Chapter 1395: The Cosmic Elder

...The sky and the sea split cleanly in two, as if sliced by a divine blade of light.

A thin, radiant thread shimmered across the world, drawing a perfect incision—so precise, so sharp—that it resembled a code of judgment, a commandment etched in light.

The planet itself obeyed, cleaving into two symmetrical halves.

And there stood Robin...

Right in between.

Exactly at the intersection of devastation and serenity.

As if he, too, had been cleaved by the blade. Yet no pain came—his body untouched, his soul intact—but his mind... was elsewhere. Drowned in what his eyes beheld, reality itself suspended in awe.

Tremor... Tremor...

The right half of the world began to mutate.

Clouds vanished in an instant, as if swept away by an invisible hand.

The sky turned to a deep, infernal crimson—like dried blood under a scorching sun.

The air changed—thicker, hotter, malicious.

Every breath carried pain, like inhaling fire.

Below, the sea stirred.

Not with waves... but with rage.

Violent whirlpools spun into existence, their eyes dark and bottomless.

Above them, massive cyclones carved through the sky, clawing at the heavens.

"Ooooaaaahhh..."

The ocean screamed.

From its depths emerged titanic sea beasts—creatures of forgotten ages, ancient and furious.

They roared and lunged at one another in primal bloodshed.

No alliance. No cause.

Just the law of nature in its rawest form: only one may rule.

Shwaaaalaa!!

Katchaaaa!!

The whirlpools ignited—with liquid fire.

Flames twisted like serpents upon the surface of water.

Suddenly, from empty air—not a single cloud in sight—

massive orbs of lightning exploded into existence.

No thunder preceded them.

No warning.

They were red—a deep, arterial red—like clots of divine wrath.

These thunder orbs crackled and hissed, then collided with each other in violent spasms,

before leaping into the swirling infernos as if drawn to destruction.

WHOOSH!!

Robin... had witnessed the impossible in his lifetime.

He had walked through warzones, stared down emperors, survived Death itself.

But this—

This was beyond anything.

His body trembled uncontrollably. Not from fear... but from an instinct far deeper:

A soul recognizing something not meant to be seen.

He couldn’t even guess the level of power behind this manifestation.

But he knew, with terrifying clarity—

if a World Cataclysm were to be thrown into one of those firestorms...

it would not come out the other side.

Blorp... blorp...

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Robin turned his burning eyes to the other half of the planet.

And there...

Peace.

The sky was crystal clear.

The sun glowed warmly—not harshly—casting golden rays on the serene ocean.

Birds glided lazily through the air, chirping and playing as if the apocalypse wasn’t unfolding nearby.

Fish of every color and size leapt joyfully from the water, joined by majestic sea creatures who danced in synchronized elegance—performing flips, spins, and dives like trained performers on a stage of liquid sapphire.

Each splash birthed droplets that caught the sunlight just right, creating rainbows—

bridges of color—linking the earth to the sky in arcs of quiet beauty.

To Robin’s right: Armageddon.

A dying realm. A vision of Hell.

The right half of his body burned, scorched by the toxic heat.

His left nostril refused to inhale the corrupted air.

To his left: Paradise.

A newborn Eden. A living dream.

Despite the proximity to chaos, this side of the world radiated a serenity that made Robin’s lips twitch—

He wanted to smile.

To breathe.

To rest.

"...No. No, this isn’t possible."

Robin staggered back, clutching his head.

"What have you done?! Is this real?! Did you tamper with my soul domain?! Are you making me hallucinate?! GET OUT!"

The old man, still unmoved, replied calmly, almost with pity:

"You can rest assured, I don’t tamper with anything has to do with the soul...

I dare not approach what I can’t reach its peak."

Then, he lowered his hand once more,

and spoke as if his words were law:

"Everything you see... is one hundred percent real."

S I L E N C E.

"..."

And just like that—without buildup or fade-out—

the world returned to normal.

No gradual dissipation.

No dying roars.

No smoldering ash.

Just... normalcy.

As if nothing had happened.

Then Robin heard it:

"Pffft...

cough cough

...

"

The old blind man had coughed up a mouthful of blood—violently, unexpectedly.

"...What?!"

The shocking shift pulled Robin out of his daze.

"...Are you alright, old man?"

"Heh~"

The blind old man wiped his mouth with a faint grin.

"I wanted to show you the majesty of the Master Law of Balance...

but it seems I’ve made myself the fool instead."

"...Is it really that damaging to use?"

Robin asked quietly, eyes still wide, voice barely a whisper.

"What I just did wasn’t harmful," the old man began slowly, as his voice floated across the calm air like a whisper against a storm’s aftermath.

"It was... a simple maneuver. By disrupting the balance of this planet and momentarily connecting its two opposing polarities, I created a state of pure, stabilized contradiction. That’s why I didn’t suffer severe consequences—because the opposites nullified each other. No external sacrifice was required in this instance."

He took a long, trembling breath.

"But that doesn’t mean it’s

safe

. No... far from it. Using the

Master Law of Balance

, especially beyond the first stage, is like walking on the edge of a sword—one sharp enough to split soul from flesh. It’s not something that can be wielded without cost."

Robin’s breath slowed. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and a memory flickered in his mind—

something the Seer once told him... something about

Sevar

.

The All-Seeing said that Sevar rarely moved directly, even when he could.

He manipulated fate subtly, for even a single step outside the design came at a terrible price.

Touch the threads of the cosmos too harshly, and they lash back.

The old man—still coughing faintly—raised his head, voice now heavier. Not just with fatigue, but with regret.

"Across many years—through wars, void collapses, and battles that nearly shattered the firmament itself—I was forced to invoke the deeper layers of this law. The higher stages...

And each time, I had to offer something in return, for balance demands balance.

Take something? You must give something.

Reshape a battlefield? Pay with blood, or time, or memories.

Force fate to bend? Then fate will bend

you

in return."

He looked down at his own body—a skeleton barely hidden beneath skin.

Hands that once held galaxies now trembled just lifting a finger.

Eyes that once saw beyond realms were now shrouded in blindness.

"My bones are hollowed out.

My soul domain has fractures I cannot repair.

And my energy core? It cracked

This is not just age. This is the price."

He turned slightly, his blind eyes facing Robin as if they could still see him.

"That’s why I’ve spent the last quarter of my life searching... searching for a successor.

For someone who can carry what I can no longer bear."

He held out one withered hand, trembling but dignified.

"I’ve tempered planets, shielded civilizations, preserved cosmic laws even when chaos demanded their collapse.

And yet... I am dying.

And I will soon be forgotten."

His voice broke for a moment. But then, it steadied—defiant.

"But if I could go back...

If I could relive all of it...

I would do it again.

Without hesitation.

Every scar, every loss, every sacrifice—

worth it

.

Because even in my ruin, I am proud.

I am proud of everything I’ve done."

Robin’s throat was dry. A million words bubbled within him, yet none escaped.

"...You said you’re at the sixth stage of the Master Law of Balance?"

The old man lifted his chin, pride returning to his frail posture.

"Yes. I am Zoulan.

One of only three beings in known existence to have ever reached the sixth stage of a Master Law.

I am known—by few—as the Cosmic Elder.

One of the pillars silently holding together the current iteration of this universe."

"...Never heard of you," Robin said flatly.

The silence afterward was painful. Zoulan blinked once, visibly stunned.

"That’s... all you have to say?" he asked, disbelief echoing in his voice.

"...Yeah," Robin replied, his expression blank, cold, unreadable.

Zoulan’s face fell slightly, then hardened. He turned his gaze downward again, voice quieter.

"Hmph. No matter. My deeds were never for applause.

Only a handful of the truly great know what I’ve done.

Fame was never my goal.

It is enough that I know.

That

the balance knows.

"

Robin was silent for a breath, then suddenly chuckled—but the sound was bitter.

"...When I stayed at that pathetic hotel in the capital, I fell into a deep spiral. Depression. Resentment. All of it...

Because the name on everyone’s lips—the name they praised for his formations, his runes, his ’miraculous techniques’—was that of

Human

.

It was me, but in my eyes, it was still as of someone else taking the credit that should have been mine."

His voice rose—slightly, but sharply.

"And you...

You say you uphold the cosmic system?

You say you give your strength, your time, your mind to keep it from falling apart?

You say you’re

dying

for it...?

And no one even knows your name?

"

He took a staggering step forward, voice turning cutting, almost furious.

"When you die—when your body burns away, or is buried in forgotten soil—

what will you have gained from all this?

From the wars you prevented?

From the lives you saved?

Will anyone thank you?

Will anyone weep for you?

At least

I

have this much—

My name will live.

My legacy will survive.

They’ll speak of Robin Burton for generations.

That is

glory

.

Glory.

..

Is the true immortality."

He paused dramatically, then raised both hands.

"Everyone dies.

Doesn’t matter if you’ve refined a thousand planets.

Doesn’t matter if you’ve rewritten fate a hundred times.

Everyone. Will. Die.

But

legacy

— Legacy is what remains.

That is what matters."

He stepped even closer to the old man, eyes now burning with something almost like rage.

"To die for the others to live and even not receive thanks? Is this the path you chose for yourself? No, no, this is a bad nightmare, a wrong path with no goal or personal value. Damn this route you took, and let those who wake it be damned too, I don’t want anything to do with it!"