Lord of the Truth

Chapter 1280 1280: Attacking a med-belt Empire

”Y-...Yes, Master...” the soul creature Pythor muttered in a guttural, hollow voice, barely more than a whisper—yet it carried the weight of cold inevitability. Without haste or hesitation, he began to step forward, each movement deliberate, each step reverberating like the toll of a distant war drum.

”What the hell is this?!” the Palace Guard Commander recoiled in horror, eyes wide, his heart seizing in a sudden grip of dread.

”A talking soul creature?! Thatʼs impossible! How did a mere level 44 martial emperor obtain a talking soul creature?!”

To anyone with true understanding of the soul arts, the implications were terrifying.

talking soul creature were not like the rest. They were rare, legendary existences—souls of World Cataclysms who, even after death, retained portions of their minds, their intelligence, their instincts. Even when transformed into soul creatures under the domain of a summoner, they could act independently—speak, analyze, strategize, and kill—without needing to be guided like puppets.

And that wasnʼt even the most disturbing part. For one to bind such a spirit into their domain, let alone summon it to the material world, the cost was enormous. The summoner would need to wield soul force exceeding 50,000 soul units—an amount that only true titans among soul masters could hope to channel.

And this peasant—this backwater-born martial emperor—was controlling one of them?

Plus, Pythor wasnʼt alone.

All around the battlefield, soul beasts roamed, hundreds strong, each carrying immense soul signatures. The air shimmered with ethereal force.

It didnʼt add up. It didnʼt make sense. And that was when it hit him—

”A... a Great Soul Master!” the Commander gasped, the words barely escaping his dry throat.

His breath hitched. His knees threatened to buckle. His instincts screamed at him to retreat.

In all his years of war, training, and battle, if there was one class of enemy he never wished to meet on the battlefield, it was Great Soul Masters—those rare few whose might allowed them to turn the tide of wars with a single thought.

Still walking calmly, Pythor extended his arms. He pointed toward nearby soul beasts who willingly responded.

Whooooosh—

In a flash, their bodies disintegrated into raw, luminous soul force—

Streams of power, pure and radiant, flowed into Pythorʼs outstretched hands, spiraling and compressing until they solidified into two massive crescent blades.

Each blade pulsed with intensity—each forged from 15,000 soul units of condensed might.

With these, Pythorʼs total power surged to an overwhelming 90,000 units. A pressure filled the air, pressing down like the heavens themselves had bent toward the ground.

He raised one blade, then pointed it toward the Commander, eyes locked, his voice deep and resonant like the toll of a death bell—

”Give... me... your head.”

”Donʼt get cocky, you rotting specter!!” the Commander bellowed in rage, lifting his spiked warhammer with both hands. He charged forward with practiced fury, years of experience in every movement.

His hammer swung with tremendous force—

BAAAAAAAAAAAM!!

The impact struck both crescent blades at once. Sparks flew.

Pythor staggered slightly, but held firm. His grin widened as he growled through clenched teeth, absorbing the momentum.

”What?!” the Commander gasped.

But he had no time to process what just happened.

SHOOOOOM!

In a blink, Pythor disappeared from view—then reappeared above him, descending like a meteor with both blades drawn.

BOOOOOOOOOOOM!!

The earth itself cracked as the Commander was slammed down into the marble walkway like a comet crashing from the heavens.

The blast tore through stone and steel alike.

That sacred path—the Imperial Gardenʼs central walkway—shattered.

This walkway had stood for over 700,000 years, rebuilt in the First Restoration Era and maintained as a monument to the empireʼs enduring stability.

Its every stone symbolized power. Order. Legacy.

And now, it was rubble.

And it wasnʼt alone.

BAAAM!

KRAAAASH!

All around the impact, massive statues—each a relic of myth, carved from immortal stone—toppled like toy soldiers.

Ancient trees, whose roots ran deeper than memory, burst into flame.

The carefully manicured garden, meant to represent harmony and balance, was now a battlefield of monsters and calamities.

And it had only just begun.

From the sky to the soil, soul shockwaves erupted in all directions.

The clash of titanic beings tore reality apart.

Nothing could withstand it.

And then it came—

RUMBLE...

A low, monstrous quake.

The foundation beneath the Space Portal—the very shrine built to stabilize dimensional travel—cracked.

Three out of eight supporting pillars, forged with starsteel and runed to last an eternity, collapsed in on themselves.

”NOOOO!!”

The portal Commander screamed, his voice breaking.

This was the greatest failure of his life. Of his entire lineage.

He had inherited this post with honor—guarding the gateway between worlds, preserving the integrity of this imperial site.

And now, all of it—

—all of it was crumbling around him,

brought low by a human.

A mere human from the Young Belt.

Even if he were to be executed a thousand times over for todayʼs disaster, it wouldnʼt even begin to repay the loss he had just witnessed.

”.....”

Lord Darmik turned slowly. He looked not at the soldiers, nor the shattered portal, nor the ruined walkway.

He looked at everything.

And in his eyes burned a rage so deep it chilled the soul.

His voice came cold. Calculated.

”I sincerely hope you comprehend what youʼve done today, human. The entire True Beginning Empire… all its armies, its cities, its legacy—

…they arenʼt worth even one of the statues you just destroyed.”

”Your so-called Empire of the Nine Paths isnʼt even worth a single technique—one single divine technique—created by him.”

Robin raised his head with unwavering pride, golden light shimmering in his gaze like the glare of the sun.

”I donʼt know what kind of delusion or arrogance made you think you could lay a hand on a young warrior bearing the armor of my empire. But whatever gave you that confidence… it ends today.”

”Y-Your Majesty...?!”

The chained soldierʼs bruised, bleeding eyes widened, a tremble running through his broken frame.

He had endured unspeakable torment—beatings, humiliation, endless days of pain—yet he never once gave in.

But hearing those words, hearing this voice—the Emperorʼs voice—pierce the air like divine thunder, brought him to his knees.

His vision blurred with tears.

Heʼs... heʼs facing an entire mid-belt planetary empire… for me?

”Ohh? Your Majesty, is it?”

Lord Darmik let out a scoffing laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked Robin up and down like he was inspecting a piece of rotten fruit.

”So youʼre the so-called Emperor of the True Beginning Empire? That explains everything. If the leader is a madman like you, what can one possibly expect from the rest of your pitiful followers?”

”A madman?”

Robinʼs expression didnʼt change—he simply lifted one brow.

Shhhhhhhhiiiiiiinnnng—

In that moment, a divine golden tattoo began to materialize across his body—starting at his brow and fingertips and racing inward like rivers of fire.

The white robe he wore could no longer conceal the holy glow surging from beneath.

SWOOSH! SWOOSH!

Two massive, black spears forged from the essence of stars and shadows burst into existence—one in each of his hands.

His eyes shone gold—burning with an intensity so fierce that even space around him seemed to shimmer.

”What... what are you planning to do with those primitive sticks?”

Lord Darmik chuckled darkly, placing a hand on his forehead, tilting his head back, and laughing like he had heard the worldʼs greatest joke.

”Do you honestly think you can face me in direct combat? I stand at the very peak of the World Cataclysm realm, you deluded little insect. And what of these soul gates youʼve opened? Do you truly believe yourself to be a Great Soul Master?!”

He stepped forward, his every footstep causing ripples in space, disdain etched into every movement.

”Truly, you people of the so-called True Beginning Empire are in dire need of education. And I shall be your teacher. I will make an example of you for the ages. Let the stars witness this day, as I crucify your emperor for all to see!”

SWOOSH— SWOOSH— SWOOSH!

”What is the meaning of this?! Who dares bring chaos into the sacred halls of the Nine Paths Imperial Palace?!”

A dozen figures materialized beside Darmik, their robes billowing, their expressions grim.

Robin turned to regard them—a flicker of interest in his glowing eyes.

Each of them was ancient, draped in loose ceremonial robes that glimmered with enchantments older than the current era.

Each robe radiated a unique aura—more potent than an epic armor.

All twelve carried the unmistakable pressure of World Cataclysm.

Most were low-tier, but three… three of them pulsed with power equal to mid-tier Cataclysm Lords.

”It seems I wonʼt even need to move today,”

Darmik said with amusement, gesturing lazily at Robin.

”Esteemed Ministers, Honored Elders, thatʼs the one—this so-called Soul Master causing the disturbance. Seize him—alive.”

”As you command, Lord Darmik.”

Though they were older, each bowed with respectful obedience. Status and power dictated loyalty.

Lord Darmik was no ordinary noble—he was the Empressʼs uncle, and one of the true pillars of the empire.

”Tsk... your empire is as pitiful as I expected,” Robin said with a cruel smile.

”No wonder you keep losing planets one after the other. I was a fool to choose you as allies. But that mistake ends today. Iʼll correct it myself—with my own hands.”

His golden glow flared again, brighter, fiercer.

He gripped the twin spears tighter, light pulsing from them like twin suns.

”Itʼs been a while since I got the Third Truth Technique... and it just so happens, you lot will make the perfect test.”

He pointed at Darmik, that wicked smile stretching wider across his face.

”First Stage— Master Law of—”

CRRRRAAAACK!

Suddenly, the sky itself shattered.

A rift tore through the heavens like paper, golden lightning spilling from its edges.

From within the breach, a familiar woman emerged, her voice piercing through the chaos like a sacred decree:

”Robin Burton, WAIT!!”