Lord of the Truth - Chapter 1857

Chapter 1857: The humble opinion
Mid Sector 101—

VROOOOM

A colossal, radiant Supremacy Note Gen-4 golden vessel descended from the sky with overwhelming presence, its engines roaring like a celestial beast awakening. The moment it touched the ground, a violent tremor rippled across the entire rocky desert—an impact so massive it felt as though a wandering floating metropolis had just chosen this very spot to settle.

Despite its terrifying size and the legends surrounding its power, the vessel did not descend upon an army formation, nor come crashing down to obliterate a city. None of its cannons were active, no defensive arrays were deployed. Instead, it landed calmly in a barren, unforgiving landscape—a rocky desert where the savage winds were notorious for grinding colossal boulders into fine gravel. The earth was extremely compact, almost metallic beneath the surface, and the mountains surrounding the region stood tall and needle-sharp, like titanic spears thrust upward by ancient giants.

Yet even in such a desolate, inhospitable environment… the landing site was far from empty.

Lining the terrain were two enormous, perfectly parallel rows of elite guards, stretching for several hundred meters. Each guard wore polished, shining armor that reflected the harsh desert light, and each held a gleaming glaive with ceremonial precision. Between the two lines lay a long, luxurious carpet—so immaculate and priceless that even dust particles seemed to hesitate before daring to settle on it.

At the very end of this majestic corridor stood a cluster of tents arranged with geometric care, protected by a powerful weather-shielding array. One tent in particular towered above the rest, clearly serving as the command pavilion or guest hall for someone of extraordinary importance.

But even this grand reception —built from discipline, prestige, and uncountable resources— failed to ease the tension etched on the soldiers’ faces. Many guards stole anxious glances at the descending golden vessel. Some swallowed nervously, their throats dry. They had grown up hearing stories—almost myths—about the floating city known as Supremacy Note and the figures who commanded it. No one knew whether witnessing it today would become a memory of honor…

…or the beginning of a catastrophe.

All they could do was hope—hope that the day would pass without disaster, that they would return home alive to tell their comrades and families about the unbelievable sight they witnessed.

Then—KSHHHH

The colossal gate of the Supremacy Note Gen-4 slid open with a deep mechanical hiss.

Step.

A single figure emerged from the darkened interior of the vessel.

A human.

He wore an immaculate silver armor set, trimmed with a regal fur mantle around his neck. His hair—long, white, and metallic in its sheen—was tied back casually, as though he had not bothered with appearance despite his immense status. His eyebrows were sharp and angled, and his eyes glowed with a deep ruby radiance, pulsing faintly like embers of condensed power.

There was only one person in the sector—perhaps the entire region—who bore such a terrifyingly distinct presence:

Lord Hedrick.

Two additional figures stepped out immediately behind him.

To his right stood a civilian-clothed man holding a scepter, one of his eyes covered by a dark patch—Draice, the Royal Soul Master, known for his cold intellect and ruthless efficiency.

To his left walked a stunning woman of refined elegance, a slender sword fastened gracefully at her side—Heigra, Hedrick’s personal aide and rumored to be one of the most fearsome duelists in the Imperial fleet.

Only these three descended from the gargantuan vessel, walking forward with disciplined steps through the corridor of soldiers.

“…..”

Thousands of elite guards—each one a high-tier combat emperor—stood like statues, though sweat beaded across their foreheads. Among them were several World Cataclysm-level officers, individuals strong enough to lead divisions into apocalyptic battles. And yet, at this moment, every single one of them felt the weight of pressure crushing their chests.

After all, the three walking before them were:

—a Monarch,

—a high-level Nexus State,

—and a Four-Star Royal Soul Master.

These three alone possessed enough force and influence to ignite an intercontinental war.

“Hm?”

One of the World Cataclysm officers felt something disturbingly off the instant the trio passed him. A faint pulse—an invisible ripple he couldn’t identify. Instinctively, he turned his head a fraction to the right, toward their backs.

And then he saw it.

A fourth person.

“What in the world…?” the officer jolted, eyes widening.

This fourth figure was dressed entirely in black—an obsidian armor, a black cloak that flowed like a shadow, and long black hair that reached his shoulders, blending seamlessly with the rest of his dark attire. He walked directly behind Lord Hedrick, following him at a perfect distance, like a personal phantom or a living shadow.

He didn’t suppress his aura.

He didn’t conceal his presence with any technique.

He didn’t activate even a trace of energy.

And yet…

Even with his World Cataclysm-level perception, the officer hadn’t noticed the man’s existence until he was already walking right past him.

As if that man’s very presence belonged to a realm beyond senses.

“Lord,” Draice finally spoke in a low, almost trembling voice, placing a dense sound barrier around them that shimmered faintly for a moment before stabilizing. “I hate being the one who repeats himself, but my tongue is burning just keeping silent. The words are clawing their way out of my throat.” With his single eye—sharp, scarred, and always too honest—Draice shifted his gaze toward his master. “Today presents a great opportunity… Please, put an end to the war if you can.”

“You want me to start kissing feet and asses, Draice?” Hedrick flashed an irritated smile, the kind that carried equal parts mockery and warning.

“All I’m saying is: end the war, Lord. No one is asking you to bow your head to anyone. Just… show a bit more consideration in the meeting.” Draice replied quickly, like someone afraid his master would twist his words next. He turned his eye forward again, the tension in his shoulders visible. “When I compare the condition of our great Empire before the war and now, I just… feel my heart shatter.”

“I agree with Master Draice. Even if our current position is strong compared to the past, our overall state is terrible.” Heigra spoke as she walked gracefully, every step radiating disciplined composure. “We aren’t even an Empire anymore. All we have left is the planet Shazar, which we keep shifting from place to place like a wandering refugee caravan. You could even say we’ve become like pirates now—just drifting forces raiding others and trying to survive off scraps and chance!”

“That’s the position our enemies forced us into. It’s not like we abandoned everything willingly.” Hedrick’s annoyance was obvious—his jaw clenched, his tone sharp. “But no matter. With our current state —and the new reinforcements arriving one after the other— we will reclaim what is ours. Everything lost will return.”

“Or provoke a harsher response,” Draice shot back immediately, refusing to soften the blow. “We’re not fighting the full strength of your enemies, Lord. Keep that in mind. Trying to act like the victor now and making them lose face will only bring more reinforcements, more fleets, more Guardians… more death. And this time the losses won’t be something we can recover from.”

“Today we have a good chance. I believe we can end the war with our heads held high.” Heigra aligned herself with Draice’s reasoning, sending a gentle, almost pleading look toward her lord. “You led us to safety, Sir Hedrick. That part is done, miraculously so. Now all we need is to discuss the terms and end this nightmare before our strength evaporates completely.”

“…”

Even though Lord Hedrick’s expression remained nearly unchanged—and the guards on both sides heard nothing—anyone staring at his face wouldn’t notice much difference. But beneath that still exterior, every word stabbed like a needle. He was undeniably seething inside.

He knew they were right.

He had known it long before they spoke.

Yet… why did their words sound as if their morale for war had completely died? As if he must reach an agreement today no matter what terms were placed before him? As if they were already preparing themselves to accept humiliation just to survive another day?

That is what he heard!

A surrendering tone. A defeated breath.

“And you, Theo.” In a calm tone that hid his irritation poorly, Hedrick lifted his head slightly and asked, “Do you see the same?”

“I am here to provide information whenever you require it, Lord Hedrick. All I can do is assist you in whatever decision you choose to follow.” Theo’s voice slithered from behind like the hiss of a serpent, cold and smooth, each word deliberate.

“…” Hedrick nodded, though dissatisfaction flickered through him like a spark. He had hoped for a different answer—something with conviction, not this slippery neutrality.

“But—” Theo’s voice came again suddenly, dripping with confidence, “if you want my humble opinion… I believe we are the victorious side at this moment. There is no need to act modest. Place your boot in the mouth of whoever displeases you— and they will lick it whether they likes it or not. And if they doesn’t, crush their teeth with the heel.”