Chapter 1390: The Thing

"...There’s a difference between the Eye of Truth... and the Law of Truth? I... I’ve been using my power wrong this

entire

time?!"

Robin clutched his head in both hands, his breath shallow, his thoughts racing—his very foundation trembling. His mind spiraled through every moment of his journey, every breakthrough, every battle. Had it all been... misguided?

"As for your first question," the blind old man said with a deep sigh, his voice weathered by time, "That confusion is only natural."

He paused, then continued with calm certainty.

"The Eye of Truth is a gift—a divine reward for those who persist, for those who dig deep into reality’s fabric. It’s like the Law of Causality, which sometimes places fortune in the path of those who act with innovation. But while causality lends aid through chance, the Eye of Truth is different—it is a long-term blessing. A rare treasure with immeasurable worth. The Eye of Truth is a

fragment

of the Law, yes... but it is not the Law in its entirety."

Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled—a quiet, almost mocking sound.

"And as for your second question—about your supposed misuse of the Law—well, that brings us back to what I told you before. The Law of Truth is utterly

useless

to anyone who does not comprehend it. No, my dear disciple... you didn’t wield it

incorrectly

— you simply never wielded it at all."

"That’s absurd! How can it be useless?!"

Robin’s voice burst out like thunder, eyes blazing with fury and disbelief.

"It’s a Master Law, damn it! Just like Balance, or Causality, or Identity!"

"Then prove it."

The old man’s voice was sharp, cutting through Robin’s outrage like a blade.

"What do you actually

gain

from it? Do you truly see deeper truths? Higher laws? Is that it? That tired myth? Don’t be naive."

He turned fully to face Robin, blind eyes staring through him.

"What do you see that others before you haven’t? Space? Time? All of those Fundamental Laws have already been discovered—uncovered and claimed by tyrants long before you were ever born. Even if those truths are now hoarded, hidden... they

exist

. They were seen. So tell me, Robin—what does your Eye actually

add

to this world?"

He lifted his voice, pointing directly at Robin with bitter scorn.

"You... and all the rest like you—if every single bearer of the Eye of Truth, from the dawn of its history to this very day, vanished from existence... what would the universe truly

lose

? Your Eye can’t even perceive the Master Laws. It’s bound. Limited. Weak. Nothing more than a glorified lens—a tool meant to assist, not to lead. A fancy compass with no map."

"No... No, you’re wro—"

Robin stumbled backward, then surged forward again, heart pounding. He wanted to scream, to list his soul-filling techniques, his merged laws, the countless innovations he brought into existence—things no one else had even dreamed of.

But... none of that was directly thanks to the Eye.

Those achievements were

his

. His mind, his discipline, his obsession.

Maybe the Eye helped him recognize patterns. Maybe it helped him

start

.

But the rest? That was his own blood and sweat.

If his predecessors hadn’t been greedy, selfish bastards, hoarding their knowledge out of fear, those patterns would’ve been public—scattered across the universe like starlight.

And in such a world, his Eye would’ve meant

nothing

.

...Could it be? Could the Eye of Truth truly be just an

accessory

?

A trivial object on the stage of destiny?

"This... this can’t be..."

Robin whispered, almost to himself.

"The Truth I’ve been searching for... it can’t be some auxiliary tool."

He stepped back again, the ground beneath him feeling unsteady.

"What were you really seeking, Robin?"

The old man stepped forward, voice quieter now, but sharper—like a knife pressing against the soul.

"Me? I..."

Robin’s gaze drifted away, searching memories like scattered pages.

"I just wanted to walk my own path. To understand what surrounds me. To pierce the veil.

But I got lost... and... the tavern... that cursed night... argh..."

He clenched his head, as if trying to force the pain out of his skull.

"What were you

truly

searching for, Robin?"

The old man took another step—this time his voice thundered with the weight of fate.

"...I was searching for the Truth."

Robin’s voice was low, trembling.

"The truth behind

everything

..."

He slowly lifted his head, eyes suddenly clear and sharp like polished blades.

"The Truth I’ve been chasing... is the

foundation

of all that exists."

His voice grew louder, steadier—his very soul igniting with conviction.

"The Truth I pursued... is

everything

!"

The blind old man froze.

He stared, motionless, into Robin’s determined eyes—eyes that now burned with unshakable clarity. For a few long seconds, silence ruled the space between them.

Then, the old man nodded slowly. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"...So that’s how it is."

He turned his gaze back to the sea, the endless horizon stretching out like a question with no answer. His hands—usually steady—trembled slightly, barely perceptible.

"So... Your kind of Great Truth Chosen," he murmured, as if speaking more to the ocean than to Robin.

"You do have a glimpse of the real deal. You march down that path not out of knowledge, but out of instinct. Not knowing

what

you’re chasing, but still chasing it with your entire soul."

He drew a shaky breath, eyes glimmering with something between awe and dread.

"I don’t know whether that’s comforting... or terrifying."

He clenched his fists tightly, as if trying to crush the tremor itself.

"...Maybe

that’s

what sets you apart. What makes you different from the rest. It’s not your power... it’s your

purpose

.

And that may also be why you’re the rarest of all of Master Law wielders."

Robin blinked. His firm, collected expression cracked slightly, giving way to confusion.

"You mean the opposite? The Chosen of Truth are

everywhere

. Aren’t we the most common among the Master paths?"

The old man turned to face him fully, his voice suddenly fierce—surprisingly sharp for someone so frail.

"Take the fakes out of the picture—people like

me

, who only carry the Eye, not the burden—

and what’s left?"

He raised a hand into the air and sliced it downward with finality.

"Five.

Five true Chosen

of Truth have appeared throughout all recorded history.

Only five.

And every other known Master Law—every single one—has had

more

than that."

Robin stared at him, stunned.

"Every Master Law had more than five users?"

To him, this was earth-shattering.

He had touched the edge of those Laws—he had

felt

them.

He knew what they were capable of. He knew how one person wielding such power could bring entire star systems to their knees, if they so wished.

"Master Law wielders are... anomalies," the old man continued, his voice now laced with a kind of reverent melancholy.

"They are not like other cultivators.

They walk a lonelier, steeper, stranger road. Progress within a Master Law is...

brutal

.

To reach the

Fourth Stage

is to accomplish something that would take most a dozen lifetimes.

A Fifth-Stage user?"

He paused, voice lowering like a whisper carrying forbidden truths.

"They can slaughter Nexus State Beings as if swatting flies.

They can challenge

Behemoths

into a stand still.

And the

Sixth Stage

...?"

He fell silent for a breath. The waves lapped gently against the shore, as if the world itself were holding still.

"...The Sixth Stage is legend.

Of all seven known Master Laws...

Only

three individuals

in all of time have ever reached that height.

Three souls.

And

none

of them... were a Truth Chosen."

Robin’s breath caught in his throat.

Three?

Only

three

, across all the eons?

"And those three..." the old man continued, his voice becoming softer, more contemplative.

"Each of them could have ruled over countless sectors.

With a single gesture, they could reshape reality itself—bend space and law to their will.

They could have built thrones atop the corpses of kings and carved empires into the bones of stars."

Then he shook his head slowly, eyes distant.

"But none of them did."

"Why?!" Robin burst out, almost stepping forward.

"If they had that kind of power—then

why

?! Why wouldn’t they seize what was theirs by right?"

The old man’s voice grew cold.

"...Because none of them wanted it.

Not even the Fifth-Stage users showed any real desire for authority.

Some were too detached—seeing mortal politics as dust in the wind.

But others..." he paused again, "others were

afraid

."

Robin’s heart skipped a beat.

"...Afraid? Of what?"

The old man’s gaze darkened.

"...Afraid of

something

—something no one else seems to understand.

Something they never spoke about, not directly.

But it was there... lurking behind their eyes.

They looked upon control, upon dominion and power, and saw nothing but

emptiness

.

Meaningless illusion.

Or worse... a

trap

."

He gave a bitter chuckle, his voice cracked with age.

"And yet—despite their reclusive lives—few of them lived long.

Most of them died mysteriously, vanished, or were claimed by forces unknown.

A strange paradox, isn’t it?

The ones who feared power...

were the ones who disappeared first."

Robin felt a chill creep up his spine.

He had touched Master Laws.

He

knew

what kind of cosmic balance they disturbed.

But this... this was different.

"They were afraid of something?" he whispered.

"Who...

what

... could possibly pose a threat to a Sixth-Stage Master Law user?"

The old man tilted his head, a strange smile curling across his lips. Then, from deep within his chest, came a rasping, ancient laugh—one that spoke of things seen but never told.

"Heh... heh heh heh~

Are we really going to keep pretending?

Walking in circles like we don’t already know the answer?"

Then, with one slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his hand and pointed directly at Robin’s head.

A stillness fell over the air.

"Aren’t

you

, of all people, more aware of that

thing

...

than even

I

could ever be...

...you golden-eyed Truth Chosen?"