Lord of the Truth - Chapter 1912

Chapter 1912: Fighting the plague
“Let me make sure I understand this clearly…” Robin’s gaze sharpened as he fixed Althera with his full attention, his tone serious, probing, trying to ensure he hadn’t misunderstood her. “Your definition of reasonable is that you will not ask me to shut down MY Academy, you will not demand that I dissolve MY empire, and instead, you will settle for a mere one hundred billion pearls per century rather than asking for a full trillion—correct?”

“Exactly,” Althera said firmly, nodding once with unmistakable conviction. Her eyes were unwavering, her posture noble, radiating authority, as if she were a monarch issuing a decree rather than making a request.

“Ugh…” Robin rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache form as he ran through the logic in his mind. He had repeated her words carefully, almost theatrically, so she could hear the exact same nonsense he had just endured. But judging by her completely unbothered expression, she seemed utterly oblivious to the gravity of the situation today. “If this is the so-called reasonable version,” he muttered under his breath, “then what does the insane version even look like? I don’t even spend half that amount on the academy and the empires per century!”

Robin’s actual expenditures were far smaller than Althera imagined. He had spent less than ten billion pearls on preparing the academy planet, setting up the facilities, arranging instructors, and managing arrays. As for Aro, he had never handled massive sums of pearls himself; all the resources he received came in the form of weapons, strategic assets, or support from the Shadow Swords or the True Beginning Empire in the Young Sector.

Most of the time, the cost of these things are through careful mining and resource management of his own holdings.

Yet the knowledge that had gone into building the Grave Empire’s greatness —both militarily and architecturally— was practically priceless. Every single technique, every battle plan, every blueprint Robin had drawn for talismans, martial arts, fleet development, and countless other initiatives was invaluable. If these contributions were measured in pearls, their total value would easily surpass a trillion—and that was just the theoretical cost! Fortunately, Robin had never had to purchase all of this, sparing him a financial disaster.

“Yes, this is the reasonable version,” Althera said, raising her head slightly, her voice calm but tinged with authority. “I do not blame you for failing to recognize that I am actually doing you a favor. The Stellar Academies have always endured silently, sacrificing themselves for the greater good. But now that you are ambitious enough to establish your own private Starry Academy, you must understand what you are truly stepping into.”

“…Anti-life threats are far more numerous than you realize. They are not limited to the Plague or space beasts alone. Even something as seemingly inert as veins of Viradium metal that rain down onto planets like meteors and drain all of a planet’s energy is considered an anti-life threat. Such threats must be located and neutralized. This requires extensive search across countless living planets, massive fleets of vessels, relentless patrols, and sophisticated early-detection systems. That alone is a monumental burden, demanding enormous resources and coordination.”

“And when it comes to actual deployment against these threats, the challenges multiply. Every anti-life entity is inherently dangerous, and declaring war on them in any given region inevitably results in severe casualties. Even non-sentient Viradium veins possess defensive mechanisms capable of absorbing and annihilating anyone who attempts to destroy them. The moment of engagement is lethal, unforgiving, and cannot be underestimated.”

“Here at the Dawn light Stellar Academy, we alone are responsible for protecting forty percent of the sector’s territory. This includes millions of living planets, hundreds of millions —or even billions— of dwarf planets or planets unsuitable for intelligent life, and, naturally, an uncountable number of stars, asteroids, and other celestial bodies. Every single one must be protected, even uninhabited zones, to prevent them from becoming dangerous hubs or breeding grounds for anti-life entities.”

“Every year, we suffer staggering losses among our peacekeeping forces during these battles. Our enemies are not rational, calculative beings who understand the advantages of superior equipment, nor are they entities whose morale can be targeted or whose leaders can be intimidated. No—these threats attack relentlessly until the very last one of them is destroyed. They fight with single-minded determination, indifferent to strategy, ignoring reason, and leaving no margin for error. This is the reality we face, and it is why even a single hundred billion pearls is only the bare minimum for survival and preparation.”

Althera drew a slow, deliberate breath, letting it out as if preparing herself to reveal the full weight of her report. “Let’s focus exclusively on the Plague for now,” she began, her voice steady but heavy with concern. “Just a decade ago, within the span of a single year, we lost seven million soldiers in battles that spanned thirty-one planets and three stars. These were not minor skirmishes—they were full-scale confrontations against the Red, the Black, and even the Blue Plague. And mind you, that was the normal casualty rate at the time.”

She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in before continuing. “But today, after the two academies ceased their operations, you need to multiply that number by three to understand the true scope of what we face.”

Althera’s gaze locked onto Robin’s, sharp and unyielding, as though she were piercing through to the very core of his thoughts. “Perhaps you’ve noticed, but my deputy —a Guardian— is completely absent from the academy. He is perpetually engaged in combat against the Blue Plague, accompanied by a significant portion of the academy’s senior leadership—roughly fifty individuals acting as spearheads in the ongoing battles. And even with all their skill and training, one or two of them fall every so often.”

“…!” Robin’s brows knitted together in disbelief.

When she spoke of thirty-one planets out of tens of millions, anyone else might dismiss the figure as insignificant, but Robin knew far too well what battles of this magnitude entailed, particularly against a Plague he had studied and fought against for years. The scale, the logistics, the sheer human cost—it was staggering.

And putting that aside…

Seven million deaths in a single year?!

Robin’s mind raced. Seven million soldiers, each trained to the highest standards, clad in seven million sets of armor, wielding seven million weapons. Arrays and talismans in the tens of millions, vehicles and transport craft that would crash and burn alongside them. And this—this was considered the normal rate of loss for one academy alone?!

The magnitude was almost incomprehensible. To put it in perspective, this figure nearly equaled the total army Caesar had spread across hundreds of planets. And yet, every single year, this number continued to fall. Seven million trained, armored, well-equipped soldiers annihilated annually, not even counting one or two Nexus States as Althera had mentioned. It was no wonder she spoke of losses nearing three hundred and fifty billion Dorr per century—the scale was astronomical.

Perhaps, Robin considered, the key difference was the enemy’s level of rationality. In these battles, no one withdrew or surrendered. There was no negotiation, no strategic retreat—only relentless, merciless combat. But… even with that understanding, the figures seemed almost impossible.

“This is… far too extreme,” Robin murmured, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to absorb the numbers, his mind straining under the weight of the scale.

“Yes,” Althera nodded solemnly. “The evolution rate of the Crimson Plague, in particular, has recently reached unprecedented levels for World Cataclysms and Nexus States. Strange, unpredictable, and highly dangerous. The planets where the Plague manifests are often small, ungoverned, and not even under the rule of a planetary monarch. Logically, such planets shouldn’t harbor World Cataclysms of the Crimson Plague type. And yet… we keep finding them, as if—”

“…as if they were being supplied from somewhere else?” Robin interrupted slowly, covering his mouth with both hands, the disbelief and horror in his voice barely contained.

“Yes,” Althera confirmed, nodding slightly, her expression grave.

Robin’s eyes shifted nervously, tracking as if he could follow the hidden currents of the situation in the room. Memories of Specter Valley surged back unbidden, painting a vivid and ghastly picture in his mind: hills upon hills of decaying corpses, rivers of blood scattered across the terrain, and the voice of the planet’s soul, Faye, explaining how the Syndicate would constantly collect the remains and blood, transporting them elsewhere with meticulous precision.

He had always assumed that such gruesome collection served a pragmatic purpose—to be sold as preserved sustenance for empires dependent on beastly life forms. But now, the horrifying possibility dawned on him: could they really have stooped to such depths of depravity?