Lord of the Truth - Chapter 1263

Chapter 1263: Scar-1
Three days later—

Crreeeeak

“Father, it is Peon. I’ve arrived.”

A young man, seemingly in his late twenties, stepped into the vast throne hall with a respectful bow. His posture was upright, steady, and composed—every step echoing his unwavering discipline and strength. Without hesitation, he made his way toward the throne, the golden cloak behind him flowing like a banner in the wind.

“Peon!”

Robin stood slightly from his throne, arms open in welcome, a warm smile on his face—yet that expression quickly faded, replaced by a heavy sigh and a subtle frown. “…Heh~”

As Peon moved closer, the full extent of his appearance came into view. From a distance, his imposing presence—adorned in elegant, black-and-gold imperial armor, polished to a shine—might have inspired awe. But no amount of regality could hide the truth that revealed itself once he removed his helmet.

His face… was no longer that of a man.

It wasn’t just marked by scars or the remnants of battles fought—it had been ravaged, transformed into something nearly unrecognizable. What once might have been noble and sharp now carried the grotesque evidence of countless horrors. His right cheek was missing entirely, exposing the inner cavities of his skull to the open air. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his breath through the hollow wound. And beneath his left brow, the skin and muscle had melted all the way down to bare bone, as if something had eaten away at him.

“The wars of the First Army have grown fiercer by the day, Father,” Peon said with a formal tone, his voice calm but cold. “Some battles require boldness—decisive aggression—to turn the tide and bring new worlds under your rightful rule.”

He took his seat before Robin with composed elegance, though his very presence radiated a chilling intensity.

But Robin’s expression remained clouded. Concern etched deep into the lines of his face.

“…Where is your left ear, Peon? Half of your teeth are gone as well!” His voice rose slightly, not in anger, but in disbelief. “What in the world are you doing to yourself?! Why haven’t you let the Life Corps heal you? They were reassigned to support and logistics, always stationed in the rear lines, even in the heart of conflict! You could’ve easily found one. Easily!”

“Please don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters, Father,” Peon replied, maintaining the same stiff tone. “These are just superficial wounds. They don’t hinder my combat effectiveness. I still perform my duties to perfection.”

Robin stared at him silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

“Do you think that’s what this is about—your effectiveness?” he asked slowly. Then he leaned forward and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Out of all your siblings, you’ve always been the one who exhausts me the most.”

“I’ve never disobeyed a command, have I?” Peon asked, brows furrowed. “Every task you gave me, I completed. Every campaign, every mission—I never once failed you. So why am I the one who burdens you the most?”

“Are you serious?” Robin’s voice hardened. “Even calling me Father seems to pain you. I had to force you to say it decades ago, and yet still, it comes out of your mouth like a foreign word. You refuse to let me in, Peon. You’ve never let me in.”

He jabbed a finger toward him. “Tell me—have I ever treated you like a slave since the day I brought you into my family?”

“I never accused you of such a thing,” Peon answered flatly. “Father, with all due respect—why did you summon me here today?”

Robin ignored the question, rising slightly from his throne.

“Even if you haven’t said it, your behavior screams it. You carry yourself like a weapon, not a person. You let yourself be torn apart, mutilated, worn down until even strangers would hesitate to look you in the eye. Why? Why do you do this to yourself?” His voice rose in intensity. “You are not a tool. You are not a slave. You are a prince of the empire!”

Robin paused, then spoke with lower, heavier words.

“…I remember what happened to you. During the Morpheus family’s ambush on House Camden…”

“Is there really any need to bring that up now?!” Peon interrupted, fists clenched tightly.

But Robin pressed on, unwavering.

“I remember it clearly. The enemy soldiers captured you alive. They didn’t kill you—they played with you, the prince of the Camden family, after the raid was over. They cut your arm piece by piece, inch by inch, until they reached the elbow. That act alone took hours. Then they turned their cruelty to your body. Slowly, with surgical malice, they began disfiguring you. Not to kill, no—to break you. To erase your pride. They avoided vital organs. They didn’t stab. They sliced, peeled. I saw the signs of flaying… and only the gods know what else they did to you. I never asked then. I won’t ask now.”

“…Enough,” Peon whispered through gritted teeth, his fists now trembling with tension, veins bulging across his knuckles.

“When they could no longer find a piece of flesh left on your body to carve or flay, when your arms, your legs, your chest—when every part had been reduced to shredded ruin… they turned to your face,” Robin’s voice dropped to a grave, almost mournful tone. “And with the same sickening patience, they began tearing that apart too.”

His expression darkened as he spoke, his eyes locked on Peon’s disfigured features with a father’s anguish and a general’s guilt.

“I don’t need a painting or a report to imagine it. I can see it in my mind as clearly as if I had been there—Peon, fourteen years old, still a child, pinned to the cold, damp earth like an animal. I can see the campfire flickering nearby, casting dancing shadows over your trembling form. I can see them—those monsters—those soldiers without souls, looming over you. I see their twisted grins as they rip away your clothes, debating among themselves which part of you to mutilate next, as if you were meat, not a boy.”

His hand trembled slightly as he spoke, but his voice held.

“I see blood splattering the ground. I see pieces of your flesh flying with every slice. And worst of all… I can hear you. I hear the screams that tore from your throat, echoing across the night like a wolf in torment. I hear them growing weaker, rawer, until they fade into whispers. I hear your soul cry out, begging—begging for death to come and claim you.”

“Enough!”

Peon exploded, leaping to his feet, his voice filled with a sudden, unbearable fury. His lone eye burned—burned with a hatred so pure, so absolute, Robin had only ever seen something like it once before… in Richard.

But almost immediately, Peon realized what he’d done. Shame overtook rage. He dropped back down into his seat, avoiding Robin’s gaze entirely.

“…Forgive me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just… that’s not an image I ever wanted to see again.”

Robin stared at him for a long moment before speaking, his voice heavier now, deliberate.

“Peon… the noble child, the future heir of House Camden—he died that night. Whatever soul remained inside you afterward… it was just a ghost, trapped inside a half-living body, stripped of joy, stripped of fear, driven by one desperate mission: protect you little sister, Zara. Keep her safe, no matter what it cost you. Isn’t that the truth?”

He motioned toward the grotesque scars lining Peon’s face, the bone-deep gashes, the hollow space where skin should’ve been.

“These scars… do you keep them so you never forget that night? Do you leave them untouched as punishment? As a reminder that you no longer have the right to live for yourself?”

“….”

Peon said nothing. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t nod. But he didn’t deny it either.

Seeing the silence as an answer, Robin’s voice lowered even further, as though he was speaking to a wounded child.

“Zara is no longer that frightened girl hiding behind her brother. She’s a leader now. Head of Research and Development. Dozens of planetary armies would move at her word. She is protected, respected, and stronger than ever.” He stepped forward.

“So now I ask again: what are you doing, Peon? Are you trying to die? Is that why you’ve gained a reputation as the Empire’s greatest suicide soldier? Are you really just waiting for someone else to end your story for you?”

“…..”

Peon didn’t speak for a few seconds, and then—quietly, almost shamefully—he nodded.

“I almost did… in Greenland. I had the blade to my throat. But in the end… I changed my mind.”

Robin exhaled, his lips curling into a bitter sneer.

“Oh, how reassuring,” he said with stinging sarcasm. “And what, may I ask, made you hesitate?”

“…I realized,” Peon finally raised his head just slightly, his voice quiet but firm, “that maybe there are still some people out there who deserve… to have me fight for them.”

He met his father’s eyes for the briefest of moments, then looked away again.

“So I decided… I’d rather die in battle. Let an enemy do it.”

Robin tilted his head slowly, as though trying to make sense of something impossibly foolish.

“Oh. Well isn’t that considerate. Your undying love for us inspired you to delay your suicide just long enough for some random enemy to finish the job.” His voice turned icy. “What difference do you think that makes? Do you think it changes anything for us? Or for you?”

He stepped forward now, closer than ever, his voice suddenly rising.

“Do you think you’ll feel noble in your final breath? That you didn’t ‘fail’ anyone because it wasn’t your own hand holding the blade? What kind of idiot logic is that?!”

Then, with a snarl, he shouted:

“You selfish bastard! Have you ever once considered what would happen to us if you died? To me? To your siblings? To your sister?!”

“You’ll be fine,” Peon laughed—an empty, hollow sound. “You’ll all continue just fine without me. I’ve made sure to keep everyone at a distance. I’ve cut every personal tie. Even Zara… I haven’t seen her in decades.”

He waved his hand lazily, dismissively.

“I only keep fighting for one reason. To repay you. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

At that point, Robin had heard enough.

He stood up with the cold fury of a king and a father both betrayed. He took two long, deliberate steps forward. His hand rose slowly—

And then—

BAAAM!

The slap that followed was thunderous, echoing off the stone and gold of the throne hall like a divine judgment.

“I made a mistake the day I bought you.”