Lord of the Truth

Chapter 2309 Scar

"...?" Both Darvion and Zargul stared at the recording from beginning to end in stunned silence, neither of them taking their eyes off the projection for even a moment.

"...Those." Zargul pointed toward the crimson-armored figures. "Are you absolutely certain they're the Crimson Plague?"

"Without the slightest doubt!" his son replied immediately. "Everyone who escaped confirmed that the Syndicate's envoy recognized them. Besides, the blood techniques they're using were famous during the Era of the Abyss of Ruin! There's simply no possibility of a mistake."

"Heh..." A smile slowly spread across Zargul's face before he burst into hearty laughter. "Hahahahaha!"

"Lord Robin is finished this time." Darvion slowly shook his head, disappointment evident in his expression. "What a waste. I expected a better opponent than this."

"Hahaha! That fool destroyed himself with his own hands!" Zargul continued laughing without restraint. "The sacrifice of my son and my armadas wasn't for nothing after all!"

"...?" Zargul's son looked thoroughly confused, unable to understand why his father's mood had suddenly improved so dramatically, but a moment later his eyes flew wide open.

"His reputation!! How did I not think of that?"

"Hmm." Darvion nodded. "The moment news spreads that the Crimson Plague are the ones protecting the True Beginning Galaxy, his credibility will collapse. The Elder Cosmic's reputation will be ruined as well, and the Stellar Academies may even turn against him. At their head, Throne Lord Qarun will undoubtedly order an investigation into him and ridicule him however he pleases... all because of the recording we now possess."

"Throne Lord will certainly be delighted." Zargul nodded enthusiastically. "Something like this won't merely halt the advance of the Cosmic Academies—it'll devastate them completely." Then he turned toward Darvion. "Should we sell it to him... or simply present it as a gift?"

"...Your son, your men, and your armadas paid the price for obtaining it. The decision is yours." Darvion shook his head calmly.

"Oh, forget that, my friend. Haha." Zargul slapped Darvion firmly on the back. "You supplied us with the Miserable World Arrays, and we supplied you with the Eternal Chain Arrays and the Silent Seal. Technically speaking, this war has made us one side, and we're bound to win it. So what's wrong with giving me your opinion on something like this?"

"...." Darvion nodded.

"Then my opinion is to give it to Throne Lord. I know you've sacrificed a great deal to obtain this recording, but expecting to gain anything in return from Throne Lord simply isn't realistic. And don't even think about using the recording before he sees it and makes his decision. Trying to go around him never ends well... It's better to present it to him as a gift and leave him with a favorable impression."

"...You're right." Zargul nodded slowly, visibly weighing every word Darvion had spoken before accepting his reasoning.

"I'll go make my preparations." Darvion began walking toward the exit with composed dignity, seemingly having already made up his mind about what came next.

"Why bother?" Zargul called after him. "The Council of Thrones will take care of everything once this recording reaches them. There's no longer any reason for us to lift a finger!"

"....."

Darvion's expression instantly transformed into one of pure rage.

"Nothing will satisfy me except forging thousands of new Miserable World Arrays using the planets of the Cradle Empire."

"...."

Zargul remained speechless for a brief moment, watching Darvion's departing back until he disappeared completely from sight.

"He's taking this far too personally."

Then Zargul turned toward his son.

"Here."

He casually tossed the recording disc into his son's arms.

"Make a thousand copies of it, and do everything possible to send one of them to the Council of Thrones. We can't predict how far the reach of the Shadow Swords and that human's followers truly extends. The sooner this reaches them, the better."

"Understood."

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Somewhere in Mid Sector 115—

Amid the endless darkness and absolute silence of outer space, an elderly man with white hair drifted through the void with both hands clasped behind his back, moving as calmly as though he were strolling through his own garden rather than traversing the lifeless vacuum between Galaxies. Neither the freezing emptiness of space nor the overwhelming distance surrounding him seemed capable of disturbing the serene rhythm of his movements.

He appeared to be in his thirties. His long white hair flowed straight behind him like a waterfall, as though even his own hair feared touching his face. His prominent cheekbones and sharply defined jaw gave him an unmistakably masculine appearance, while his brilliant ruby-red eyes served as undeniable proof of his identity, their cold brilliance making it impossible to mistake him for anyone else. They carried neither warmth nor emotion, only the detached confidence of someone who had long since grown accustomed to standing above countless worlds.

The Father of the Destra Family...

Helmor the Destroyer.

Helmor maintained his focused gaze straight ahead, as though he were looking into the deepest reaches of the universe itself rather than merely at the battlefield before him. He remained perfectly motionless, without so much as a single blink, holding that posture for a long time as though even the passage of time itself had become meaningless around him. The surrounding silence only made his presence feel heavier, as if the void itself were waiting for him to speak.

Finally, he raised his head slightly and spoke.

"The scars left upon the Laws of the universe continue to increase, and the rejection continues to accumulate. More and more Master Laws are being used across multiple sectors... by more than one individual. It seems The Seer has been unusually active lately, far more active than he normally allows himself to be, as though he has begun accelerating matters instead of merely guiding them from the shadows."

Then he smiled.

"But no matter what he does... no matter how hard he tries... no matter how many candidates he gathers... the outcome has already been decided." He slowly extended his left hand forward, every movement deliberate and unhurried. "B-14 will walk the path that has already been chosen for it."

Bang!

Helmor shattered the space before him as though breaking a sheet of fragile glass, then stepped forward with effortless elegance and overwhelming arrogance, never allowing his composed expression to change, as if tearing through space itself were no more difficult than pushing aside a curtain.

Rumble.

As his next step landed, the scenery around him had completely changed.

Before him lay a Galaxy under total siege.

The defending force consisted of nearly four thousand armadas, all nearly identical in appearance and color, their massive formation stretching across space like an enormous metallic wall that completely enveloped the Galaxy from every visible direction.

The attackers, on the other hand, numbered no more than five hundred armadas.

The numerical disparity was overwhelming.

Yet something more than compensated for that difference.

Nearly thirty young men and women possessing ruby-colored eyes were unleashing the Laws of the Path of Destruction in a terrifyingly coordinated and relentless fashion. Every strike launched by any one of them brought down multiple warships or tore open holes in space itself, swallowing everything caught within them, as though the battlefield itself had become an extension of their destructive will. Their attacks flowed into one another naturally, each person's destruction creating the perfect opening for the next.

As for the five hundred armadas behind them, they did little more than fire occasional random volleys here and there, while remaining, like Helmor himself, safely in the rear, quietly watching the massacre unfold without displaying even the slightest intention of personally joining the battle. Their role seemed less like that of an invading force and more like spectators observing a predetermined execution.

Naturally, standing before those thirty attackers were fifty defenders desperately attempting to stop them.

All of them wore gray robes and large necklaces. Every one of them employed suppressive soul attacks and piercing arrays, unleashing everything they possessed in hopes of slowing the enemy's advance, yet every attempt to halt their opponents ended in tragedy. Defensive techniques shattered one after another, carefully prepared arrays collapsed almost immediately after activation, and every coordinated counterattack was effortlessly dismantled before it could produce any meaningful result...

They looked like nothing more than a handful of amateurs trying to fight professional killers, their techniques repeatedly collapsing before overwhelming experience, flawless coordination, and absolute superiority in combat.

Oooom...

At that moment, a silhouette appeared beside Helmor.

A tall young man dressed in black and gray.

His face was strikingly handsome and masculine. He was clean-shaven, his black hair tied above his head, while his eyes continuously shifted between white and gray. He wore armored guards extending from his wrists to his elbows and carried an enormous war spear in one hand, its presence alone making the surrounding space feel heavier, as though even the void instinctively acknowledged the weapon's authority.

Although he appeared to be nothing more than a projection incapable of releasing even the slightest aura...

...the man carried himself like the undisputed master of every battlefield.

His presence alone was overbearing.

Absolute.

"...What a dangerous looking spear."

Helmor smiled faintly, his ruby eyes finally shifting away from the distant battlefield to rest upon the newcomer.

"You may as well come with your real body."