Lord of the Truth-Chapter 1356: Human nature

"Ooooh..." A wide, almost mischievous smile spread across Robin’s face, but he quickly suppressed it, raising an eyebrow with feigned curiosity.

"So... what exactly is this so-called ’Human Powers Consortium’?"

"Just a loose gathering, really," Pitsu replied, waving his hand dismissively a few times, "a meeting ground for representatives of various human factions—those who seek foreign relations or inter-factional diplomacy."

He snorted.

"But let’s not kid ourselves—it’s nothing more than a glorified bazaar. The Consortium holds no executive power, the representatives almost never gather together in one place, and there’s never any actual decision-making happening. It started with noble intentions, trying to resist the systemic oppression of humans in Mid-Sector 100... but in the end, it devolved into something closer to a marketplace or an expo!"

Frustration bled into his tone as he shook his head.

"Walk into any headquarters of this so-called Consortium and what do you find? Rows upon rows of delegates from clans, academies, powerful families, and mega-merchants—all of them showing off their wares, flaunting unique services or rare products. Each delegate is there for one thing and one thing only: to outcompete the others, to poach clients and secure buyers."

His voice rose slightly.

"You could stand in the center and scream, ’My clan is on the brink of extinction!’ and not a single head would turn. But whisper that you’re in the market for some rare, canned blue cheese... and suddenly you’ve got three or four powers fighting to shove it into your hands!"

Robin couldn’t hold back his amusement any longer.

A short chuckle escaped his lips, followed by a full laugh.

"Heh... that’s just too perfect. So human."

He leaned back slightly, eyes distant as he processed what he’d heard.

It all made perfect sense.

Human factions had always been inward-looking. Each one consumed by its own internal crises—territorial disputes, financial shortages, political rivalries. Their focus was narrow, survival-oriented. And in that mindset, the sufferings of their neighbors didn’t register.

If an adjacent human world was on the verge of annihilation?

Too bad, I’ve got problems of my own.

If a prestigious academy was besieged?

Sorry, my water-pressure pipelines are corroding—I need to fix them first.

Who had the time, energy, or resources to fight for someone else’s ideals?

For humanity as a whole? That was a romantic notion—unrealistic and unaffordable.

And that’s why the very concept of a union—a unified front for human powers—was flawed from its inception.

Without a central force to enforce unity, without a true seat of power capable of imposing its will, the idea of collective action was a fantasy.

In a twisted way, Robin actually admired that the Consortium had turned into a bustling trade hub.

At least those delegates weren’t completely useless—they’d found a way to be productive.

"And your grandfather," Robin said slowly, his tone now more skeptical, "he wants to seek refuge among such... merchants in disguise?"

Pitsu let out a long sigh.

"Honestly? If he were to hint, even slightly, that the Maizer family was open to joining another power, every single faction would line up for a chance to take us in—without a second’s hesitation. Think about it: Aside for my grandfather, we have six active World Cataclysms and another six in the making. That’s a dream come true for any power."

But then his voice dipped into something heavier, more bitter.

"But my grandfather knows better. He knows they wouldn’t welcome us out of kindness. They wouldn’t let us keep our lands. They wouldn’t let us remain the Maizer Family."

He clenched a fist.

"The moment we joined, we’d be absorbed, devoured from the inside. Our identity would vanish. Our long, proud, storied legacy would be erased, replaced by someone else’s banner. And that... is something no one in our family could ever bear."

Robin’s relaxed expression slowly stiffened.

What Pitsu had just said—those words—were perhaps the most absurd contradiction Robin had ever heard from him.

If Pitsu truly understood what he’d just said... he might realize how hypocritical and self-defeating it was.

But Robin knew—he had always known—Pitsu’s thinking was shaped by simpler frameworks.

When they first met, Pitsu had ranted about how humans couldn’t build empires. About how systemic oppression and external pressure crushed their potential.

He spoke of clans, academies, economic giants—the true powers of the human world.

But Robin had known right away:

That was nonsense. Utter delusion.

What was stopping a few strong families from banding together? From merging their resources, their bloodlines, their talents, into one true empire?

But the real problem—Robin had come to understand—was far more deeply rooted than anyone dared admit.

Every family wanted the crown.

No patriarch, no heir apparent, would ever willingly give up their title, their pride, their sovereignty.

To stand behind another, to call someone else Your Majesty?

That was a humiliation few were capable of enduring.

Why would they?

They already had their own domains. Their own armies. Their own names engraved in the stones of history.

Sovereignty, to them, was not a luxury. It was a birthright.

And even when fate struck down a few families—leaving them landless, defeated, clinging to survival—those who dared to merge usually did so out of desperation, not vision.

The result?

Not an empire.

Not even a kingdom.

Just a patchwork clan, with a shiny new name and an oversized council full of bickering elders.

Each one pulling strings in the shadows, each with old grudges, each with sons and nephews and cousins who deserved "a voice."

Robin had seen it unfold before.

The Nihari Union Sect was a living fossil of that dysfunction.

Unity without a singular will was not unity at all.

If —if— all the human factions: the noble families, the ancient clans, the scholarly academies, and the trading syndicates, could bend the knee to a single will...

If they could truly rally under a monarch with the strength and ambition of someone like Lord Hedrick...

Then, yes.

A Human Empire could rise.

One not to be dismissed—an empire mighty enough to become a Millennial Empire.

One that could reclaim the dignity humanity had lost.

But that, Robin knew, was a delusion.

No one would unite of their own will.

Because every man thinks he should be the king.

And that’s why, after everything Robin had seen—after every betrayal, every negotiation that ended in ashes, every plea ignored out of pride—he finally understood:

Only war can unify.

Only war can bring peace.

Everything else... was theater.

Everything else... was an illusion.

Robin scratched his head with frustration, exhaling through clenched teeth.

He was tired—tired of humanity’s short-sightedness.

Of their pride, their cowardice, their inability to see the bigger picture.

Then he turned, locking eyes with Pitsu once again.

"Listen closely," he said, voice low but charged with power. "I want you to return to your grandfather."

"What?!" Pitsu blinked, shocked. "But... didn’t you accept me? I thought I could serve you well! I swear, I won’t let you down!"

He rushed closer, almost pleading now—so unlike the proud descendant of the Maizer bloodline who had spoken so boldly earlier.

Robin didn’t respond with warmth.

He simply averted his gaze, annoyed.

"Get up. And be silent."

His voice cut like steel.

"There’s a message I need you to deliver to your grandfather.

A message so important, you must deliver it even if it costs you your life.

Do you understand me?"

Pitsu’s expression shifted.

He swallowed.

Hard.

"Y-Yes. What message...?"

But Robin didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he raised a single finger.

From its tip, golden-white energy spiraled out like stardust, condensing slowly into the shape of an ancient, runed tome—hovering in the air, glowing with celestial light.

Robin opened his mouth, and his voice dropped in tone.

"Before I say anything... you must place your soul sense into this oathbook. Swear loyalty to me—complete, unquestioning loyalty. If you’re serious about following me... then this is your beginning."

Pitsu didn’t hesitate.

His soul moved with lightning speed—diving into the oathbook.

His body flinched—just slightly—when the ancient energies seared his oath into being.

A soul brand.

A covenant.

He exhaled.

"Done. My loyalty is yours. Now... what’s the message?"

Robin stared at him for a heartbeat... then chuckled softly, almost in disbelief.

"...I didn’t think my first World Cataclysm would swear allegiance to me in this way."

He waved his hand, recalling the oathbook into his essence.

In its place, a new artifact appeared: a tablet, unlike any Pitsu had seen—sleek, dark, edged with shimmering silver runes.

Robin handed it over.

Then pointed a finger at Pitsu’s chest, voice dead-serious:

"You will contact him— not publicly. Not through channels. Privately.And tell him this: There exists a path for him to return to Ceramon. And not just return to his homeland... but to rule it. Alone. As its one true monarch.

Robin stepped closer, now looking Pitsu dead in the eyes.

"Listen to what I’m about to say... and remember every word as if your life depends on it—because it will."

The sourc𝗲 of this content is fre(e)novelkiss