Lord of the Truth-Chapter 1331: The main item in the auction!

"Affiliated with the Iron Boar Empire? Planet Seramon?!"

Robin’s eyes flew wide open in sheer disbelief. The shock on his face was palpable as he immediately snapped back to the news page of the Nine Paths Empire, this time combing through it with laser-sharp focus and urgency. Within moments, his gaze landed on the headline he feared to find:

<...Two years ago, the foreign human forces seized control of Planet Seramon. While a portion of the planet’s inhabitants managed to flee, many others remained trapped within. However, experts suggest that no large-scale massacre has taken place. The reason might be that a significant portion of Seramon’s native population is, in fact, human by origin.>

"Unbelievable..."

Robin exhaled deeply, leaning back against the soft, pillowy surface of the floating cloud he was seated upon. One of his hands slid through his hair in exasperation, fingers brushing his scalp as if trying to massage away the chaos unfolding in his mind.

"What kind of twisted coincidence is this? How am I supposed to deal with this now?"

With a tired, almost bitter motion, he waved his other hand to close the control panel before him.

This... this was something he had never foreseen—not in a thousand simulations. Just moments ago, he had encouraged Pitsu to return home, to seek refuge with his family. And yet here he was, only now realizing that he himself had indirectly become the invader of that very homeland.

As he remained wrapped in contemplation, the noise in the arena swelled once again.

"Look who’s arrived! It’s His Majesty the—"

"Silence, already!" Robin cut the roar short, his voice firm as he gently motioned downward with his hand.

In response, the cloud beneath him activated its built-in silence barrier, suppressing the cacophony surrounding him.

It was becoming a pattern—every few minutes, another wave of noise would surge. One distinguished guest after another was arriving—celebrities, legendary cultivators, and renowned figures from the Mid-Belt, each more famous and powerful than the last. Their presence ignited cheers and praise from even planetary emperors and local sovereigns sitting in the standard seats below.

Everyone in attendance had either received personal, elite invitations or paid an exorbitant price in energy pearls to secure their place. And yet, they all treated those seated above the clouds like divine beings—heroes glimpsed only in myths.

But none of that mattered.

Because today... all eyes were drawn to one thing: the Planetary Displacement Gear of the Fourth Grade.

"Greetings, one and all—welcome to the grandest auction of the recent era!"

A voice thundered across the arena, imbued with presence and charisma. It was like a ripple of power had shaken the space. Heads turned in unison toward the source.

Even Robin, despite the cloud’s active noise suppression, heard it crystal clear.

There on the central platform stood a man clad in regal attire, his aura impossible to ignore. A mask concealed half of his face, lending him an air of mystery and nobility. His long, silky hair cascaded over his ears and down to his shoulders, and though his appearance suggested middle age, the ageless presence he exuded made time itself seem irrelevant.

Before millions of elite attendees, the man stood with the relaxed confidence of someone born to command. He didn’t simply occupy the stage—he owned it.

"Fairy," Robin whispered, eyes narrowing slightly. "Who is that?"

<That is Lord Morval> came the soft reply as the fairy materialized beside him from thin air, her voice laced with reverence.

<He is the grandson of the legendary Morpheus The Dreamer himself—and the current high overseer of the Soul Society.>

"The actual grandson of Morpheus the Dreamer ..." Robin repeated under his breath, eyes locked onto the man radiating calm authority down below. There was no mistaking it—this was a Nexus-tier existence at the very least, one not only powerful but deeply entrenched in the upper echelons of influence.

The fairy nodded gently, a smile dancing on her lips <Indeed. He rarely makes public appearances, let alone to host auctions. But today... today is a special occasion.>

"Ahh, I see... Of course—because of the Planetary Displacement Gear," Robin murmured, nodding as realization dawned on him.

"That makes perfect sense. It’s not every day that a fourth-grade planetary artifact goes up for auction. I reviewed the entire auction list—there’s no mention of any other fourth-grade artifact. That means, realistically, no such item will be sold again for at least three more centuries, right?"

Robin leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with focus as he absorbed the gravity of the moment.

<You may say that. It’s true that we rarely ever sell fourth-grade artifact. Sometimes, you might wait an entire millennium before one even surfaces... and sometimes, one appears, but its owner insists on an immediate, private transaction. These matters are beyond prediction.>

The fairy gently shook her head, her translucent wings fluttering slightly, catching the shimmer of the surrounding ethereal light. Her voice, though soft, carried an almost reverent weight as she added,

<However... Lord Morval did not come here today just for that. He altered his schedule to be here in person... for something else entirely.>

"...?"

Robin’s brows knit tighter, the muscles in his jaw tensing. He was just about to question her further, the words nearly escaping his lips—when that same calm yet authoritative voice thundered once again across the entire coliseum:

"Please, I ask for your patience. Your questions will be addressed in time."

Lord Morval lifted both arms in a controlled, measured motion. His gesture, though subtle, radiated command, and like obedient waves drawn by the moon, the restless murmurs of the crowd began to quiet.

Realizing he had missed earlier audience questions, Robin quickly waved his hand, deactivating the noise-dampening veil he had previously cast over his cloud. The sound of the arena immediately surged back into his awareness.

And just in time, too. A strange, scratchy voice came from a nearby cloud to his left:

"Hahaha... No one’s questioning your presence, Lord Morval. We’re simply delighted—honored, even—that you’ve graced us with your appearance today. That’s all."

The speaker had a peculiar, almost grotesque appearance: a sharply upturned nose like a hawk’s beak, and fingers twisted unnaturally, ending in long, yellowed claws.

"But surely you wouldn’t deny us just a little peek behind the curtain, would you? Just a shred of insight to satisfy our burning curiosity."

Lord Morval’s eyes sparkled slightly, and a faint smirk curved across his lips.

"Since the ever-persistent Lord Damir insists... I suppose indulging you in a minor detail won’t cause too much chaos."

He turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep across the grand arena, as if measuring every heartbeat present. Then he said,

"As it turns out... we have a rather unexpected surprise tonight."

"What is it, Lord Morval?!"

The words rang out from every direction, a chorus of eager voices—royalty, warlords, magnates, and mystics alike—united in tense anticipation.

The Lord of the Spirit Society allowed the silence to stretch for just a moment longer, expertly playing the crowd. Then he said,

"Your curiosity is admirable—nurture it. Let it grow until the time comes. For now, I offer only this: the fourth-grade Planetary Displacement Gear... is no longer the centerpiece of tonight’s auction."

"What?!"

The declaration hit the audience like a storm. Shock rippled outward in waves. Robin could feel the vibration travel through the cloud beneath him. Even those who floated above the common elite—those seated upon golden mist and woven astral threads—snapped out of their composed poses, eyebrows raised, backs straightening.

"Lord Morval, what exactly are you implying?"

The strange man—Lord Damir—sat up sharply, his voice no longer playful. A shadow of concern passed across his twisted features.

"That gear is classified as S-tier—the highest possible value. It’s the peak of what money, power, or favor can command. Are you suggesting that an item equal to, or even greater than that... will be auctioned tonight? Why were we not notified? How are we to prepare appropriate bidding capital for such a thing?"

Robin leaned sideways slightly, eyeing the grotesque man curiously.

"Who is that guy exactly? Speaking to Lord Morval like they’re old friends..."

"That is Lord Damir," the fairy whispered without hesitation,

"Son of Darvion the Accursed— The Behemoth of Curses."

Robin blinked, then sighed heavily.

"Son of the Curses Behemoth? Great... And I’m sitting three clouds away. Remind me again why I came to this auction?"

He muttered to himself, visibly reevaluating his life choices.

Back in the center of the arena, Lord Morval lifted his head slightly, as if calling upon unseen powers or wisdoms older than time.

"The item arrived mere hours ago. Its owner has chosen this very event, this day, to offer it for bidding. As most of you know, the Soul Society has maintained complete neutrality for millions of years—we are bound by sacred vows not to interfere, only to facilitate."

He then smiled, and in that smile was the weight of something ancient and immense.

"And this item... is not of the S-tier. It is not something you will see listed in any catalog, nor priced by any guild or empire."

A hushed rustle of murmurs passed through the clouds, even among the most stoic of leaders.

"Do you mean...?"

Another high-ranking guest slowly stood up, his voice trembling with awe.

Lord Morval extended both hands outward with the grandeur of a prophet unveiling a divine revelation.

"Ladies and gentlemen... tonight’s true offering is an item of SS-tier classification!"

The silence that followed was near-sacred.

The breath of millions caught in their throats.

"....."

And then—

"Send a secure message to His Majesty—tell him we require unrestricted access to the imperial treasury!"

"Remain here and observe. I must personally awaken the Patriarch."

"Damn it! I’ve only got 130 million on hand! The clan should have another—HEY! Who said you could listen in on my calculations?!"

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