"..."
The blind old man stared at Robinâs face in silence for a few long, lingering seconds. No emotion. No movement. Only an unreadable stillness in his expression.
Then, slowly, with a calmness carved by decades of silence, he turned his entire frail body to face the sea once again.
His voice came soft at first, but carried a strange weightâlike an echo from a memory too distant, yet too sharp to forget.
"...That day... the day I first received the Eye of Truth... it was a day of celebration for me.
A day that felt like a personal holidayâ A rebirth even... I did not want it, I did not crave it, but when I did got it, it was glorious."
He exhaled, as if remembering the feeling of the wind on that forgotten day.
"Even though I had read countless manuscripts, studied its mysteries, and heard legends about what the Eye could do... none of it compared to the
experience
of wielding it myself.
It was something... beyond imagination.
Something mythical.
To hold the Eye of Truth... was like being handed a divine key to the inner mechanics of existence itself."
He took a step closer to the ocean, the wind brushing through his robe.
"The balance I had always soughtâbetween forces, objects, laws, and soulsâ
Suddenly, I could
see
it.
Not metaphorically.
Literally."
His voice gained a strange beauty, like a scholar reminiscing about his first love.
"I could see the convergence of energies, the silent dialogue between opposing laws.
I could trace the outlines of harmony in the clash between light and shadow, between chaos and form.
I could identify where true balance livedâwhere it was thriving, where it was dying, where it was waiting to be reborn.
Every object, every being, every motion... became a visible equation of patterns and interwoven truth."
A faint smile crept onto the blind manâs lipsâgentle, nostalgic, and tinged with a quiet ache.
"...During those early days, I was like a child given the keys to the stars.
I wandered everywhere, peering into the pulse of life, chasing after beauty hidden within balance.
But that innocence... did not last."
His smile faded, and something darker filled its place.
"...After satisfying my initial curiosity about the nature of balance, the Eye began to
pull
me moreâ
I began to crave more than just harmonyâI wanted to see
how
laws were structured, what made them tick from the inside out.
And to do that... I had to
break
them.
I began to dismantle formations, shatter sacred spaces, tear apart beasts...
Slice them open just to study the harmony of their blood and nerves.
I became something else.
A monsterâsmall, obsessed, and hungry.
Hungry for sight.
I wanted to see everything.
Every truth. Every secret.
Even if it meant destroying everything in my path."
His voice trembled slightly, but not with fearâwith shame.
"...And then one day... I woke up.
Not physicallyâbut inside.
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but
ruin
.
I had lost myself.
There was no direction left in me. No meaning."
He clenched his fist slowly, as if still trying to crush the memory.
"I asked myself:
What was the point?
What use is all this knowledge... if it leads you nowhere?
If it leaves you empty?"
"My passion had always been about discovering the reason for balance.
The âwhyâ behind the great symmetry of the cosmos.
But the Eye only showed me the âhowâ.
It flooded me with explanations, but never gave me a reason.
And in doing so... it led me astray.
Far from the road I was meant to walk."
A silence followed, longer this timeâheavier.
"...I hated myself. For a long time.
Because the âwhyâ and the âhowâ...
are not the same."
He lifted his hand and pressed it lightly to where his right eye had once been.
"You can uncover
how
the universe worksâby watching, observing, tearing it apart piece by piece.
But
why
the universe works this way...
Why it chooses balance...
Why it doesnât collapse into chaos...
That
is the real mystery.
And
that
is the kind of question... worth wasting a lifetime to chase."
His voice dropped to a whisper:
"And so...
I tore out my eye.
With my own hand.
On the very same day I was about building Foundation Number Elevenâusing the Master Law of Truth."
Zoulan raised his chin high, proud and unshaken.
"I destroyed it...
So I would never activate it again.
So I would never lose myself to that cursed clarity again.
So I could silence the noise...
Erase the distractions...
And return to my true purpose:
The search for balance."
"...Thatâs just stupid," Robin muttered with a frown, his brow furrowed hard.
Zoulan blinked once, then suddenly chuckledâa strange sound filled with both arrogance and amusement.
"Oh? Was it really?"
"...What kind of question is that?" Robin narrowed his eyes.
"And that smileâwhat the hell is that smile supposed to mean?"
"In the
very moment
I destroyed my eye..." Zoulan said, lifting his voice proudly,
"I attained the first stage of the Master Law of Balance."
"W-what?!"
Robinâs eyes went wide, his voice cracked with disbelief.
"I was just as shocked as you are," Zoulan nodded slowly.
"The moment I felt the Vital Scale... I was in awe. Confused. Lost.
But when I began to understand it... everything clicked."
His voice turned deep, almost reverent.
"The being that created the scale... was not mortal.
Not even divine in the way we understand it.
It was
Master
âpure and unapproachable.
Even now, as someone who has reached the sixth stage of Balance...
I cannot break the scale as I please.
No... I can only
negotiate
with it.
I can bend its rulesâslightly.
If I want to destroy something, I must repair something else.
If I want to heal something, I must lose something of equal value.
If I wish to create Hell... I must also create Paradise."
He turned back toward Robin, and his tone lowered with solemn weight.
"...And when I desired the Master Law of Balance more than anything else in existence...
I gave up the Master Law of Truth.
I unknowingly
sacrificed
it.
And in doing so... I created the balance I had been seeking all my life.
Without realizing it... I took my first step onto the very path the cosmos had laid for me."
"...You make it sound like the Master Law of Balance showed you mercy. Like it... chose you."
Robinâs eyes narrowed again.
But only the Law of Truth was supposed to
choose
, wasnât it?
"Maybe," Zoulan replied with a shrug.
"Maybe my years of seeking balance... my willingness to sacrifice...
fulfilled some hidden requirement.
Or maybe...
the Law of Balance truly
pitied
me, and gave me a chance."
He turned away one last time, gazing toward the horizon.
"...What matters is this: I got what I wanted.
With my own hands. Without help. Without a teacher."
Then he raised his hand high with pride, as if lifting the weight of all his years:
"I reached the sixth stageâthrough my own comprehension, my own perilous journeys, my own sacrifices.
Without a mentor. Without a divine hand guiding me. Without shortcuts.
And
that
âis my pride!"
He turned sharply toward Robin again, voice gaining edge and fire.
"You said the body is temporary, and glory endures.
But tell me, Robin Burton...
What good is
glory
when youâre nothing but dust buried beneath the soil?
What will that legacy do for you when your bones lie forgotten beneath timeâs feet?"
He swung his arm like a blade through the air:
"We both chase what fulfills us, donât we?
I take pride in what Iâve built, what Iâve become.
You
âyou bask in the admiration of others.
I find peace behind the curtain.
You? You hunger for the spotlightâlike a moth to flame."
He stepped closer, accusing finger extended:
"Youâre not interested in
legacy after death
âno.
You crave
constant attention
.
You want to be seen, applauded, envied.
You want the world to orbit around you."
"..."
Robinâs eyes narrowed, jaw tightening, but he said nothing.
The old man straightened, one hand clasping behind his back with solemn grace.
"Let me offer you a choice, Robin.
Imagine you were offered two paths:
In the firstâ
You die, sacrificing yourself to shield the universe from annihilation.
And in doing so, you are immortalized.
Statues rise in your name.
Stories are passed down.
You become the eternal martyr, the cosmic hero.
Or...
You let the universe burn.
Everyoneâeverythingâgone.
Except for you... and a few of your followers.
You fight the threat until the bitter end, and eventuallyâyou
win
.
But in that victory... youâre alone.
Utterly alone.
No one left to sing your name.
No one left to remember.
No history. No glory. Just silence and ash.
Now tell me, Chosen of Truth...
Which would you choose?
"
Robin looked down at the ground for a few seconds. The silence was thickâpressing.
Then he lifted his head slowly, eyes cold, voice steady:
"Iâd choose to be the
last one standing
."
The blind man stared at him as if trying to read something written beneath Robinâs skin. Then he exhaled hard, shaking his head in disbelief.
"...If I hadnât already chosen you as my disciple..." he muttered bitterly,
"I wouldâve ended your life here and nowâwith a single slap."
"Why?" Robin raised an eyebrow, his voice unfazed.
"In that scenario, I would still be
fighting
to the end. Isnât that what matters?"
"
Fighting for what?
" the old man snapped, anger flaring in his voice.
"What use is your struggle if everyone is already dead?
Wouldnât it be betterâto
sacrifice yourself
to protect the many?
By the death of one... perhaps the entire system could find balance again!"
He pointed at Robin as if pointing at the heart of a great flaw.
"Your definition of glory is corrupted.
You equate glory with
survival
âwith standing beneath the lights.
Even if that means the annihilation of everyone else.
Your glory... is nothing but
selfishness
dressed in stardust!"
Robin tilted his head slightly... then smiled.
Not in shameâbut in confidence.
"And whatâs so wrong about that?"
His eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
"Tell me, old man...
Did you do all youâve done for the sake of the people?
Or for the sake of that âsensationâ you call balance?
Or was it, perhaps, to fulfill something in
you
?
Some hunger... some echo of purpose."
He glanced at the sky, voice growing colder, sharper.
"You say I want the spotlight.
That I long to be the center of everything.
Maybe thatâs true.
But you...
You do everything just to
feel
right.
To feel that calmness within.
To sleep at night believing youâve restored harmony."
Then he turned his eyes toward Zoulan againâunblinking.
"Weâre not that different, you and I.
You call me selfish?
Fine.
But your balance, your âmissionââis just another form of selfishness.
We both chase what gives us peace.
We both chase our own truths, Lord Zoulan."
The old manâs face turned stony, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"Thatâs nonsense.
There is no such thing as personal truth.
There is only
one
absolute truth.
And if a hundred voices tell different storiesâ
Only
one
of them is real.
The rest?
Lies.
"
Robinâs smile widened. He took a slow breath.
"Thatâs true..."
He gave a sly wink.
"...But how can you be so sure that
you
have the real one?"
Zoulanâs voice turned icy, laced with sarcasm:
"I have my reasons to believe I do.
What about you, O Glorious Chosen of Truth?
Have you found it?"
Robinâs gaze drifted to the horizon, a strange smile on his faceâcalm, almost serene.
"No.
But Iâm walking the path toward it."
He exhaled slowly, as if shedding all weight.
"Iâll hold onto
my truth
...
Until I reach the truth of
everything
."
The wind carried his words into the silence.
"...No," the blind elder murmured, shaking his head slowly.
"
No, you wonât.
Not while I still draw breath."