Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1231 1231: Coronation

”...?!” Robin swiftly turned toward Hulak, visibly confused by what he had just heard. ”Pffft...” He clamped his lips shut, trying with all his might to hold back the laughter bubbling inside him—especially since Rinara was still standing nearby. But the effort was futile. ”Ahahaha! So thatʼs why you decided to follow me? Haha! Even when youʼre being serious, Hulak, youʼre still not serious at all!”

”Hmph...” Rinara didnʼt seem pleased by the situation. She turned her head away sharply, her expression cold and unreadable, but she remained silent, unwilling to comment.

”Oh no, I am serious!” Hulak insisted, puffing out his chest slightly in defense of his pride. ”Back then, I already knew you had superior power, and I admitted to myself that you were far stronger than I was—no denying that. But even so, I always thought I was the more honest and bold one. I didnʼt like your diplomatic style; it rubbed me the wrong way. You reminded me of that overdressed pretty boy Aro at times!” Then his brows furrowed as he seemed to recall something bitter. ”But in that moment—when I heard those two speaking with such an oppressive and condescending tone—I wanted to say something, I really did. But the sheer weight of their aura pinned me down. I couldnʼt even open my mouth… It was like my courage got smothered.”

He turned to look at Robin again, eyes sharper now. ”But you... You stood tall in the face of that oppressive pressure. You proved that youʼre bolder, more shameless, and more unshakable than I ever was. Only a defiant, fearless brute who bows to no one is worthy of my loyalty and service!”

”...Should I be taking that as a compliment?” Robinʼs expression contorted slightly, eyebrows raised in amusement.

”Father, everything has been restored and prepared,” Richard landed quietly. Using his authority and sheer strength he had managed to bring order back to the ceremonial grounds with surprising efficiency.

”Good. Now, the—oh.” Robin glanced around the platform, and his eyes quickly locked onto the throne positioned at the very front, where he was supposed to be officially crowned. It was badly damaged—one of the many things crushed under the earlier display of raw power and pressure.

”No worries, Father. Weʼve got a spare. Hehe~” Zara descended the platform gracefully. With a flick of her wrist, she stored the damaged throne into her spatial ring and instantly replaced it with another—identical in every detail.

”...You made two of them?!” Robin asked, blinking in disbelief.

The throne wasnʼt overly lavish. Its design was elegant but not flamboyant—featuring a high backrest, modest hand-carved patterns etched into its surface, and a number of well-placed, thick cushions fixed onto it for comfort. Yet, Robin knew instantly upon seeing it that the materials used to construct it were anything but modest. That throne was worth as much—if not more—than the Destruction Note-1 warship. To have enough of that precious material to make two? That was extravagant beyond reason!

That dark golden metal was unmistakable. It was just as rare and revered as Uracelium—perhaps even harder and more durable. In fact, even the original throne hadnʼt sustained damage to its metal frame—the destruction was limited to the cushions alone.

But there was another one? Already crafted and ready?

”Hehe, Brother Caesar said you almost never attempt anything without some kind of calamity ruining it. So he told me to prepare a backup for every single item used in the coronation ceremony. Even if the entire platform were reduced to rubble, we wouldʼve been prepared.”

”.....” Robin squinted his eyes and turned slowly to glare at Caesar, who was still busy barking orders at the golden-armored soldiers, trying to get them to line up properly. Robin opened his mouth to scold him for making such a remark about him—but no words came. Because, truthfully, Caesar had been right. ”Heh~ Alright then. Letʼs get this over with.”

Placing his left hand behind his back in a posture of composed elegance, Robin walked forward—alone—toward the majestic throne, every eye on the platform fixed upon him. Even Hulak remained rooted to the spot, not daring to move or draw attention to himself at such a momentous time. This was Robinʼs moment, and even Hulak knew better than to interfere. Still, his eyes moved like lightning, scanning the surroundings ceaselessly for any hint of danger.

Step

Step

Every footfall echoed with gravitas—dignity, regality, and a sense of destiny. Robinʼs gait as he approached the throne was so measured, so perfectly poised, that some in the audience whispered it was as if Fate itself had choreographed his steps.

With his golden hair—trimmed and styled just right, not too long, not too short—his pristine white and gold robes, crisp and unwrinkled despite the earlier battle, and his unshakable composure, Robin looked every bit the king the throne had long been waiting for. There was no sign in his stride or posture of the life-and-death battle he had just survived. Only calm authority.

A few spectators were so captivated that they could have sworn they felt the throne calling out to him—yearning for its rightful master after what felt like an eternity of waiting.

With an air of composed majesty, Robin descended onto the throneʼs luxurious cushion. The fabric, soft yet firm, accepted his weight like it had long awaited his presence. He laid both hands gracefully on the ornately carved armrests, crossing one leg over the other in a gesture of calm dominion. A gentle smile touched his lips, and his eyes—shimmering with an ethereal golden light—swept over the gathered crowd, visible through the numerous light projection panels aimed at him from every direction. These panels, now reactivated, broadcast his image to every corner of the empire, to every citizen across the planets that awaited their rulerʼs coronation.

A profound silence fell.

The Shadow Swords dissipated into the void, melting away like whispers in the wind. The Light Swords, ever-disciplined, sheathed their weapons and retreated into strict formation. The Golden Army too, with synchronized precision, fell back behind the grandstands, leaving the center stage bathed in the quiet reverence of history being made.

The spectators—once terrified and scattered—now sat upright, awe-struck. Gone was the fear that had driven them to flee. In its place was something else entirely: reverence, respect, even adoration. Their eyes, previously wild with panic, now gazed upon Robin as though witnessing the rise of a legend.

Among the local monarchs, the old veterans like Orzon and Haidar nodded, their expressions serene. To them, this was the natural order of things—an inevitable culmination.

For others, like Eiko and Isnacio, this was a first. Their eyes, once skeptical, now lingered on their new Emperor with reluctant yet undeniable recognition of his authority.

”Woooh~”

At last, Caesar descended beside the throne, his boots landing with a soft but resolute thud. He remained still, studying his father for several heartbeats. Then, with a faint yet meaningful smile, he gave a subtle nod.

”Exactly as it should be.”

Then he raised his hand and gave a simple command:

”Bring them in.”

BOOoooo—BOOOoooooo~~

A chorus of musicians released a majestic fanfare from ancient wind instruments, filling the air with harmonies both regal and haunting. Overhead, the clouds, as if responding to unseen choreography, began to swirl and spiral, forming ethereal patterns that imbued the ceremony with an almost mythological grandeur. The atmosphere thickened, sacred and electric.

Step... Step...

Ascending the grand platform came a procession unlike any other. Dozens of elders advanced with dignified solemnity—none alike in race, form, or origin. They represented the diversity of a multitude of planets and cultures unified under one banner. Leading them was a frail human male of immense age, his hands trembling slightly as he carried a crimson cushion bearing a crown—

The crown was crafted of radiant golden alloy and crowned with thirteen spear-like spires. The center spear, tallest and broadest, shimmered like a star among planets.

The delegation stopped at Caesarʼs side. The ancient looking man bowed with reverence, and behind him, the entire procession followed suit in silent unity. Then, the elder lifted his eyes and spoke, his voice quivering but powerful:

”...This old soul is named Edmund Burton... the eldest living descendant of the family... and perhaps the one who has seen the most. I had long hoped—dreamed—that it would be Patriarch Brian, standing here today, placing this crown upon your head. But I know... I know he watches from the beyond with a smile.”

He paused, his voice catching. ”Robin... you have brought our family undying glory. Should you command it, the Burton line would gladly leap into fire or part oceans, without question.”

Robinʼs expression softened, but his smile dimmed slightly as memories surfaced—of Patriarch Brian, of those who perished in the Jura Massacre. How many had fallen with nothing more than the hope that one day, their humble family might rise high enough to claim the title of Marquess...

...Caesar stared at the crown, knowing that someone needed to take it now, to place it on his fatherʼs head, completing the ritual. But who?

Richard had declined the honor. There was no time to summon the Elders of the Tree. Perhaps Zara? Or maybe—

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

”Give me that. This day has gone on long enough.”

A commanding voice rang out, cutting through his contemplation. Then figure stepped forward, hands confidently reaching for the crown.

”You!!” Caesarʼs eyes widened in disbelief.

It was Rinara.

He half-stepped forward, his instincts urging him to intervene—to stop her, to take the crown back. But she was already there, standing behind the throne.

And somehow… it felt right.

With her nine radiant tails lifted high like banners of nobility, her regal aura shimmered like starlight. Her form bathed in luminescence, her features divine in their perfection—she stole the gaze of all assembled as she raised the crown high above Robinʼs head.

”I am Rinara,” she declared, her voice resolute and melodic, ”Third Empress of the Nine Paths Empire. I recognize Robin Burton as the rightful sovereign. By the authority vested in me, I crown him. Let those who oppose him know they have made an enemy of me. Let those who recognize him find an ally in me.”

BAAAAAM.

The crown descended, resting upon Robinʼs head with finality.

To the crowd, it felt as though a mountain had been laid upon their hearts—not of weight, but of awe.

It was... flawless.

At that instant, every soul knew—without doubt or hesitation—that no other man beneath the stars or atop the soil was more worthy to bear that crown.

TAP.

Caesar knelt, pressing both fists together in a gesture of ancient reverence.

”We salute His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor.”

TAP. TAP. TAP.

The generals followed, dropping one after another in synchronized homage. The crowds stood, then fell to their knees in waves. The Golden Army, the Shadow Swords, and Light Swords—all of them bowed low as their voices rang out:

”We hail the Conqueror of Worlds, the Builder of Nations, the Scourge of Tyrants, and the Champion of Justice. We salute His Majesty, the Emperor!”

Across the thirteen realms, in homes and streets and palaces, countless people dropped to their knees before their screens.

Some cheered, others cried. Some prayed, others stood in stunned silence. None knew what had truly happened during the long blackout. But they knew this:

They had a new Emperor.

They had a new future.

”Hail His Majesty, the Emperor!”

”Hail His Majesty, the Emperor!!”

”HAIL HIS MAJESTY, THE EMPEROR!!!”