"...?"

Robin continued staring at Seraphim in confusion, his gaze fixed and unmoving.

He completely ignored the Cosmic Elder, who had already reached the corridor, exchanged a few brief words with those waiting around it, then stepped inside after taking a deep breath.

Robin, however, noticed none of that.

All of his focus, all of his awareness, was locked onto the smooth, continuous movements of the pen as it glided across the massive board, carving out lines with precision and fluidity that felt almost alive.

Minutes passed like that...

Until he suddenly stopped, his steps halting as if a thought had just formed. Then he turned and began walking toward the house.

But just as he moved, his concentration was broken by a sharp shout behind him:

"My lord!!"

"Hmm?" Robin paused mid-step and turned his head slightly, his brows drawing together just a little, "What is it, Pitsu? Thanks for the shard, you can leave now."

"No, no, no..." The kneeling boy immediately panicked, his voice trembling as he leaned forward, "I don’t want to leave, please... allow me to stay here!"

"What would you even do here?" Robin asked with clear confusion, "...oh? Are you tired of the wars?" His tone softened slightly, "You can apply for leave if you want. You suffered a severe injury in the last battle, you’re entitled to a long rest, no one will object, and no one will question it."

"No, it’s not that. If you wish to fight in hell, then take me with you, I won’t hesitate for a moment..." Pitsu quickly lifted his head, his voice gaining urgency, "But I want to stay by your side! Don’t you need your servant?!"

".....?!" Robin was genuinely taken aback.

The boy’s eyes had already begun to glisten, a thin layer of tears forming as he stared upward with an almost desperate resolve.

Even Robin himself had never once called Pitsu a servant... so why would a man who had lived for thousands of years lower himself to that title so openly, without hesitation? Why would he choose servitude over standing proudly among generals and commanders, over leading fleets and commanding respect?

Perhaps... the time he spent as his assistant had made him accustomed to ease, to simplicity.

Or perhaps... he understood something deeper, something more pragmatic... that staying close to Robin would benefit him in ways no battlefield victory ever could, just as it had once before.

"Heh~" Robin waved his hand dismissively, ending the thought, "Prepare something warm for me."

"YES!!"

After hearing the enthusiastic shout, he turned without another word and resumed walking toward his glass house.

There was no need to dwell on Pitsu’s motives. Loyalty had already been proven more than once, and if there were personal gains behind it, then so be it... that did not bother him in the slightest.

When he reached the door, Robin casually raised his hand and pushed aside the head of the massive Holak, which was still hanging upside down like a grotesque decoration, then stepped inside without sparing it even a glance.

Creek Creek

Holak’s enormous body began swaying again like a pendulum, its head rocking slowly as it muttered in a low, almost offended tone, "That’s cold, man... that’s really cold."

But Robin offered no response, no acknowledgment.

He continued walking deeper inside until he stopped beside Seraphim.

The pen was still moving. Still drawing.

Still immersed.

Robin raised his hand just before the feather pen could carve another line into the board—then in one sharp motion—

Rrrrip

The massive board was torn apart.

Fragments scattered as Robin replaced it with a fresh one, his voice calm but decisive, "...that’s enough, Seraphim. We’ll try something a bit different this time."

The feather pen froze.

Then slowly... it turned toward him.

It trembled.

There was unmistakable irritation in that motion, as if it resented seeing its effort—minutes of continuous work—erased so casually, so effortlessly.

But that agitation abruptly halted the moment it noticed what Robin was doing next.

He pulled out two epic pens.

One in each hand.

And without hesitation... he began drawing with both simultaneously.

Perfect synchronization. No delay. No imbalance.

"....?!" The feather pen jolted violently, startled beyond measure, and began circling rapidly around Robin’s head as if trying to assert its presence, to remind him it was still there.

"Help me with the upper section of the board," Robin said calmly, already immersed in the work, "Draw with me... map out the energy transfer patterns of a human at level 41. We’ll restructure the flow from the foundation."

"....?!"

The feather pen stopped mid-air. Stunned.

That map was engraved in Robin’s mind as clearly and immovably as his own name, carved into his awareness through countless observations of every individual he encountered, and refined endlessly through his repeated revisions for the sixth path. Asking to redraw it in full view felt almost redundant, almost unnecessary...

Yet despite that, the feather pen listened.

And it began to assist anyway.

"Hmm..." Holak, who had been watching everything from his upside-down position, began humming thoughtfully while folding his arms across his chest, "Seems like something big is happening here." Then, with slow and deliberate effort, he forced his massive body to twist slightly, turning his head toward Pitsu, "Make sure to count me in for that warm drink, kid."

"....?!" Pitsu was clearly surprised.

This was the legendary Chief of the Imperial Guard.

Yet with sharp awareness, he quickly noticed something unusual. Holak’s hands were completely free, his movements unrestricted, and there were no seals restraining him in any visible way.

Which meant only one thing.

He had merely annoyed the master slightly... nothing more.

Pitsu nodded quickly, "Understood." Then he moved with urgency, adjusting the fire and increasing the fuel, making sure the warmth would build faster.

"Good boy." Holak said with a satisfied tone, addressing the young man who had already reached the Nexus State, before returning his attention to Robin, watching in silence.

The silence stretched...

One minute... then another...

Until even Holak, who was used to enduring long periods without speech, found himself unable to remain quiet any longer.

"Hey, boss," he raised his voice just a little, breaking the stillness, "after opening the gate this time, what do you think about me taking the boys to the mid sector 105 and teaching someone some manners on your behalf?"

"Mid sector 105?" Robin showed a faint, strange smile, though his hands never stopped moving across the board, "You are going to teach the Savage Behemoth some manners?"

"Exactly." Holak nodded without hesitation, "You had agreements with him, and he broke them. Doesn’t that deserve a visit from a few rapid-intervention vessels?" He pointed to himself confidently, "At the very least, I’ll wipe out 20 planets in the outer ring of his galaxy... no... 30!"

"Heh~" Robin let out a light laugh, "My agreement with the Savage ended the moment he withdrew from the mid sector 101 and sent the blood of the Kyomagi race. Honestly, I should be grateful he didn’t slaughter the Shadow Swords and settled for merely driving them away." Then, for the first time, he lifted his hand away from the board, "Only Interas and Morfius can openly say no to the Syndicate. The rest of the Behemoths... they are bound to follow orders to some degree."

He paused briefly, then added in a quieter tone, "His mercy toward the Shadow Swords... that certainly wasn’t part of those orders."

"Then what will you do about him?" Holak’s brows furrowed, his tone turning more serious, "And what about the other Behemoths attacking us? Will you just ignore them because they’re following commands? Then why didn’t the Temporal Behemoth follow the Syndicate’s orders?"

"Arkaile?" Robin stepped back slowly, putting a bit of distance between himself and the board as his gaze began scanning every intricate detail upon it, "...it seems he chose my side rather closely... or more accurately, the side of the Cosmic Elder."

His voice lowered further, almost as if he were speaking only to himself, "I need to find a way to reward him for that choice... regardless of his intentions. If I don’t, no one else will ever step forward to help me after him."

After those words, Holak continued speaking in the background, muttering and commenting on whatever came to mind...

But Robin had already shut his senses off completely.

The outside world faded.

His focus narrowed.

His eyes... began to glow.

A deep, radiant golden light surged within them, growing brighter with every passing second.

Swoosh

Four strange, intricate patterns burst forth from his forearms, rising into the air and manifesting around him with a presence that felt both ancient and absolute.

Their appearance alone altered the atmosphere.

Holak fell silent instantly.

Pitsu froze where he stood, fear creeping into his chest as he instinctively turned toward the glass house.

Neither of them could truly see what was happening...

They could only feel it.

A crushing, overwhelming presence occupying four separate points around Robin, bending and twisting the very fabric of space, as if reality itself had lost its sense of direction.

A faint golden radiance shimmered in the air...

As though four silent, unmoving angels stood guard around him.

Only Robin could see them clearly.

Only he understood their nature.

They were the four patterns of Truth... the manifestations he had painstakingly drawn and completed with his own power after centuries of relentless research and refinement.

At that moment, Robin extended his hand and pointed toward a precise flaw within the massive board, his voice calm yet carrying undeniable authority, "Seraphim, use the principles of these four runes to resolve this flaw."

"...."

The pen did not move.