"....."
Robin furrowed his browsâdeeply, painfullyâhis expression tightening like a vice.
The old manâs sudden mention of the
Ancient Belt
struck him not as a curiosity, but as a wound torn open without warning.
His mind flinched back to
that day
âthe way The All-Seeing had erupted with rage, voice raw and monstrous:
/Iâm a Devil? What do you know about the Ancient Belt?!/
The memory flared in his skull like lightning, burning behind his eyes.
Robinâs fists clenched slowly, his knuckles whitening with restrained force.
A weight was pressing on him, immense and invisibleâ
the weight of meaning.
The weight of things half-understood but deeply feared.
Of truths spoken in riddles and warnings etched in fire.
Thenâswallowing his pride like broken glassâRobin lowered his gaze.
Not out of shame.
Not out of weakness.
But because that was the posture of one who wished to learn.
"Please..." he said quietly.
"Teach me about the Ancient Belt."
The blind old man gave a few slow nods, as if pleased by the humility, as if this were some test and Robin had passed.
Then came a smile.
It was not mocking, nor was it kind.
It was... immovable. Absolute.
"I refuse," he said.
The words landed like stones.
"Your bones are still soft."
"..Is that a joke? bro, do you know me to joke around with me like this?!"
Robinâs voice flared, rising with heat and frustration.
"You told me you would be my teacher! You self-accepted me as your disciple!
Then
teach
me something! Something real! Something
useful
! Anything!"
But the old man didnât flinch. His tone only grew colder.
"I still refuse."
His words were iron.
"You think the Ancient Belt is a place like any other? A new realm to explore, a deeper plane with stronger monsters, fancier titles, more polished techniques?"
He leaned forward slightly, as though preparing to deliver a blow not to Robinâs body, but to his
spirit
.
"It is
not
like that."
He pausedâjust for a heartbeat.
Then whispered:
"Itâs... different."
The silence that followed was oppressive.
Even the wind seemed to still.
Robin felt the air around him tighten, as if the name alone had drawn the attention of something vast and terrible.
His skin crawled.
His breath caught in his chest.
"Different," the old man continued, "in a way you cannot begin to grasp.
Different enough that if the truth of it were revealedâfully and openlyâit would collapse entire sects, crack empires, and drive some of the greatest cultivators to despair."
He stared into nothing, voice quieter now, more distant.
"Different enough... that you might lose your will to pursue power at all."
"...."
Robinâs heartbeat faltered.
There was no explosion of fear, no outburst.
Just a slow, sinking dread, like a man realizing too late that the floor beneath him is water.
Then came his replyâlow, tired, sincere:
"Consider it lost already."
The old man gave a sharp exhale, then let out a dry, almost amused laugh.
"Heh heh... And now
youâre
the one being dramatic."
He shook his head, as if disappointed in Robinâs answer but not surprised.
"You think yourself brave for asking. Noble, even. But trust me: the Ancient Belt isnât some forbidden text waiting to be unlocked.
Itâs not
meant
to be known.
Only those who reach a specific threshold...
a very
specific
one...
can even begin to
understand
what it is."
He lifted a hand, pointing toward the sky as if gesturing to unreachable heights.
"Only the Sovereignsâthose who have reached the
seventh stages
of mastery over a Lawâhave any true awareness of it.
Even then, they donât talk.
Not to their sects.
Not to their disciples.
Not even to their own bloodline."
He gave a wry smile.
"Because the moment you reach that level... you donât
need
to be told.
It simply
happens
.
The understanding enters you like thunder crashing into still water."
"..."
Robinâs eyes widened until the whites showed.
The realization dropped into him like a comet.
His
second mission
...
It wasnât just about raising Nihari.
It wasnât just about growing it into a galactic seed and defending it until he became a Behemoth.
It was... a stepping stone.
A preparation.
A pathâcleverly disguised as dutyâthat was
funneling
him toward something else.
Something darker. Something
older
.
Was the reunion with The All-Seeing at that moment â
was it not a reward?
Not a graduation?
But a...
transfer
?
Would his next meeting be not with a mentor, but with a gatekeeper?
Was he being
offered
to the Ancient Belt?
His legs gave out.
Robin sank to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
He sat there, wordless, the sand beneath him cold and indifferent.
"Heh~"
The blind man exhaled, voice quiet now.
"And Iâve only spoken a few words.
Already, you collapse like a child struck by thunder.
What would happen if I actually told you the truth?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Youâre still too soft.
Too fragile.
Mentally, emotionally, cosmically.
Youâre a seedling trying to ask about storms."
"Please..." Robin murmured, hands gripping his temples.
"Just... shut up for a moment.
Iâm trying to think."
"Oh?"
The old man tilted his head.
"And what is it youâre thinking about, golden eyes child?
The Ancient Belt is still far from your reach."
Then he paused, and his smile took on a darker shape.
"...Or perhaps... youâre thinking of
quitting
?"
"...I canât."
Robinâs voice was lowâneither defiant nor defeated, just... weary.
"You
canât
?"
The old man frowned.
"Itâs not like others havenât done it.
Thereâs
one
, you know.
Living a quiet life now.
Retired. At peace."
He turned slightly, as if to gauge Robinâs reaction.
"I only dared bring you here today... because of
him
."
"...!!!"
Robinâs head shot upward, almost violently.
His neck cracked.
His mouth openedâwords rising in a torrentâ
âbut he stopped himself.
"...Whatâs with that reaction?"
The blind old manâs brow twitched ever so slightly.
Robinâs face had become paleâdrained of color, of calm. His breathing hitched, shallow and uneven, like he was trying to hold back a scream lodged in the back of his throat.
"Do you know who Iâm talking about, or donât you?"
The old man studied him for a moment longer, then let out a breath.
"Whatever. His nameâs
Sevar
âone of
his
candidates.
A long, long time ago... Sevar
cheated
the system.
He found a loophole.
Slipped through the cracks and vanished.
Retired from the game in silence.
No flames, no war, no legendary death.
He just... stopped.
No oneâs seen him in public since.
Everything he does now?
Itâs in the darkâbehind curtains, beneath layers of silence."
"...How do you
know
he was a candidate?"
Robinâs voice cracked under pressure.
"How do you know what happened to him? How could
anyone
know...?"
He bit downâhardâon his tongue.
He was dangerously close to saying something forbidden, something that might trigger
that thingâs
awareness.
Even a
mention
of the mission risked being overheard.
But inside, his heart was raging.
Sevar
...
That was his first mission.
"Sevar made a loud entrance, and he burned fast," the old man explained with a cold sharpness.
"He quickly gained fame across the Middle Belt.
They called him the
Golden Shears
.
Why?
Because that beingâ
he
ânever tells his candidates what the golden tint actually means.
They only realize it after itâs too late.
By the time they notice the sheen in their energy, a dozen factions have already started hunting them."
Robin swallowed hard, the sound loud in his throat.
"But Sevar..."
The old man continued, eyes still staring into nothingness.
"...he settled his debts. He apologized to enemies.
He
withdrew
âjust like that.
Those who tried to hunt him as a candidate of doom?
They couldnât find a
trace
.
No one ever declared him dead.
And letâs be honest...
killing him
would be next to impossible."
Then came the dagger:
"Because by the time he disappeared, Sevar had reached the
sixth stage
of the Master Law of
Causality
."
Robin stopped breathing.
"Do you even
understand
what that means?"
The old man leaned in just slightly, voice dropping.
"A sixth-stage user of a master law isnât someone you challenge.
They arenât even someone you
approach
unless you want to die.
The only one capable of making him walk away... is the same being who
chose
him."
"...So we pieced it together."
"A terrifyingly powerful candidate.
No mass destruction. No blood-soaked legacy.
Just a quiet departure.
Why?
Fear.
Fear of
something
.
And we still see his fingerprints everywhere.
That being... heâs alive.
Heâs
watching
.
His invisible hand still plays with threads behind the curtain."
"......."
Robinâs pupils began to dilate.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As if his brain couldnât keep up with the implications all at once.
Even the blind man felt a ripple of discomfort from Robinâs silence.
"...What? What is it?"
"The
sixth stage
..." Robin whispered.
"Did you just say he reached...
the sixth stage
... of Causality?"
A bitter laugh clawed its way up Robinâs throat.
Then a smile bloomedâwide, unnatural.
It split across his face like a wound forced open.
He pointed at the old man several times, each jab of his finger sharp with disbelief.
"Again.
Again you joke with me, old man.
You
stand there
with that stone face and
mock me
."
"Iâm not joking."
The old manâs tone didnât shift.
"At the moment of his withdrawal, he had already crossed into the sixth stage of the Master Law of Causality.
Before that? He fought multiple Behemoths while still in the fifth stage.
And when he finally broke through...
He didnât return to slaughter them.
He
didnât care
. He made peace and left just like that."
"....."
Robinâs eyes lowered.
He stared into the sand like it held answers the stars could not give him.
Thenâslowlyâhe began to nod.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"I see... Of course he had the sixth stage.
Why wouldnât he?
Oh, how
stupid
of me to ever think otherwise."
Then came a laugh.
Not from the chest.
Not from joy.
But from somewhere broken.
"Heh... heh heh heh..."
Robinâs eyes widened, unblinking.
He looked like a statue on the verge of cracking.
Then, in a strangely polite voice, he spoke:
"Excuse me... just a moment."
He got up, turned.
He walked to the palm treeâthe one he had leaned on earlier.
He placed both hands gently around it.
And thenâ
BAM
He slammed his forehead into the trunk.
BAM
Again.
BAM
And again.