Lord of the Truth-Chapter 1362: Slave trade

"What are you talking about?" Robin raised a single brow, his voice tinged with incredulity.

"One of the first things I searched for in the Soul Society’s market was slaves. And yet, nothing—not a single trace!"

Theo responded with a calm, knowing smile—one that carried the weight of old secrets.

"The Soul Society used to deal in slavery, once upon a time. It used to be a den of every kind of sin and indulgence money could buy—slaves, cursed arts, forbidden pleasures, and everything in between. But all that changed when Lord Morval took over the leadership... a few million years ago."

He leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice as if speaking of a sacred transformation.

"Since then, the Soul Society has remade itself into a beacon of righteousness—at least on the surface. It became a center for noble trade, a symbol of fair exchange, law, and stability. Didn’t it strike you as odd that, despite browsing through the wares of countless merchants, you never found anything... off? That’s because of their ironclad surveillance protocols. Nothing escapes their gaze."

He paused just long enough for Robin’s expression to tighten, then continued:

"As for the darker trades—slavery, blood-based cultivation, corpse dealing, black arts, even the supply chains for cannibal cultivators—those have all been pushed underground. Hidden. Shielded beneath layers of shadow enforced by the underworld powers."

Theo’s smile sharpened into something between pride and caution.

"You’ve heard of such networks, I’m sure. My own organization, the Shadow Swords, is one of them now."

Robin’s gaze narrowed.

"So... you’re involved in all of this?"

Theo gave a relaxed shrug, entirely unbothered.

"More or less. We don’t hunt for these goods directly, but when we eliminate targets—most of whom are criminal cultivators or rogue warlords—we inherit their vaults. Those vaults often contain cursed relics, blood-bound scrolls, or forbidden items. We can’t use them. But we know how to sell them... discreetly. That’s one of our many revenue streams."

Robin stroked his chin with interest now, curiosity overtaking concern.

"Hmm. I see. Tell me more about the slave trade. All of it."

Theo nodded, eyes sharpening with the eagerness of someone explaining a dark science.

"The slave trade, like everything else, is layered. Let’s start with the lowest tier—mass sale. Millions of humans or demi-humans are captured and sold in bulk. These poor souls are usually fed to the beast gardens. Ever heard of a noble raise a thousand Abyssal Serpents in a valley made of screaming flesh? That’s from where the food comes."

"Others buy in bulk to forcibly evolve new bloodlines. Using racial transformation devices, they merge captives into new breeds. It’s cheaper than waiting for volunteers and faster than selective breeding. And it gives results—fast."

"Some just want people. Literal civilians. Cultivators at the World Cataclysm Realm who want to settle down and play king will often buy entire populations, move them to a planet, and build a kingdom from scratch. They want to be gods over mortals. And they pay for it."

Theo’s voice was clinical now, the dark familiarity of someone who’s read the ledgers and seen the chains.

"Of course, this kind of business doesn’t cost the suppliers much. They land on some poor backwater planet, and gather up the entire population. Sometimes they don’t even bother killing anyone—they just sedate them. The only expense is the fuel it takes to land the ships."

Then, he raised two fingers.

"The second tier is more... personalized. Targeted procurement. Let’s say you want a girl with a specific bone structure, or a man with a rare affinity to the Law of Fire. You make the request—and pay a premium. The slavers dig through their inventory. If they don’t find a match, you leave your specifications and a deposit. Then... they scour the galaxies to find it."

Finally, he raised a third finger—his face now more serious.

"The final tier. The most dangerous and secretive of them all. The trade of armies and powerhouses."

He leaned forward, speaking slower now.

"For the price of a thousand energy pearls, you can purchase an entire force: one Martial Emperor, five hundred Sages, five thousand Saints and Knights. An army—not a metaphorical one. A literal, living, breathing army that could have taken down Planet Jura before we took over!"

He shook his head faintly.

"Of course, they’re broken. Most come stripped of all identity—sometimes even of their manhood. Some are mute. All are bound by soul-binding contracts so strict, so absolute, that even thinking of rebellion is suicide. You tell them to die, and they die. You tell them to kill, and they slaughter a city without blinking."

Then Theo slowly raised a finger, his expression grave.

"But if someone seeks to purchase a slave ranked above a Martial Emperor... the cost rises drastically."

A shadow passed over his face as he continued,

"You see, World Cataclysm cultivators are incredibly rare in the middle belt. In most cases, they’re owned exclusively by ancient bloodlines or great imperial houses. The slaves of this caliber typically come from two grim sources."

He extended a second finger, lowering his voice slightly.

"The first source: fallen noble families. When an entire lineage is crushed beneath the boots of an empire or obliterated by a rival clan, sometimes one or two of their strongest are captured alive. These unfortunate souls—World Cataclysms who once stood proud—are shackled with soul-binding contracts, their freedom annihilated. Their captors may keep them to serve as war-hounds... or, if resources are scarce, they’re sold at exorbitant prices to recover the financial losses of war."

A third finger rose.

"The second source is even darker: the free World Cataclysms. These are independent monsters roaming the belt."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"Capturing one of them alive is no small feat. It often requires a coalition of multiple World Cataclysms to bring one down—and even then, more often than not, the hunt ends with the target’s corpse. But if they are captured alive? They are auctioned in hidden markets for sums that boggle the mind. The profits turn the bloodshed into a worthwhile investment for the dark powers that orchestrate these hunts."

Robin leaned forward, brows raised.

"How much are we talking?"

His voice was calm, but there was a tension behind it. A readiness.

Theo’s lips curled slightly. The moment had arrived.

He spoke with slow, deliberate precision:

"...Roughly 30 million pearls. Per one."

Robin’s eyes widened in pure disbelief.

"Thirty. Million?" he repeated.

"Yes," Theo confirmed with a nod.

"But don’t misunderstand—it’s not just a body you’re buying. These aren’t broken husks or invalids. We’re talking about fully functional World Cataclysms, still capable of war, ready to kill at the moment of purchase. Their soul contracts are flawless. Their cultivation, intact. Their minds... mostly stable."

Robin leaned back, trying to process the magnitude.

"Thirty million pearls, and they’re still battle-ready?"

"Yes," Theo said with a sigh.

"And that’s just the starting price. A mid-tier Cataclysm costs even more. A high-tier? Add millions. Now imagine one aligned with a Major Law. That could drive the price to 90 million or more."

He shook his head and crossed his arms.

"We’re an underground force spanning two entire sectors. Our network is vast. Our reach is enormous. And yet—it took us a hundred and fifty years to amass just 40 million pearls. Even if I had the full price in hand, I wouldn’t spend it. It would take me another century just to recover it."

Then his voice grew lower, tinged with frustration.

"And we’ve got financial troubles in the empire, too. Right now, we have foot in nearly 300 planets... but the vast majority don’t generate high revenue. The imperial treasury has only just managed to crawl back to 400 million pearls after 170 years. And that’s barely enough to fund the training of our ever-growing population—which has reached into the trillions."

He clenched his fists slightly.

"This... this is not what the treasury of the True Beginning Empire should look like!"

Robin nodded in solemn understanding.

When he’d departed 170 years prior, there had been less than 150 million pearls left—drained by the relentless expansion. To see it rebound to 400 million despite even more expansion? That meant one thing:

The new planets were not as barren!

Still, anger crept into Theo’s tone.

"The True Beginning Empire possesses untapped resources, brilliant inventions, and epic goods. I see that clearly now after observing the middle belt firsthand. But the Nine Paths Empire? They can no longer satisfy our hunger for wealth. They’re lagging behind. We need new buyers."

His voice dropped to a growl.

"But who can we trust? Whose hands are clean enough to take our treasures without staining them?"

He shook his head, scowling.

"I refuse to sell through those filthy black markets. Feeding the underground filth—creatures who don’t even deserve the air they breathe—is beneath us."

Robin paused. A small smile touched his lips as he looked at Theo.

"So, tell me, son... In your opinion, what’s the number? What would it take to fix all of this?"

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