Floating Island - Triple S Talent-Chapter 533: Leaving the main fortress

Silent Slash

Slash...

Lein swung his golden sword in a clean half-circle motion—swift and without hesitation. The blade cut through the air with a sharp hiss, slicing through his enemy's neck in one clean motion. Blood splattered, staining the walls and floor like red ink ruining a white canvas.

Thud...

The headless body collapsed onto the floor, crashing onto the luxurious carpet that covered the room. Fresh blood poured from the severed neck, forming a dark pool that quickly soaked into the fine fabric. The air was filled with the scent of iron and death.

Lein stood at the center of the main command room of the Maledictus Sect—Primary Fortress #8. Every high-ranking official stationed at the fortress had been silenced by his hand. Not a single one remained. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the empty wall at the far end of the room, as if looking beyond it into the distance.

"They should be making their move by now…" he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. A smile not of arrogance, but readiness.

Lein understood all too well the Maledictus Sect's reputation when it came to war. Once they realized they had lost this battle, the core leaders of the sect would definitely descend to exact revenge. And when that happened, no matter how strong he was, facing them alone would be suicide.

He had to leave before that moment came.

"At least my job as elder here is done... three major tasks remain," Lein thought to himself. His inner voice was steady, but his eyes reflected the heavy burden still looming over him.

He had no intention of completing all the tasks at once. For now, his priority was to leave the fortress. Any delay would endanger his life.

Without wasting time, Lein walked to the large glass window in the room, then leapt out. His body soared through the night wind, rising into the dark sky still trembling with the remnants of battle energy. There, he paused, hovering in midair as he looked down.

The scene below was tragic. The battle had turned into a one-sided massacre. With their leaders dead, the lower-ranked Maledictus Sect soldiers were left without command or direction. Chaos engulfed them like a thick black fog. Any hope of victory had completely vanished.

A faint smile crossed Lein's face—not from pride, but something else. "Huh... nothing good ever comes from war," he whispered softly. The words were more for himself than anyone else.

Then, without looking back, he flew off, heading toward the main headquarters of the Invictus Sect.

The journey was short. Before long, Lein landed at the front courtyard of Invictus's central command hall. He pushed open the door and entered with calm, steady steps. Inside, four figures were already waiting for him—Efan, along with three elderly white-haired men, the Grandmasters in charge of operations in this region.

Lein took the main seat, his gaze sweeping across the room. There was no tension in his face, only the firm resolve of a man who had completed an important mission.

"My task here is done. I'll be returning to central headquarters. The rest… I leave to you," he said calmly, like a general reporting a completed operation.

Efan offered a light smile at Lein's statement. Though he appeared composed, there was an unshakable unease in his eyes. He was eager to return to Pantua Island. His heart was restless. The thought of Laras possibly being in danger haunted him, and time felt increasingly urgent.

But not everyone in the room could mask their reactions as well as Efan. The faces of the three Grandmasters darkened—some even looked grim. Their discomfort was plain to see—furrowed brows, subtle glances exchanged in anxious silence. None of them spoke, but their body language made one thing clear: they didn't want to take over Lein's position. Not because they weren't capable, but because they knew the price.

With Lein gone, the consequences of his actions would fall onto them. And in this world, revenge wasn't just a possibility—it was a certainty.

"Don't worry. You have nothing to fear," Lein said, his voice soft yet firm. "The sect will send another elder to replace me."

Those words should have been reassuring, but they knew it was only half the truth. The Invictus Sect wasn't foolish enough to leave Primary Fortress #8 under the protection of just three Grandmasters after such a slaughter. Reinforcements would surely come—another elder, or perhaps even a full battalion if needed. But that would take time. And until then, the three of them would have to survive on their own… if fate allowed it.

One of them, the bald old man with a graying beard, kept glancing at Lein. His movements were subtle and quick, like someone struggling to hold back their words. But Lein didn't miss it.

"Something you want to say?" Lein asked, his gaze fixed on the old man. His tone wasn't threatening—it was gentle, almost inviting. "Speak. Don't be afraid."

The old man swallowed hard, then bowed deeply. His voice trembled as he finally spoke, "Forgive me, Elder Lein, but…"

He wanted to say he was afraid. Afraid of the Maledictus Sect's retaliation. Afraid of dying at the hands of vengeful enemies. But the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't continue. Only one short sentence escaped his lips, "Forgive me, sir… I was wrong."

Regret flowed in his voice. His face revealed genuine despair. Deep down, he knew—accepting the duty of guarding this fortress meant accepting death at any moment. And now, that oath had to be reaffirmed.

Lein stared at the old man for a moment, then gave a small nod. "You know what's good for you," he said lightly, though his tone carried a cold edge.

If the man had truly admitted his fear, Lein wouldn't have hesitated to draw his sword and kill him on the spot. There was no place for those who feared death on the path of the Lords—a path paved in blood, betrayal, and endless war.

As no one else spoke, Lein finally raised his hand. A soft glow emerged from the spatial ring on his finger. In an instant, three medium-sized chests floated out and hovered in midair. They shimmered with a faint light, marking them as legendary chests—rare artifacts that could only be earned through great achievements or gifted by the sect's top brass.

The three chests drifted slowly toward each Grandmaster, landing perfectly into their hands.

The moment their fingers touched the surface, their expressions shifted. Eyes widened like children discovering treasure. The fear that had shrouded them vanished instantly, replaced by visible joy and awe.

Without needing a command, they all stood up and bowed deeply toward Lein.

"Thank you for the blessing, Elder Lein," they said in unison, their voices echoing through the room with absolute sincerity, without a hint of pretense.

Lein simply waved a hand lightly, as if to say it wasn't something worth fussing over. "You've earned it," he replied casually, his gaze calmly sweeping across the Grandmasters' faces. He then turned to Efan and gave him a brief nod. "Alright. I'm leaving. Primary Fortress #8 is in your hands now."

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Without further words, Lein activated the teleportation scroll in his hand. A swirl of blue light enveloped his body, wrapping him in a vortex of energy—and within seconds, he vanished from the room.

The three Grandmasters looked at one another. The tension that had gripped their expressions earlier now melted away, replaced by visible relief, as if a great burden had just been lifted from their shoulders.

"Damn, we really got a legendary chest?" exclaimed the bald old man, his eyes sparkling as he lifted the chest in his hands like a champion showing off his trophy. "Shit, I can break through this level right away!"

"Yeah, we've got a few hours before the enemy gets here," said the Grandmaster beside him, his voice full of renewed energy. "At the very least, enough time to power up and hold the line."

But the third Grandmaster raised his hand, signaling for the others to calm down. "Don't get too excited. We don't know what's inside yet. Open them in the right place."

The other two immediately sobered up and nodded. They would open their chests in their personal meditation chambers—the places they believed brought them luck.

Unbeknownst to them, someone had been watching everything from above. Darius, one of the Overseer Elders, stood still in the sky, cloaked within a veil of thin illusion fog. His gaze followed every movement within the command center below.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "That man is too cunning. He leaves a mess behind, and now I'm the one who has to clean it up."

He had expected Lein to stay and handle the aftermath of the brutal slaughter of enemy Grandmasters. But instead, the man just left—handing over Primary Fortress #8 without any direct supervision from a Lord-ranked figure.

With a grim expression, Darius pulled out a communication talisman and snapped it in half, triggering an emergency signal to hasten the arrival of a replacement Elder. While waiting, he chose to remain at the fortress as a temporary overseer. Though annoyed, he knew he didn't have the luxury to refuse.

***

Meanwhile, Lein had already returned to the Elders' Island, accompanied by Efan and Dragnar. From the start, Dragnar had been with them, hidden within the shadows using his unique ability. Only Lein was aware of his presence.

As soon as they stepped out of the main portal, a bustling crowd greeted them. Families of the Elders had gathered in the central courtyard, forming a sea of faces filled with both joy and worry.

Among the crowd, Lein quickly recognized a familiar figure—Elder Thurok, walking slowly toward him while carrying a toddler in his arms. Thurok's gaze was soft, and a faint smile graced his lips as he saw Lein's return.