Lord of the Truth-Chapter 1350: Winner of the breath of time

In response to the outrageous accusation hurled at him in front of the entire aucation plaza that holds Millions of the mid-belt monarchs, Lord Morval parted his lips and replied with a voice sharper than steel:

"Lord Drathan, are you truly implying that we would stoop so low as to kill one of our customers... over a mere handful of billions?"

A wave of silence fell for a heartbeat.

"..."

But then, the stands stirred—not with noise, but with narrowed eyes and sharp, offended glares.

A handful of billions?

Had he just called them poor? Was that really necessary?

"I stand by my words!"

Lord Drathan did not flinch, his voice rising with the authority of one accustomed to command.

"Who crafted this martial art? Which one of the Five Great Chosen is responsible for it? Where was it discovered? How can we be sure it wasn’t secretly created by Azramide? Each of the Five has a style—distinct, refined, and unmistakable. I have seen enough martial arts to recognize their signatures. Let our own experts have a look and they will declare it—when you’re ready to hold a legitimate auction!"

Lord Morval narrowed his gaze, the glint of irritation shimmering like a dagger unsheathed.

"There’s no need for such posturing," he said, voice lowering but laced with quiet steel.

"The creator of this technique is not one of the Five. The architect of Breath of the Ages... is here. With us. Now."

And with that, he pointed—deliberately, confidently—toward a single direction.

WOOSH. WOOSH.

The response was immediate.

As if time had frozen, the necks of millions snapped in the same direction.

If the auction hall existed in the physical world, the collective turn of those countless heads might have generated a storm.

All eyes fell upon one man.

And then... silence deeper than any void.

"..."

Robin did not move.

He didn’t need to.

All the pride he had forged through centuries of hardship, every drop of confidence he had tempered through fire and war, now held him steady.

Even though millions were now watching—planetary emperors, ancient bloodlines, heirs of immortal clans—he remained still.

Eyes wide with disbelief. Others skeptical. Some glittering with admiration. A few with barely veiled hostility.

But Robin... Robin sat, legs crossed, spine straight, as if none of it mattered.

As if this was beneath him.

"...."

Lord Drathan’s eyes flickered to Cloud #100—the same cloud that moments earlier had captivated everyone’s attention and was now again under the light of scrutiny.

He clenched his jaw, then returned his focus to Lord Morval, "Have you lost your sense of proportion? This goes beyond reckless."

But Lord Morval only raised a hand, silencing the chamber once more.

"What needed to be said has been said."

His voice rang with finality.

"Anyone who wishes to continue bidding—let them bid.

As for the rest, go home... the Soul Society is prepared to make an immediate purchase. For no less than 7.5 billion pearls."

And like a wave crashing against stone, the silence shattered.

Uproar. Disbelief. Shock.

"Lord Human is capable of crafting a martial art of such depth and complexity already?"

"Could it be? Has he become a Great Truth Chosen?"

"Nah, he needs to make something of the Sixth Stage first."

"Impossible! A true Truth Chosen only appears once every 15 million years, sometimes longer. There’s no way such a figure could arise in our age—our cursed, unfortunate generation!"

"This is history in the making... no, a miracle!"

Suddenly, a voice thundered across the auction floor, slicing through the noise like a guillotine.

"Lord Human!"

It silenced the room instantly.

"Is what Lord Morval claimed... true?"

Robin’s head turned slowly to the right, locking eyes with the one who spoke.

It was Lord Zarion.

"It is true."

Robin’s voice was calm—too calm.

"Breath of the Ages is entirely mine."

Another explosion of uproar followed.

"..."

Lord Zarion did not look away. His sharp green eyes studied Robin for several long seconds. Then, in a deliberate motion, he gave a nod—once, then again.

"Then allow me to be the first," he said, his voice clear and strong, "to publicly support the future Great Truth Chosen of our generation."

He turned toward the platform and raised his hand.

"7.6 billion."

And as though he had fired the first shot in a great war, the other voices followed in quick succession:

"7.7 billion!"

"7.9 billion here!"

"8.1 billion Pearls!"

"...."

Robin left the crowd to their frenzy, letting the storm of voices swirl behind him. He didn’t need to hear what was said—he had already made his decision.

He turned his head toward Lord Zarion and gave a respectful nod.

"Thank you."

His voice was low, but laced with genuine warmth and deep appreciation.

Lord Zarion responded with a casual wave, a grin stretching across his face, sharp teeth peeking through.

"I’m sorry I can’t go further in the bidding. This is beyond my current reach."

Robin’s eyes didn’t waver.

"You’ve done more than enough, truly. I won’t forget this favor."

He dipped his head again, this time with an air of solemnity and respect.

"Haha, that’s good to know. I feel reassured now."

Lord Zarion laughed, clapping a few times, pleased not only with Robin’s words but with the effect his actions had caused.

And indeed, the ripples of his actions had spread far.

His presence, his voice, his bold bid—everything gave the auction back its momentum.

But more importantly... it gave it legitimacy.

For the first time in the history of the Grand Auction, the name Human had risen.

A new contender in the cosmic stage had arrived.

No one knew what his past was.

No one cared.

Because now they had proof—a Lord of one of the Great Powers had shown faith in him.

And so, the numbers began to rise again.

It didn’t matter anymore who ended up taking the technique home.

What mattered was that the world had learned a truth:

Human had created "Breath of the Ages."

And from now on, his name would be mentioned in the same breath as legends.

The origin of Lord Zarion’s confidence wasn’t entirely clear. Perhaps it came from seeing Robin defy Lord Hedrick earlier.

Or perhaps... he just saw something no one else dared to acknowledge.

But it didn’t matter.

Goodness, when given, should always be returned in kind.

<9.2 billion pearls>

Up in the higher rows of the auction clouds, Lord Morval glanced toward the bidding screen.

He closed his eyes for a brief second... and then spoke:

"Thank you all for your participation."

His voice was calm, commanding.

"On behalf of the Soul Society, I place our bid at 11 billion pearls."

Gasps echoed across the arena.

Eyes widened.

Voices fell into stunned silence.

"They’re taking it that far?"

"Eleven billion?!"

"Even for the Soul Society, that’s massive..."

Several cloud-seated nobles exchanged glances, their faces stiff with tension.

The numbers were reaching absurd heights—borderline madness for most powers present.

But just as silence began to spread... another voice rang out like thunder.

"If you represent the Soul Society—then allow me to represent the Tyrant Galaxy of Interas!"

BAM!

A thunderous slap struck his thigh as Lord Drathan stood, full of fire and conviction.

He raised his arm toward the stage.

"I want it. I bid 12 billion pearls."

The arena erupted.

"Tyrant Galaxy Interas is joining the war now?!"

"This is serious. This just turned into a power struggle."

Lord Morval’s brow twitched ever so slightly.

"Didn’t you just accuse us of fraud and deception? Why bid now, especially with such a number?"

Robin, standing quietly, turned slightly toward the hovering fairy near him and whispered,

"Is there tension between Dreamer Morpheus and Tyrant Interas?"

<No direct hostility, but they are fierce rivals. Both the Soul Society and the Tyrant Galaxy are the richest factions in the universe, and both are fighting for dominance over the Middle Belt’s resources. One prefers diplomacy, the other brute force. The Tyrant doesn’t negotiate—he takes. He was given that title for a reason.>

"So it’s a war of influence... fascinating," Robin mused, raising an eyebrow in thought.

Back in the arena, Lord Drathan stood tall, his expression cold and firm.

"Kindly remember your role as auctioneer. My decisions are mine alone."

He then gestured casually toward Lord Morval.

"Feel free to keep bidding, if you must. But I’ve made my choice. I doubt my father will be upset over a bit of pocket change."

Lord Morval stared at him for a long moment... then shifted his gaze toward Robin.

"Eh?"

Robin blinked as his auction console blinked to life again. A private message.

From none other than Lord Morval.

"I can outbid him if I want. But Drathan, like his father, never forgets a grudge. If he loses your work, he might fixate on you.

I’ll follow your call. What do you want me to do?"

Robin stared at the message in silence.

It was clear now.

This was more than strategy—this was a moment of choice.

Wealth... or peace.

And Lord Morval was offering him the chance to choose. Not just for the auction—but to do him a favor as well.

Robin let out a quiet sigh.

He closed the console gently.

Then, he looked back at Lord Morval and gave him a silent nod... followed by two graceful waves of his hand.

The message was clear.

Lord Morval turned back toward Lord Drathan.

His expression didn’t change much—just a faint, unreadable smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes.

"Then allow me to be the first to say... congratulations."

He gave a small bow.

"Breath of the Ages is yours."

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