Floating Island - Triple S Talent

He wanted them to stand on their own. To grow into their own strength.

"Still, we're all brothers here. No need to overdo it," Lein said casually, shifting his gaze upward.

Above them, at the apex of the chamber, a Dragnar hovered silently—wings spread wide as it stabilized the core of the zone.

No signal was needed. No words exchanged. The Dragnar understood.

With a subtle motion, it folded its wings and descended, mid-air transforming into an elderly man with a muscular build and long white hair parted down the middle. His eyes were sharp as a hawk's, radiating a dignified weight that came from experience.

He stood silently behind Lein, clad in a black uniform trimmed in white. No proclamation was necessary—his mere presence was enough to reveal the power of a Tier-4 King. It wasn't overwhelming, yet no one could pretend not to feel it.

"Good. Everyone's here," Lein said, turning around. "Let's go."

___

Two days earlier, he had heard news of the upcoming Grand Arcteron Auction—one of the most anticipated annual events in the neighboring city. As a collector of rare and exotic items, there was no way Lein would miss it.

Besides, with Luxador requesting him to wait another week, the timing was perfect. A short getaway, a bit of leisure while exploring one of the major cities in the Sanctus Lux Realm… and a chance to spend time with Laras and Efan.

Famous restaurants, scenic sites, encounters with other races—it all intrigued him. Lein had always been the observant type, the kind who enjoyed studying people, each with their own quirks and cultures. Every race had its own values, its own perspective of the world.

And when he saw them, he always thought of Earth's humans—those strange beings who, to the rest of the cosmos, were little more than anomalies that appeared from nowhere.

But now, after months of living in this world, Lein had come to a realization: Race no longer mattered. What truly mattered… was the will to survive, and the strength to change one's fate.

___

With Laras, Efan, and Dragnar at his side, Lein left the Law Seed Zone. Together, they made their way to the Main Hall, where the grand teleportation platform of Solareon City awaited.

The teleportation array lit up, casting their silhouettes in a ring of light. Their destination had been set.

The Grand Arcteron Auction awaited…

***

High above the skies of the Sanctus Lux Realm, a sleek warship sliced through the clouds—sharp, swift, and silent.

On its main deck, Luxador lounged casually atop a plush white-cushioned sofa. Before him lay a short table cluttered with reports and documents, each sealed with an official crest.

A circle of elderly men stood around him, dressed in silver robes threaded with blue cords. Their faces were somber, tension tightening their brows.

"How could the Council turn a blind eye to a rebellion of this scale?" Luxador's voice was deep and grim as he pushed a stack of reports toward the center of the table, sending the pages sliding across. "There are strict bans against forming coalitions with the Blood Race, are there not?"

One of the old men finally spoke, his tone steady despite the weight of his words. "I suspect… one of the Council members is involved in this war."

No one argued. The silence that followed was a quiet, damning agreement—sharper than any shout.

Luxador leaned back, stretching his shoulders as his gaze pierced the high sky above, now thick with clouds. His golden robe fluttered, long hair billowing in the wind.

"I just hope… they're willing to cooperate," he muttered, voice low and distant. As if those words came from somewhere deep within, a place even strategy couldn't touch.

It wasn't just a plan. It was a hope.

Beyond the deck, the ship broke through dense fog. In the distance, clusters of floating islands hovered—like hidden continents adrift in the upper skies.

"My lord," reported a crew officer standing silently throughout the journey. "We've entered the territory of the Black-Winged Angel Race."

Luxador merely gave a faint nod. No orders, no comments. Just a long exhale—like a man ready to face whatever came next, whether it be ruin or reward.

His face darkened for a heartbeat. Then, turning slightly upward to the sky, he whispered to himself:

"…Tch. Did I fail again?"

His eyes seemed to pierce through the layers of cloud, searching for an answer no one could provide.

"Well… if everything always goes according to plan, what's the thrill of a life without risk?" he murmured with a soft scoff, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "Monotonous."

With that, Luxador straightened his posture. His expression settled into a calm intensity as he picked up another report and read through it with sharp focus. The elders surrounding him leaned in, pointing at data, engaging in quiet debate, suggesting potential countermeasures.

Far above the floating islands of the Sanctus Lux Realm, the game of power had already begun.

***

Elder's Island – Lein's Residence

In front of the grand courtyard of Lein's residence, a young woman gently watered the garden using a magically infused watering can. Though the tool looked small and ordinary, water flowed endlessly from its spout, sweeping left and right in a rhythmic motion that gave the flowers and plants a refreshing breath of life.

Na... na... na...

She hummed a soft tune, clearly enjoying her task. Despite her position as a servant, happiness shone in her expression, content with even the simplest duties.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke the peaceful atmosphere.

A man dressed in a servant's uniform approached. "Ferina," he called calmly, though a trace of urgency slipped into his tone. "Lyra has fainted again. She's in her room right now."

Ferina's cheerful face darkened with concern the moment she heard his words. Without hesitation, she set down the watering can and quickly hurried into the house, heading straight for the servants' quarters where Lyra was resting.

The male servant watched her rush off, a faint sigh escaping him. He hoped things would be alright for her—but that was as far as his responsibility went. His task had been to deliver the message, and now, with steady steps, he followed behind.