Floating Island - Triple S Talent-Chapter 532: Slaughter

The slash screamed across the sky. A wave of energy tore through the air with breathtaking speed, crashing into the rain of feathers with overwhelming force. In an instant, the feathers shattered into fragments, their spiritual power dissipating as they fell like scorched leaves.

High above, amidst the wind and residual heat, the muscular man in phoenix form froze. His eyes narrowed the moment he saw Lein's strike. In that instant, his survival instincts screamed. He realized what so many of Lein's enemies had realized too late—Lein wasn't just strong. He was a king-class sovereign.

Without hesitation, the phoenix pulled in all his energy, channeling it into a teleportation spell. The air around him distorted with heat, a clear sign that spatial magic had been activated.

But it wasn't fast enough.

Lein was already in front of him. In the blink of an eye, the golden sword pierced through his abdomen. No words. No expression. Just Lein's calm face—cold as death.

The man's consciousness faded in silence.

[ Lord slain, no EXP ]

[ Lord slain, obtained Heavenly Spatial Ring ]

Lein glanced at the notification hovering before him. His brow raised slightly. As expected—such a vast power difference granted him no experience points. But the other reward caught his interest. The Heavenly Spatial Ring—an ultra-rare artifact—drifted gently in the air among the remnants of his opponent's energy.

Calmly, Lein reached for it and placed it inside his own spatial ring. He didn't rush to inspect its contents. There were still things left to be done.

His gaze shifted westward, toward the plains that stretched toward Primary Fortress #8. The battle there still raged. Two silhouettes could be seen—a black-haired old man and a bald figure with massive scrolls draped over both shoulders. They exchanged devastating blows, their auras shaking both earth and sky.

Without a sound, Lein vanished from his spot. His footsteps made no noise, but his presence drew near like an inescapable storm.

___

Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the Invictus Sect, on the top floor of a golden-black tower, an old man dressed in luxurious robes stood tall before a window. His left hand rested lightly on the frame, his gaze stretching toward the distant horizon.

The clouds in the sky were no longer calm. Now and then, slashes of light tore through them, slicing across like blades through paper. The constellations, usually shining in silence, now seemed to tremble—as if responding to the immense force shaking the world.

"Truly… terrifying. This is the power of a King," he murmured, his voice heavy with reverence and a hint of fear.

Before long, two figures appeared behind him, their steps light, their aura marking them as no ordinary men. Two elderly men—Grandmasters who had been fighting for two days straight.

"You've returned?" asked the richly dressed man, a faint smile curling on his lips, though his eyes remained wary.

"Yes," replied the bald old man, rotating the prayer beads in his hand. "Elder Lein said that from now on, he'll be taking over."

"Seems like Elder Lein's in quite a hurry," the other old man muttered with a bitter smile. He still remembered how fiercely the two of them had fought, yet their opponent refused to die.

"No matter," the bald man said with a light chuckle. "As long as we receive the rewards as promised, I'm satisfied."

The two exchanged glances and nodded. They turned toward the window, watching the sky, now in chaos from invisible forces—there was only one person who could create destruction of this scale. Lein, the Sovereign.

***

Deep within the northern mountains, a towering black structure stood—the main headquarters of the Maledictus Sect. Inside its grand yet oppressive great hall, an emergency meeting was underway. The sect's high elders sat in a circle around a long obsidian table. The weight of their presence made the air cold and heavy.

At the center of the table, a middle-aged man clad in black and gold robes received a scroll from one of his subordinates. He unfurled it slowly, reading each line with sharp attention. His eyes narrowed, and his brows furrowed deeper with each word.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, voice low and rumbling. "They've sent a King-level Sovereign to Primary Fortress #8."

An elder to his right shrugged dismissively. "Sending a King to such a remote outpost? How foolish of them."

But before the comment could spark laughter, another elder cut in with a more serious tone. "Don't be so quick to mock them. Even if Primary Fortress #8 is far from the main front lines, if we lose it, troop morale will collapse."

That remark silenced the room. Eyes darted from one to another, tension thick in the air. Each of them was deep in thought, weighing the next step to take.

"I'll go," said a heavy voice from the end of the table. A massive man rose to his feet, his body sculpted like stone, a colossal mace strapped to his back. "If I'm not mistaken, that Sovereign is only first-tier, right?"

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The man at the center of the table slowly lifted his head, gazing at the muscular warrior with half-lidded, weary eyes that still gleamed sharply. "You've been assigned to guard the Eastern Fortress. Don't waste your time on this."

His tone was flat, yet carried enough force to crush the big man's resolve.

Without waiting for a rebuttal, he turned his gaze to another man on his left. This one had a handsome face, skin as pale as porcelain, and a calm, cold stare like a frozen lake. A threatening aura hid beneath his refined appearance.

"Go. Eliminate him quickly," the sect leader ordered, his voice quiet but resolute.

The handsome man rose without a word. In one fluid motion, his body faded, vanishing as though swallowed by shadows. No sound. No trace.

Several elders looked displeased. One of them, a wrinkled old man with sunken eyes, spoke in a low but sharp voice. "Sect Leader… isn't that too reckless? Sending one of our honored elders to deal with a mere first-tier King? Isn't that overkill?"

The complaint didn't stand alone. A few others muttered in agreement, voices rising in a low rumble of discontent.

But the sect leader simply raised one hand, the gesture calm but firm. All voices immediately fell silent.

"Enough," he said, his voice raspy and slow. "Stop debating it. He'll finish the job within a day."

Silence blanketed the hall. No one dared to object further. Because even though none of them said it aloud, they all knew—the man just sent was no ordinary elder. He was the shadow of death within the Maledictus Sect. And when he moved, the enemy had only one fate: total annihilation.