Lord of the Truth

1056  Who Am I?

Step Clack Step

A figure emerged through the haze of dust and smoke, his footsteps weak and unsteady. He leaned heavily on what appeared to be a staff or a spear.

"Hoo... hoo..." His labored, uneven breaths echoed faintly amidst the ruin, punctuated by the faltering sound of his shuffling steps. His hunched back and trembling posture painted a vivid picture of an old man well beyond his prime. Yet, despite the weight of his years, he pressed forward, as though his very existence depended on reaching his destination.

Step Step

...Silence

The elderly man came to a halt, finally stopping his arduous trek. His eyes, though weary and dim, fixed themselves on a figure seated amidst the wreckage of a collapsed building ahead.

Summoning every ounce of strength, the old man parted his parched lips and muttered in a voice barely audible, "...Give it... back to me."

"..."

Drip Drip

The only response came in the form of blood, dripping steadily from the fingertips of the seated figure. He was slumped against a jagged fragment of debris, his legs stretched limply before him, utterly devoid of strength. His hands rested lifelessly on his thighs, palms facing the sky in silent surrender.

The man's skin was pale —no, it was beyond pale. It was ashen, ghostly, like the frozen surface of an ancient glacier. A thin trail of blood trickled from his hairline, snaking down past his hollowed eyes and across his cracked lips, painting a crimson streak against his deathly pallor. Most unsettling of all were his eyes —stark white and devoid of life, staring vacantly at nothing.

Silence...

No heartbeat. No breath. There was no mistaking it—this was a corpse.

And not a fresh one. Its dreadful appearance suggested it had been dead for centuries, perhaps longer.

Yet, the elderly man leaning on his staff refused to relent. He rasped again, his voice rising with desperation, "Give it... back to me..."

Movement

The seated figure's finger twitched. Slowly, with an almost agonizing effort, the corpse lifted its head, turning it stiffly as if awakening from an endless slumber. A deep, resonant voice emerged, one that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth itself.

"...Hmm? The young planetary belt?" The corpse's head tilted slightly as if in contemplation. It raised an icy hand, its movement deliberate, almost mechanical. "A human? How surprising. None have dared approach for ages."

The old man's face was obscured by the swirling dust, but his rage was unmistakable. Saliva began to drip from the corners of his mouth as his trembling jaw clenched tightly. Gathering every last shred of strength, he bellowed at the corpse: "GIVE IT... BACK... TO ME!!"

"Oh?" The corpse finally turned its lifeless gaze toward the old man, a flicker of interest in its dead eyes. "What do you wish to reclaim, mortal?"

Step Clack Step

The old man stumbled forward, each step a monumental effort. He nearly collapsed but managed to regain his footing, inching closer until his full figure emerged from the dust. "Give me back... the life force you stole, Give me back.. MY YEARS!"

His voice cracked with the strain, but his words carried a weight of anguish and fury. His teeth had long since fallen out, his features so deeply lined with age that they were barely recognizable. Even his voice seemed to belong to someone else entirely. But one thing remained: his armor. Despite its battered and tarnished state, it still bore the unmistakable insignia of his identity.

This was none other than Marshal Serbal.

Whoosh

The corpse swung its arm, sending a powerful gust of wind that cleared the dust in an instant. The battlefield lay bare, and there, in the open, the true horror of the figure before the marshal was revealed.

The face was eerily similar to that of a Caesar, yet it was not Caesar.

Those lifeless, bone-white eyes, that chilling smile that seemed to pierce the soul, and the predatory expression as it gazed hungrily at the marshal—all of it belonged to someone, or something, far more sinister.

"Haha... interesting... HAHAHAHAHA!!"

"Eek!!"

The marshal recoiled involuntarily, his ears ringing from the corpse's otherworldly laughter. His heart skipped a beat as if momentarily forgetting to function, and a cold sweat ran down his aged face.

After his laughter subsided, Caesar turned his ghostly white eyes toward the soul of the old marshal. His petrified voice echoed again, cold and unyielding:

"I am in a good mood today. I will ask you a question, mortal. If you answer correctly, I will grant you a new chance!"

"Wh-- what? What is... it?!" The Marshal wanted to grasp into anything that might sound like hope.

He raised his eyebrows mockingly, leaning forward from where he had been resting against the rubble. A sly grin spread across his pale lips.

"...What is my name?"

"...."

The mockery was clear, the manipulation even clearer, but the old marshal felt compelled to respond. His voice trembled as he forced the words through parched lips:

"You... you are Caesar... son of Robin Burton... the prince of the True Begining Empire."

"Not quite." Caesar, with his hauntingly white eyes, shook his head slowly, his grin widening, "What if I helped you a little? I'll describe myself, and you may guess once more."

"....."

The old marshal hesitated, his head nodding feebly as though clinging to the last fragile thread of hope. His vision had long since faded, and now only shadows danced before his weary eyes.

Caesar tilted his head slightly to one side, his aura suddenly darkening. A vile, oppressive blackness enveloped him as if the void itself had materialized around his figure. His expression twisted, morphing into a grotesque blend of arrogance, hatred, and disdain. Then, parting his lips, his voice boomed like the rumble of an earthquake, shaking even the frail remnants of the marshal's hearing. It carried a weight that suffocated and an authority that crushed.

"I am the shadow that never fades."

"I am the silence that devours screams."

 "I am the moment when time shatters."

 "I am the answer to the final question."

 "I am the truth that souls refuse to face."

 "I am the path from which there is no return."

Then, just as abruptly, his smile returned—a cruel, bone-chilling curve that made even the air around him drop colder.

"...Now tell me, who am I?"

"A... you... you are—"

The marshal's eyes, already clouded with the weight of years and torment, widened in sheer horror. His lips moved frantically, trying to form the answer—not out of any hope of survival but because of the overwhelming shock and terror that consumed him.

But the answer never came.

"Aa—!!"

His trembling hands shot to his chest as he gasped in agony. His heart gave one final desperate lurch before stilling completely. With wide-open, lifeless eyes and saliva trailing from his mouth, the marshal collapsed, his final breath escaping into the void.

"Hahaha!" Caesar chuckled softly, his grin widening as he gazed upon the lifeless body sprawled before him. The sight seemed to amuse him, as though it were a masterpiece of his own creation. He stood there for a moment, soaking in the morbid beauty of it all. Then, his gaze shifted, scanning the other battlefields that lay beyond.

He watched the carnage unfold —the slaughter, the countless lives extinguished as though they were mere toys in a game played by reckless children. His expression remained cold and detached.

"...Hmm, still too early," he muttered, his voice a whisper carried away by the wind. Turning slightly, he added in a singsong tone, "See you later, Caesar... Son of Robin Burton~"

Ba-dum!

"Ha—ahhhhhhh!!"

Caesar's black pupils snapped back into place, his entire body convulsing as he clutched at his chest with his right hand. Gasping for air, his breaths came in ragged bursts. "Ha... ha... what happened? Ha... what happened to me?!"

The last thing he remembered was the invasion —the army of the Great Serpent Empire breaching the city. To end the prolonged battle against Marshal Serbal, he had tapped into using 10% of the Law of Death, planning to finish it swiftly and join the other fronts.

But after that, he sank into darkness.

His eyes fell upon the body before him, his breathing still uneven. "Ha... ha... the bastard is really dead... haha..." He ran a hand across his sweat-drenched forehead, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. Finally, the grueling battle was over. His gamble had paid off—at least for now.

"Hmm?"

As his gaze shifted upward, he noticed the chaos in the sky. Sakaar was still fighting, his body battered from relentless attacks, his condition deteriorating rapidly. Caesar's brow furrowed.

"...It seems I won't have time to catch my breath after all."