"...Aren’tyouthe one who knows more about that thing...

Oh, golden eyed one?"

Step. Step. Step.

Robin stumbled backward, panic overtaking reason. His breath hitched. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.

He took several quick steps back, until his spine struck the rough bark of a lone palm tree.

His eyes were wide open, trembling, darting.

He looked like a man who had just seen death with a smile.

"What’s the matter?" the blind old man asked with venomous amusement.

"Is itreallythat shocking that I know where your Eye comes from?

Did you truly believe you were walking through the universe alone?"

He let out a dry, cruel laugh that crackled with scorn.

"The worst kind of arrogance is the belief that you know something no one else does."

"I-it’s not like that. I just..."

Robin tried to speak, tried to sound like himself again—the composed emperor, the stoic cultivator, the brilliant researcher who had sold a martial art for billions...

But the words collapsed before reaching his lips.

He couldn’t find his voice. Not here. Not in front of this old man.

Because the old man hadn’t just acknowledged the golden Eye.

He had hinted at theorigin.

And more than that... he’d all but declared that he knew the true nature of the danger behind it.

ThatthingRobin had only dared to whisper about in the corners of his thoughts.

Did he meanhim?

Did he meanThe All-Seeing god?

"It looks like your buddy didn’t share very much with you."

The old man’s smile twisted—ugly, knowing.

"But that’s to be expected.

He didn’t share much with hisother victims, either."

"Victims...? You mean the candida—"

Robin’s throat locked.

He froze mid-word.

He had almost said it.

Almost called them by the name they shared—the ones who came before. The ones who had worn the golden marks and followed the missions, just as he had.

But he couldn’t say it.

Hephysicallycouldn’t.

The All-Seeing god ’s warning came back like a cold blade at his throat.

Never say a word about him. Do not draw attention. Do not invoke me.

It wasn’t just fear anymore—it wasconditioned. It had rooted itself into his soul, into his instincts.

Even sayingcandidatenow felt like setting fire to his own lungs.

"Hmm?"

The blind old man furrowed his brow, intrigued.

"Youknowabout the candidates... but you can’t bring yourself to say the word?

So he told yousomethings... and thenthreatenedyou afterward, huh?"

He took a slow breath, something between wonder and disgust in his voice.

"Fascinating. Truly fascinating. I’ve never seen a case like yours before."

Step by step, he walked forward again, his presence heavy—like gravity itself.

Until he was standing less than a foot away from Robin.

"So... what makesyouso different?"

Robin swallowed hard. His throat felt like it had turned to dust.

"...What doyouknow about him?"

His voice was barely a whisper.

The old man let out a breath.

"Sothe threat reached deep, did it?"

He chuckled again, turning away and walking a few steps, almost leisurely now.

"Very well. I won’t push. I’ve no intention of breaking my new disciple on day one."

Then, just before stopping, he spoke again—more sharply.

"Let’s start with the basics.

What name did he give you?"

He tilted his head slightly.

"Let me guess...

The All-Seeing, wasn’t it?"

"..."

Robin didn’t respond.

But his silencewasa response.

His breath quickened. His pupils dilated.

His eyes trembled like the leaves in a storm.

And in that stillness, the old mansaweverything.

"I’ll take that as confirmation."

He smiled again—but now, the smile was more... curious. Like a man turning over a long-forgotten puzzle piece.

"You’re not the first, you know.

There have been others before you—fake Chosen of Truth with golden eyes who also mentionedThe All-Seeing.

That’s the name he gavethem."

He raised a hand and counted with his fingers as he spoke.

"To the candidates ofCausality, he called himselfThe All-Capable.

To the chosen ofIdentity, he becameThe All-Knowing.

To those aligned withBalance, he wasThe Harmonizer... and so on."

His voice turned bitter.

"He made every single one of them believe he was the absolute peak—the perfect embodiment—of their Law.

That he alone held the truths they were meant to seek.

He promised them guidance. Purpose.

And in the end...?

He used them."

"...Then what’s the truth?"

Robin’s voice trembled—quiet, hesitant, but desperate.

"Whatishe?"

The old man waved a hand, almost dismissively.

"The truth?"

He sighed.

"They were all correct.

HeisThe All-Seeing, to the Truth-bearers.

HeisTheAll-Capable, to the candidates of Causality.

Heisthe peak—of everything."

He turned slowly, his face now hollow and solemn.

"He holds the keys toeveryMaster Law.

He sits just beyond the summit of each path, waiting.

Watching.

Calling.

Recruiting."

Then he lowered his voice.

"You remember when I told you... thatunlikeTruth, all the other Master Laws had more than five wielders?"

He looked directly into Robin’s golden eyes.

"More thanhalfof them came from the golden-limbed.

From those marked by him.

Candidates—sent byhim—to carry out his will."

"Onlytwoof the Master Laws," the old man said quietly, his voice thin as the wind, "havenevermanaged to send out candidates for."

"A Chosen of Truth—a real one—

They cannot be taught, or handed the Law like a weapon.

They mustearnit. as you probably know."

He paused, then gave a heavy exhale—one that carried decades, maybe centuries, of observation.

"And of course... no one was ever sent from theEighth Master Law."

Then his tone grew bitter, almost mournful.

"But when I saw your abilities...

when I saw your golden eyes shimmer like molten truth...

Iknew.

He found a way to seal a loophole.

I knew that the coming sixth Chosen of Truth has become one of his candidates."

He shook his head with disappointment.

"What a tragedy. What a waste."

Robin stood silent, though his heart thundered in his chest.

"...Who is he, exactly?"

The words escaped Robin almost involuntarily.

It wasn’t a revelation, not an admission of guilt or allegiance.

Just a simple question.

But one that had devoured him inside for as long as he could remember.

The old man raised his head slightly, as if listening to the universe itself.

"He is... who heclaimsto be," he answered at last.

"Nearly every force of significance in this universe—any power with a history that spans millennia—has scraps about him.

Clues.

Fragmented records.

Shadows of shadows... scattered across the lasthundred million years."

His expression darkened.

"But all they truly know about him... comes from hiscandidates.

Their lips... were never entirely sealed.

Not all of them made it to the end.

Some died.

Some broke.

Some... whispered."

"Pieces of his image filtered through the ages.

And he even allowed it—told them things, gave them names. Seven names, allfabricated.

But never his real one.

Never hispurpose."

Robin lowered his head, lost in thought.

He had spoken of The All-Seeing to his generals in the aftermath of the Greenland War—unfiltered.

He had revealed almost everything to Jabba.

Mila had even seen him with her own eyes.

And The All-Seeing? He never seemed to mind.

He had only ever spoken of his name.

Of the mission in Nihari.

Nothing more.

And itfit.

It allfitwhat the old man was saying.

"...Maybe he’s more than one," Robin muttered, half to himself.

"Maybe The All-Seeing isn’t The All-Knowing. Maybe they’re different... competing... forces."

The old man simply raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"I doubt that.

I may never have seen him personally, but everyone whomatters—all the great powers—agree it’s the same entity."

His voice was firm now, like steel.

"His goals are consistent.

His selection process is always the same.

Everything matches—acrosseons.

There’s no room left for chance."

He narrowed his eyes.

"And evenifyou were right...

then they’re not enemies.

They’re allies—parts of a greater design.

Because never once in recorded history have they interfered with each other.

No sabotage. No contradiction.

Only perfect harmony."

He took a deep breath.

"Every mission they discovered—all of them—ultimately served the same cause.

And the candidates?

They are separated byhundreds of thousands—evenmillions—of years.

Yet the script never changes.

Not even slightly."

Robin felt something leave him.

As if a breath he’d been holding for a century had finally exhaled.

The tension in his body broke like glass under pressure.

His knees almost gave out, and he leaned heavily against the tree behind him, hands limp at his sides.

He had known most of this.

He hadfeltit in his bones.

But hearing it aloud—from someone with no golden eyes, no divine title, no mission—

hearing it as ahuman being...

It broke something inside him.

And then—

A sudden spark in his thoughts.

A connection.

"...Wait."

Robin lifted his head sharply.

Eyes locked onto the old man.

"You keep sayingthey say,they believe,they discovered.

You’re speaking in the tongue of millennial empires—like you’requotingthem.

But what aboutyou?

What’syourplace in all this?"

The old man grinned.

Not kindly.

Not mockingly.

But knowingly.

"Heh heh heh..."

He chuckled with the tired laughter of someone who’d already outlived a dozen wars.

He slowly turned his head to the sea, letting the wind kiss his blind face.

"Maybe..."

He said softly.

"Maybe I know a thing or two... more than I should."

He raised his chin slightly.

"Everyone who knows about theAncient Belt...

has at leastsome ideaof what that being is trying to do."

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com