where resources, weapons, and supplies were being gathered and transferred. They knew the routes. They knew the timing. They knew the weak points.

And it was this information that guided their strikes in the Mid Sector.

Young Sector 98, at that time, was no longer a battlefield.

It was chaos.

It was like a piece of sugar swarming with ants... countless movements, countless clashes, forces appearing and disappearing, fighting, fleeing, colliding without any clear order.

And the worst part...

The number of hostile fleets there was increasing.

They were not gathered in one place, they could not be counted, they did not move as a single army... but the reports were clear. The simultaneous attacks alone proved it.

They were many.

Far too many.

In that moment, Zargol understood something that made his entire being tremble with fury.

He was surrounded.

Not metaphorically. Not gradually.

Completely.

From every direction.

Aro had not merely besieged him... he had brought the siege into his own. home, turned his territory into a battlefield, turned his foundations into targets.

There was only one thing left to complete the picture...

If forces from the Ancient Belt joined the assault, then there would be no direction left for him to escape.

He would be crushed from all sides.

This was no longer pressure.

No longer negotiation.

No longer a calculated siege meant to force him into accepting a new reality, nor economic strangulation meant to weaken him.

This...

Was extermination.

Total, deliberate extermination.

When that realization settled in his mind, when the Sorcerer finally understood that careful movements, defensive play, and calculated losses would lead him nowhere... something inside him snapped.

He abandoned restraint.

He abandoned calculation.

He abandoned patience.

And he chose chaos.

He chose destruction.

He chose to open the gates of hell.

He ordered his sons in Mid Sector 99 to launch unrestricted attacks, to strike without planning, without coordination, without hesitation... to destroy anything they encountered, regardless of cost.

And to ensure that destruction, he sent them one thousand fleets.

Within three years, Mid Sector 99 would be wiped clean under their command.

Then he escalated further.

Three thousand additional fleets were dispatched, led by ten more of his sons, supported by intelligence networks, enforcement units, and even local families under his influence. Their mission was clear... locate every Note vessel within his sector, hunt them down, and destroy them without exception.

And he did not stop there.

Another thousand fleets were sent to Young Sector 98, tasked with eliminating the growing threat below... the very threat that was undermining his foundations and cutting into his greatest source of raw resources.

Zargol no longer intended to leave any room for maneuvering.

No more games.

And those orders...

Did not pass quietly.

They ignited a chain of blood and destruction that spread across sectors.

Zargolʼs ten sons began launching chaotic assaults across the vast, sprawling Centennial Grave Empire, spreading themselves like a storm with no center and no pattern. Each of them struck from a different point, tearing through space itself, emerging elsewhere to attack anything they encountered without hesitation or coordination, moving as if the concept of strategy itself had been discarded.

They did not care about targets, did not distinguish between important and trivial, did not even pause to assess the battlefield... they simply attacked. The forces that had reached the Young Sector scattered as well, breaking into countless smaller fronts, engaging in massive, exhausting battles against the armies of the True Beginning Empire, which had been steadily devouring the sector piece by piece with terrifying efficiency. Their advance, which once seemed unstoppable, came to a complete halt, locked in place by endless clashes that consumed time, resources, and lives.

As for the three thousand fleets and the ten sons leading them, they began actively hunting down Note vessels.

They relied on layered tracking spells, detection arrays, and destructive enchantments, sweeping entire regions to locate their targets. Once found, they did not hesitate... they erased them.

Their efficiency was terrifying.

Within a single year, they managed to eliminate more than a quarter of the swarm, a number that would have been unimaginable under normal circumstances.

In response to all of this, Aro made a strange announcement...

He declared, in a tone that carried both mockery and warning, that if the

Sorcerer did not put an end to his madness and listen to the terms of surrender, he would reward him with madness.

In truth...

The announcement itself was madness.

And of course, it was rejected without hesitation.

But Aro proved that he truly was The mad bull everyone thinks he is.

He did not wait.

He did not negotiate further.

He began launching a series of attacks directly on the Spell Galaxy itself.

These attacks were no longer random strikes meant to harass or distract. They became focused, deliberate, systematic... aimed entirely at planetary destruction.

World after world was targeted.

This did not only weaken the morale of Zargol and his forces, nor simply terrorize them... it began to erode the very spirit of the Spell Galaxy.

Planets were not just destroyed... they were stripped away.

Piece by piece.

Day after day.

As if a living being was having its skin torn off, layer by layer, unable to resist, unable to heal fast enough to keep up with the damage.

The psychological impact alone was devastating.

Even those far from the battlefield could feel it. -Present time- ”Aaaah... AAAAAAAHHH!!”

Marshal Aro let out a piercing, broken scream, his voice cracking under the weight of something far beyond physical pain. His eyes rolled rapidly between black and white, flickering uncontrollably, while his body twisted violently, muscles spasming as if something inside him was clawing its way out. ”Damn it...” one of the generals muttered, his voice low, filled with unease. He looked at Aro with a mixture of fear and pity, then turned sharply toward the purification chamber officer, ”The Marshal needs to return to us as soon as possible!” ”Is this a joke?!” the officer snapped, her patience gone, her hand cutting through the air in frustration. ”What happened today was the seventeenth wave against the Spell Galaxy. Seventeen times he destroyed planets carrying trillions of life forms. Do you even understand what that means? Karma has already classified him as a threat comparable to anti-life entities... or worse!” Her voice grew sharper, more intense, as she pointed toward the writhing figure of the Marshal. ”Thanks to this remarkable invention from His Majesty, weʼve been able to purify him, yes... but donʼt forget what he is.”

She took a step forward, her gaze hard. ”He is just a martial emperor.”

Her voice lowered, but the weight behind it grew heavier. ”Someone like him should be on the battlefield as an ordinary soldier, struggling to kill a single opponent... not carrying this overwhelming mass of negative karma all at once.”

She clenched her fist slightly. ”This amount... this amount alone could break the back of a Monarch, let alone a martial emperor.” ”What do you mean by that?!” another general burst out, his composure breaking as his eyes widened in shock. ”...Are we going to lose the Marshal?”

Silence.

The entire hall fell into it.

Not the calm silence of discipline... but the suffocating silence of uncertainty.

A silence filled with fear.

The Marshalʼs methods were twisted, ruthless, even dirty... but the results he delivered were absolute.

Undeniable.

He was one of the most successful military marshals of the current era.

Not just effective... exceptional.

In terms of achievements alone, very few in history could stand beside him, let alone surpass him.

Marshal Aro was not just a commander.

He was a pillar.

A national treasure... one that could be placed on one side of a scale, with the rest of the army on the other. ”I didnʼt say that.” the officer finally spoke again, raising both hands slightly, trying to calm the rising tension. ”Just... give him some time. Leave him in the array for a while. Let it do its work.”

She exhaled quietly. ”Consider it a vacation.”

Then her gaze returned to the Marshal, who was still trembling faintly, his breathing uneven, his body not yet fully at rest. ”He has earned it.””