Lord of the Truth-Chapter 1165: Servon

"The Seventh Prince…" Haros' expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply as he took in the battered figure before him. "You were outside the dome when the explosions began?"

His voice was low, laced with a mixture of disbelief and something bordering on sympathy.

Months ago, Haros had overheard True Beginning Empire soldiers laughing amongst themselves. They were joking about a delusional prisoner—

a man who still clung to his former status as the Seventh Prince,

believing that his royal blood would grant him special privileges.

According to them, he had even requested medical treatment,

as if his name alone could command respect in a place

where status was worth less than dirt.

They had mocked him mercilessly, scoffing that even a defeated prince was no different from a disgraced soldier.

Haros hadn't thought much of it at the time. To him, it was just useless chatter, the kind soldiers indulged in to pass the time.

But there was one detail that stuck with him— The Seventh Prince was in the same prison as him. What he didn't know was that he was in this state.

A sound, low and broken, emerged from the ruined throat of the left-over man before him. "…Haros… you treacherous… bastard…"

His voice was raw, filled with venomous hatred that seemed to crawl up from the very depths of hell itself.

His breath was ragged as if every syllable was being dragged out of him against his will. "From the moment I first saw you... I never trusted you…

When I learned you had become a Marshal, I raged… And now—now, you prove me right!"

A violent, hacking cough tore through him, blood splattering across his already mangled body, "Khak—!!"

The force of it sent fresh tremors through his broken frame, but the fury in his eyes did not fade.

Haros exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "Hey, don't get ahead of yourself, Sirvon. I suggested bringing you to Grand General Aro

because I saw potential in you. I know you have ambition that rivals mine."

His voice was steady, but there was a hard edge to it—

a warning, perhaps, "And I knew you were open to negotiation—otherwise, you wouldn't have tried to use your status as the Seventh Prince to bargain for medical treatment." Haros gestured toward the third prince with an edge of frustration.

"But if you'd rather die alone in this pit, be my guest. General Aro, let's leave."

"Whoa, whoa—hold on now." Aro chuckled, raising a hand to calmly wave Haros down. "If this was a lost cause, do you really think I'd still be sitting here?"

His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was a calculated sharpness behind them, "Your dear Prince welcomed me when I arrived…

He was even eager to become my assistant."

A short pause, before his voice dipped with mock sympathy.

"That is—until his pride got the better of him when he heard about His Excellency's breeding plan."

Haros furrowed his brows, glancing back at Sirvon, "And what's your problem with that exactly?"

His tone was laced with disbelief.

"Our entire race is a warrior race— every single one of us has fought on the battlefield without exception."

He exhaled sharply, his patience beginning to thin.

"His Excellency originally wanted to exterminate us all, but instead, he came up with a plan that allows our race to survive. You should be grateful to him. And to me, instead of acting all righteous."

"Ptuh!" Sirvon tried to spit at the ground in disgust—

but instead, he coughed up blood. His body trembled, but his glare remained unshaken. "Do you have no shame?"

His voice was hoarse but seething with contempt, "You're willingly taking part in a plan to domesticate our race like cattle and ducks… And you still have the audacity to sleep at night?"

Haros scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I sleep just fine knowing that I gave my race a way out."

He waved a dismissive hand, then turned back toward Aro.

"Let's go, General. Let him keep coughing up blood and wither away for all I care."

Once again, Aro gestured for him to wait. His sharp eyes twinkled with something almost playful, "Now, now—let's set aside all these formalities, shall we?"

Aro's tone was lighthearted, "Let's focus on what actually matters here.

Your options." He raised a finger. "One—I leave you here to rot. To die, slowly and painfully, while we keep on with out plan anyway." Then another finger. "Two—you come with me. You'll oversee the strengthening of a pureblood lineage for your race, AND have a General's title and position."

A slight pause. A deliberate tilt of his head. "Do you have a third option?"

"….." Sirvon remained silent.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Aro's grin widened, "Come now, Sirvon, this really isn't a difficult choice."

He leaned back, voice dipping into something colder.

"If you choose death, we will proceed with the plan regardless. Even if Haros were to drop dead right now, I would continue the mission without hesitation. Do you think it's difficult to find a thousand prisoners willing to carry out this plan voluntarily?"

Then he added, "One hundred males. Nineteen hundred females. Each of them will receive enough blood to transform their bone marrow. And from that moment forward— their only purpose will be reproduction until they die of old age. This is paradise! Forget two thousand— I could gather two million with ease."

"….." Sirvon's fingers twitched slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.

Aro lifted a hand, pointing at him casually, "So, Sirvon, I suggest you focus on yourself. You can either die—or become a General."

His voice lowered into something almost dangerously persuasive, "And since your death changes absolutely nothing, why not simply…follow me?"

Sirvon's gaze bore into Aro's, Seconds stretched.

Then— With a slow, deliberate movement, he closed his eyes and turned his head upward, as if weighing the weight of his own existence.

Aro remained still. Still smiling. Still waiting. Giving him time to decide.

Of everyone in the room, the most astonished by the conversation was Haros himself.

Once again, Aro had proven that he knew exactly how to handle every individual.

He had completely refined the Seventh Prince's mindset, forcing him to focus solely on his own fate—

because Aro knew that deep down, the prince was an absolute egotist.

Now, the outcome was almost inevitable.

And sure enough—

five minutes passed in heavy silence, each second stretching longer than the last.

The flickering lights above cast eerie shadows across the chamber,

the stillness pressing down like an iron weight.

Then at last— the Seventh Prince slowly opened his eyes.

His gaze drifted back toward Aro, filled with something dark, unreadable.

His lips, cracked and stained with dry blood, parted as he spoke—

"…You and Haros… Did you think of it this way too— when you decided to betray your own species? Is that why you're working under someone you loathe? The very man who destroyed everything you ever loved?!"

"Precisely!" Aro responded without hesitation, his voice steady and unwavering. He lifted both hands in a gesture of ease, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Don't clutter your head with all these side issues. Just focus on the choices in front of you— and pick the one that lets you live a comfortable life!"

He then lowered his hands, letting them slap against his thighs with a loud, resounding clap. "As for the one who destroyed everything you love… It's best if you swallow any hatred and bury it deep in your heart.

At least until you have enough power and authority.

Once you do—go ahead and oppose him as much as you want~."

Aro's voice was smooth, like silk wrapped around iron.

"….." The Seventh Prince's burned brows furrowed.

Aro's words could be interpreted in more ways than one.

Was he truly advising patience—

or was he manipulating Sirvon's anger, directing it into a path he could control?

"I've heard a lot about you from Haros," Aro continued, his eyes gleaming with interest. He leaned forward slightly, "I was told you were the unofficial leader of the Imperial Guards. That you were their military strategist. That you even had direct contact with a General under your Overlord in the Middle Belt."

Then after a brief pause as if to let the words sink in, "To be honest, I thought Haros was exaggerating your importance. But now —just by looking into your eyes— I realize he actually undervalued you."

A sharp grin stretched across his lips, his voice carrying a note of amusement. "And that's why I insist on having you by my side!"

Then, he spread his arms wide, his expression turning wickedly amused.

"My Third Army— It will be the largest in terms of available soldiers,

the most complex in terms of diverse species and specializations,

and the strongest in elite forces— with warriors from the Durger, Devos, and Crixos bloodlines."

His voice dropped, full of unshaken confidence."The Third Army has the potential to surpass both the First and Second Armies many times over. But…"

His sharp gaze locked onto Sirvon. "I still need commanders. I need you by my side."

His grin widened slightly, his voice dipping into a lower, almost conspiratorial tone. "As for what do you do after you grow stronger? that has nothing to do with me. In fact—if you help me build the army I dream of… I might even help you achieve your own goals."

"...…" Sirvon's brows knitted together, once again processing Aro's words. Once again, there were multiple meanings to his offer.

But after weighting everything together, he began to nod. "…Very well. But I will choose the first two contenders."

His voice steadied, a flicker of determination replacing hesitation.

"There are several martial emperors who survived the explosions outside the dome. All of them have incredibly strong bodies— their bloodlines are already powerful… And their bodies will easily accept more Durger blood."

"Hahaha! Now that's the spirit!" Aro clapped his hands together, grinning.

Step. Step.

At that moment—

the sound of many approaching footsteps echoed through the chamber.

A feminine voice followed soon after—

"Grand General Aro, I have brought them." It was Sandria.

"…This room is getting a bit crowded. Who else did you—?!"

Sirvon's voice choked in his throat

as his gaze landed on the figures behind Sandria.

Three women.

Their clothing was tattered,

and the sealing nails were still embedded in their chests.

Yet—

their bodies bore surprisingly few injuries.

And more importantly—

their faces were painfully familiar.

"Sister Titha? Sister Hethi? Sister Hithar?!"

His breath caught in his lungs.

"You're…alive?!"

"Haha! What do you think of this surprise?" Aro laughed heartily, stepping forward. "Our soldiers found them thousands of miles away from Hope City. They ran as soon as the battle started, only to fall right into my hands in the end!"

He threw his arms around the three women, embracing them from behind with a smug grin, "The famous Three Sorceresses. Haros told me that every wise decision Pythor ever made was thanks to these girls.

And that every foolish decision came from ignoring their advice."

Sirvon's body tensed. His pain—his exhaustion—forgotten in an instant, "I'm changing my condition!"

His voice was sharp, urgent.

"You can pick whoever you want to restart the bloodline, but I want these three by my side!"

"Tsk, tsk~" Aro clicked his tongue, wagging his finger playfully.

Then with his fingers running through the hair of one of the three women.

He took a deep, deliberate breath. Then, with a wicked smirk, he declared— "They belong to me now."