Lord of the Truth - Chapter 1130

Chapter 1130: Meeting the marshal again
“Look at this! Look at this!” The newcomer eagerly switched to the next image, his excitement practically radiating off of him.

This time, the image displayed a colossal fiend, so massive that its towering figure seemed to pierce the sky itself, with its head nearly swallowed by the clouds. In the breathtaking scene, the behemoth had lifted its massive foot, preparing to stomp down upon an army of warriors, who appeared as insignificant as ants in comparison. From below, countless attacks surged upward like streaks of light, bombarding its thick hide—but despite the concentrated assault, they barely managed to reach the creature’s knee.

A wave of disbelief swept through the guards as they took in the sheer scale of the being in the image.

“Whoa! This… this monster… is actually fighting for our side?!” one of them exclaimed, struggling to process the scene before him.

“By the gods… is that… Amon, the Demon King?! I never believed the survivors when they talked about his transformation. I thought they were exaggerating! But now, looking at this…” The guard who had been trying to sleep earlier now looked as though he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes for days. His jaw hung open as he scrutinized the image, his gaze flickering between admiration and sheer horror. Then, as if suddenly recalling something, he scratched his head, furrowing his brows. “Wait a minute… where exactly did these images even come from?”

The question caused the excitement in the room to momentarily stall as the others pondered it.

“Haven’t you heard of the Light Preservation Device?” One of the guards turned to him with an incredulous look, as if amazed at his ignorance. “It’s one of the newest innovations from the Research and Development Team. The very first thing they developed after His Excellency handed them the Light Disc and granted them permission to study the principles of that path. It’s an incredible device— simply point it toward an event and BOOM!—it captures an image exactly like this one, as if it were a perfectly crafted instant painting!”

The explanation seemed to leave the skeptical guard even more baffled. “Wait… you’re telling me something like that actually exists?! And no one thought to mention it to me?!” His reaction was a mix of astonishment, excitement, and even a tinge of pride—as if the mere existence of such technology made their empire’s brilliance undeniable.

“Of course, it exists! But the production cost is still incredibly high, so for now, they’re only crafting them for the Shadow Swords, specifically those assigned as scorekeepers. These guys roam the battlefield, capturing images to review later and ensuring merit points are awarded fairly. Who would’ve thought they’d end up immortalizing moments like these?” The newcomer beamed, flipping through the images with renewed enthusiasm.

Suddenly, a hesitant voice broke through the excited chatter.

“Um… excuse me,” came a weak voice from behind one of the locked doors. It was barely above a whisper, but in the sudden silence, it carried across the room. “Could you, please, check if there’s an image of Pythor himself fighting? I’d like to know how he was… killed.”

A hush fell over the small gathering. For a moment, it seemed as if the guards might actually consider the request.

“Of course! There are plenty of images of Pythor against His Excellency—” One of the guards had already begun scrolling through the images when something clicked in his mind. His expression twisted instantly into one of irritation, and his head snapped toward the door.

“Hey! What business do you have with this, prisoner?! Get back to whatever you were doing!”

BAM!

Without warning, the guard slammed his armored fist against the small viewing window of the door, producing a thunderous noise. From the muffled thud on the other side, it was clear that the prisoner had been startled badly—perhaps even knocked off balance.

The guard grumbled before turning to his comrades, “Come on, let’s go outside and enjoy these in peace.”

The mention of watching the final battle without distraction reignited their excitement, and the other two immediately sprang to their feet.

“Haha! Let’s go!” one of them cheered. “If there really are images of His Excellency’s fight against the Tyrant… I don’t think my heart will be able to take it!”

Behind the locked door, the prisoner groaned, a mixture of frustration and pain leaking into his voice. “Urghhh…” His trembling fingers clutched at the rusted metal stake embedded deep in his chest, the constant ache a painful reminder of his situation. His teeth clenched as he muttered, “If it weren’t for you, you damned piece of scrap… how could I be treated like this?”

That part of the palace had once been a dormitory for the human laborers—or, more accurately, the slaves. The rooms were small and cramped, their doors sealed shut except for a tiny slit, allowing just enough air for survival. To the untrained eye, it resembled a mortal prison, though the quality of the cells was so poor that the structure itself seemed as if it could crumble with the right amount of force.

And yet, for those locked inside… escape was nothing more than a distant dream.

The irony of fate decreed that this place would indeed be used as a prison—but not for ordinary criminals. Instead, it housed high-ranking officers and war prisoners who had been implanted with the Sealling Nail.

Once the nail was embedded in them, their strength was reduced to levels weaker than that of mere mortals, making any attempt to escape completely futile. The once-great warriors, strategists, and commanders of enemy nations were now nothing more than powerless prisoners, trapped in dimly lit, cramped cells with walls damp from condensation.

At that moment, as the prisoner struggled to push himself against one of the rough, cold walls for support, his body screamed in pain. His muscles were weak, his breathing heavy, and every movement sent sharp jolts through his limbs. Just as he finally managed to prop himself up, a voice suddenly echoed through the small, enclosed chamber; “You look like a complete wreck.”

The words were spoken in a calm yet amused tone.

“Who’s there?!” The prisoner’s head snapped around in alarm, his heart pounding in his chest. His vision darted across the dimly lit room, searching for the source of the voice. In his current state, even a teenage commoner could easily end his life.

A soft chuckle rang out from the darkness.

“Relax… it’s just me.”

From the shadows, a figure slowly stepped forward. The dim lighting barely illuminated his face, but the presence he exuded was unmistakable.

It was Robin.

His golden eyes gleamed with mischief as he studied the man before him. “You really are a mess, my irritating Marshal.”

The prisoner let out a dry, tired laugh, though it was clear it took effort. “…Tsk~ Was all this dramatic flair really necessary just for a lowly prisoner like me?” With great difficulty, Marshal Haros managed to prop himself up against the cold, damp wall. His once-imposing figure now looked frail, his dark blue hair unkempt, and his usually sharp, calculating eyes had lost some of their usual intensity. He fixed his tired gaze on the man standing before him. “What’s the victorious emperor doing in a place like this?”

Robin’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Oh? So, the news has reached you?”

The agreement between them had been simple: when Robin captured Haros, he promised to throw him into prison, only to later release him after he had slain Pythor and destroyed the Great Serpent Empire. The plan was for Haros to join his ranks once the dust had settled.

Haros scoffed, letting out a weak chuckle. “It would be harder not to hear about it. Ten days ago, on the very day of your victory, news spread like wildfire as your army paraded through the streets, celebrating. Then, the information started trickling in—piece by piece. Every day, I’ve been forced to listen to songs of your triumph ringing in my ears, day and night.

And now, ‘epic battle leaks’ have begun making their way through the empire.” He leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a slow exhale before adding, “I have to admit, the gradual release of details builds up anticipation and excites your soldiers… while simultaneously crushing the morale of your enemies. I wouldn’t have done it any better myself.”

Robin smirked, folding his arms. “Then I suppose I should thank Caesar and his new governance methods. He said he had a long-term plan for conquering our planets without military force, and it seems he’s executing it in every aspect of life.”

Haros lifted his head slowly, his tired eyes locking onto Robin’s. “…What are you doing here? I thought I wouldn’t see you for another century at least—if ever. You’ve already won, haven’t you? And from what I’ve heard, you did it with only half your forces. What could you possibly want from me now?”

Robin chuckled, nodding knowingly. “Oh, don’t say that. The ocean always craves more water. I always want smart subordinates.”

Then, his tone shifted slightly, “But to be honest with you… I really did plan on leaving you in prison for a few years—to make you truly appreciate the value of freedom when you got out.” Robin crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly before adding, “But something changed.”

Haros let out a weak laugh, his expression unreadable. “Then I suppose I should be thanking whatever it was that changed your mind.”

Robin’s grin widened. “Would you believe me if I told you it was a beast?”

At that, Haros’s expression hardened, his narrowed eyes searching Robin’s face for any sign of deception.

Robin continued, his voice light yet deliberate. “At first, my plan was to eliminate the Beast Kings entirely. They are unstable elements—a parallel force within my planets that I could not fully control. But then… out of nowhere, Crexus the Purifier appeared… and submitted.”

Haros’s gaze darkened.

Robin took a few slow steps to the side, the sound of his boots lightly echoing against the stone floor. “And that… gave me a crazy idea.”

A moment of silence passed before he continued, his voice carrying a sharp edge.

“I immediately acted on it by forging a strong relationship with Durger the Devourer. Even then, it was still just an idea—a cruel idea I discarded soon after.”

Robin finally stopped moving and turned to face Haros directly. “But then… when I spoke to Devos the Transcendent, that idea resurfaced in my mind. I couldn’t make a decision on my own… so I came here to ask you.”

Haros’s brows furrowed deeply. “Me?” His voice was laced with confusion. “Why the hell are you asking me? Go consult your own men. What does this have to do with me?”

Robin waved a hand dismissively, his golden eyes unwavering. “They wouldn’t understand… Just like I didn’t at first. It would seem too harsh for them. But you… you, half-serpent, will give me an objective answer.”

Then, Robin’s expression turned dead serious. His golden eyes locked onto Haros’s as he spoke his next words.

“What do you think… about me creating an army of artificial demi humans?”