Lord of the Truth - Chapter 1275

Chapter 1275: The unlucky son of fate
“…?!” Robin slowly turned toward Kristan, his gaze heavy with confusion and suspicion, his eyes shimmering with a thousand unspoken questions, all demanding answers at once.

“After I locked him up here for the first time,” Richard began talking, “I started interrogating him. Not because I was particularly interested in what he had to say—no, far from it. It was more about asserting dominance… humiliating him. It gave me a reason to strike when doesn’t answer, to release some of the fury boiling inside me.” He gave a slight shrug, as though the violence he spoke of were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “And like all living beings when stripped bare and scorched by fire… he cracked. Quickly. Pathetically. Told me everything without holding back.”

“He spilled the full extent of his methods—how he contacts his followers, what criteria he uses to select them, how he enforces loyalty through rewards and punishments, the elaborate maze of lies and rituals he built to stay hidden from even the most persistent seekers. He laid it all out—every detail, no matter how minute. At first, I didn’t pay much attention, I admit. As I told you, I was doing it just to vent, to break something in return. But then everything shifted… when I learned about Caesar’s grand plan—the so-called ‘Empire of Tomorrow Strategy.’ His scheme to manipulate the people of Jura, seducing them into following you.”

He raised a hand and waved dismissively, “That plan was doomed to fail. The people of Ju ra? Please. What you did to them before the empire rose—then what your enemies inflicted upon them afterward—it was too much, too brutal, too raw to be swept away with superficial beauty or ceremonial parades. You can’t repaint trauma with fireworks. So I stepped in. I took what I’d learned from this caged animal and decided to put it to use. To test his twisted methods in the real world.” Another shrug. “And to my surprise… it worked.”

“I used Juri as a vessel, a scout of sorts, to identify potential candidates. People with the right blend of desperation and influence. I’d plant ideas in their heads, guide them subtly, give them just enough to act—but never everything. Then I’d stand back and observe from the shadows, intervening only when necessary—to terrify someone here, to silence someone there. When I realized it was working, but the atmosphere was turning too oppressive, blanketed by fear, I went back to the criminal for advice.”

His expression darkened slightly. “After a bit more… persuasion—burns, chains, the usual—he gave me what I needed. He said I had to create visible laws, actual written structures, things the people could see and comprehend. Not just lurking dread or rumors of punishment. Without that, he warned, they’d lose all sense of safety, and the fear would corrode everything—including their loyalty.”

“And so I took his words to heart. I worked with him to draft several foundational laws. We didn’t just scribble them down—we legitimized them. Enforced them through the Light Swords, ensuring every citizen knew they weren’t just ideas, but rules that carried consequences. And it worked. The constant terror dulled. The people still feared the law, yes—but now it was structured, rational. It gave them a strange kind of comfort. The fear that remained was a healthy fear… a functional fear. The kind you witnessed yourself at that café, Father.” He pointed toward the older man, voice unwavering.

“After the successful trial on Jura, my siblings—Emily, the others—they came to me, pleading, demanding even, that I replicate the process across the remaining planets. I was reluctant, of course. Every planet is different—different cultures, climates, psychologies. A one-size-fits-all lawbook would never work. Each world needed its own tailored system. And that meant… dealing with him even longer.” He glanced toward Kristan, eyes narrowing. “But in the end, I relented. For the sake of the empire’s long-term survival, I sacrificed my peace.”

He gestured toward the captive. “For the past hundred years, this criminal has been laboring endlessly, crafting complex, planet-specific legal frameworks. And surprisingly… he’s proven useful. Invaluable, even.”

Robin’s face tensed, eyes narrowing further. “He just… complied? Did exactly what you told him, no resistance?” The memory of that hateful glare Kristan gave him earlier still burned behind his eyes.

“Well,” Richard replied nonchalantly, a chilling smile curling his lips. “Shoving a red-hot iron rod down someone’s throat tends to encourage obedience.” He waved his hand gently, as if brushing off the horror of the act. “Also, I make sure he gets a decent meal whenever one of his ideas pans out. A little reward, a little punishment—it’s all about balance.”

“……” Robin remained silent. Between searing iron and a warm plate of food… he had no doubt which one motivated Kristan more.

Then, his eyes sharpened. One of them began to glow, the golden light of power flickering to life—silent, but brimming with purpose.

Robin’s gaze roamed slowly, meticulously, up and down the figure before him. His eyes shimmered faintly, like gold behind glass.

“…There’s an unusual aura surrounding him,” he murmured at last, his tone thick with intrigue. “A presence that isn’t borrowed… it’s his. Entirely his. And what’s strange is—” he paused, eyes narrowing—”it’s almost identical to the auras I once felt radiating from Raiden… and Helen too.”

His brow furrowed deeper, and the light in his eyes dimmed, like a dying ember. “Odd… He clearly remains within the Sagehood Realm, there should be nothing exceptional in him. And if he had a deep affinity with any heavenly law, it would’ve been discovered during his time cultivating at the Burton Academies. Their systems would have flagged it immediately.”

“What are you rambling about, Father?” Richard interjected, letting out an exasperated breath. He crossed his arms and scoffed. “He’s pathetic when it comes to cultivation. He couldn’t care less about actual power. All that runs through his twisted mind is scheming and deceit.”

Robin tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

“…You know, I’m not convinced he sees himself as evil. In his mind, you and I might be the monsters in this story. And he would have a solid case.”

He turned away abruptly, reaching out with one hand. With a subtle twist of his wrist, space split apart with a high-pitched hum—trrrrrrrr—revealing a flickering tear in the fabric of reality. He gestured for his son to follow.

“Come. Let’s finish this conversation somewhere where there are no more ears around.”

Atop the City Wall — Moments Later

The portal opened again with a faint crackle. Trrrrrrr. Robin stepped out first, landing softly on the stone wall that surrounded the imperial capital. The wind was cooler up here, brushing through his cloak as he turned to the startled guards.

He smiled gently and raised a hand in greeting. “You may take a break now. Go on. You’ve earned it.”

“From wh—?” One of the guards began, but the rest of the sentence vanished the moment Richard emerged from the portal behind his father. The soldiers stiffened. Then, almost in unison, they dropped to one knee, slamming their fists against their chests.

“Our deepest apologies for the misunderstanding, Your Highness!” They bowed, then retreated swiftly, vaulting from the wall to give them space.

“Heh…” Robin chuckled softly as he watched them scatter. “Looks like you’re the emperor now.” He smirked, clearly amused.

“Isn’t that what you always wanted?” Richard returned the smirk. “An empire stable enough to run itself, while you disappeared into your research, your questions, your obsessions.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the city below. “You used to talk about that dream so often it got annoying. Everyone’s heard it at least once.”

Robin didn’t deny it. He simply smiled again, this time more sincerely.

He stepped toward the edge, overlooking the vast imperial capital, which had grown exponentially since the day of its founding—its streets now five times as dense, its lights far brighter. Towers that once seemed massive now looked like small watch posts compared to the newer spires piercing the sky.

“It’s strange,” Robin muttered. “So much has changed, yet some things remain the same…” He turned back to face his son. His expression was suddenly serious. “Kristan Burton… Most likely, he’s one of the Children of Fate.”

“Child of Fate?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Robin exhaled deeply, folding his arms behind his back as if gathering ancient thoughts.

“…I don’t fully know. The concept is vague—half myth, half theory. But from what I’ve learned, such a person is born with a tremendous karmic weight. Either they possess overwhelming good fortune, astonishing intellect, or a raw affinity toward one of the Major Heavenly Laws. Perhaps even other talents yet undefined.”

He paused, then looked Richard directly in the eye.

“These individuals are fated to rise. They’re not just talented—they’re inevitable. In whatever field they’re born for, they will shine. Kristan’s aura has that mark. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s one of the rare intellectual types—his mind burns bright.”

Richard scoffed again. “Didn’t seem that brilliant when we caught him.”

Robin’s voice turned sharp.

“Without the aid of the Planetary Spirit, we would never have captured him. He had the entire planet dancing to his tune. Over sixty million rebels swore allegiance to his cause. He even got the demi-serpents to work with him against us. Do you have any idea what kind of intelligence, charisma, and persuasive ability that takes?”

Robin shook his head slowly. “He might be blinded by rage, his heart twisted by hatred… but his mind is razor sharp. And more importantly, he’s dangerously effective.”

Richard frowned. “…So what exactly are you suggesting, Father? You want me to kill him before he gets a chance to escape? Dispose of the problem early? Because if that’s the case, at least let me enjoy a few more centuries of him squealing.”

Robin sighed and raised his palm. “No. I don’t want you to kill him. Quite the opposite.”

He stepped closer. His tone was calm, yet firm. “I want you to use him. Properly.”

Richard blinked. “Use him… how?”

Robin began to pace along the stone wall, speaking as he walked. “We’re short on minds like his. Brilliant ones. Emily’s a mathematical genius, yes—but she’s not made to rule. She lacks the instinct for governance, for manipulation, for navigating the dark waters of power.

Old Gu is exhausted, bogged down by external diplomacy and negotiations with alien empires. He even helps Zara when he can, so he gat no time, no power, and I would say no intent to govern. As for the rest of the old generation? They prefer war—battlefields over bureaucracy. None of them want to sit behind desks issuing decrees or solving planetary logistics.”

He turned back to Richard, gaze intense.

“This absence—this gap in talent—was one of my greatest fears for the empire’s long-term future. And now? We discover we already had a Child of Fate in our dungeons. One who could control and manipulate the politics of an entire planetary regime while being tortured. One who wrote laws, reshaped society, and brought order through sheer mental dominance—while screaming.”

Robin’s voice darkened. “And your response was to shove more molten iron rods down his throat?! Richard—how does your heart allow you to keep doing that?”