Floating Island - Triple S Talent

As they caught up to Lein, Laras leaned in close and whispered something to him. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the low hum of the grand hall.

"Brother Lein… I have a bad feeling about this," she said softly, like a shadow speaking through breath.

Lein didn't stop walking. He simply glanced at her and replied in a quiet, steady voice filled with certainty.

"No need to worry. I'm here," Lein said firmly.

There was no trace of jest in his voice. With Dragnar residing within him, Lein felt an unwavering sense of security. He had already scanned the area upon entering the building and had only sensed a few King-tier auras—none stronger than mid-tier Level 3 Kings. Nothing that could threaten him.

Besides, the spatial ring on his finger held hundreds of life-saving artifacts—hidden trump cards he could activate the moment things went south. Even if he were to face a high-level King, he was confident he could escape without sustaining serious injuries.

Still, Laras gripped both of his hands tightly. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, but her breathing had grown faintly uneven. Her unease was palpable—a gut feeling she couldn't simply dismiss.

Lein glanced at her and immediately noticed it. With a calm expression, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Relax. Nothing will happen. I promise," he said again, this time more softly, more reassuringly.

It was the first time he'd ever seen Laras truly afraid. Usually, she was composed—even in the face of danger.

Laras turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his. Then slowly, a faint smile curved her lips.

"Alright, Brother Lein," she replied gently. But the flicker of worry behind her eyes hadn't quite faded.

They arrived at a large glass elevator and stepped inside along with several other guests. Lein pressed the button for the 27th floor—the one their informant had told them would host the Arcteron Auction.

The atmosphere inside the lift was tense but quiet. Most passengers stood in silence, exchanging glances without speaking, each cloaked in their own dignity and pride.

But Lein and Laras couldn't help but notice one group that stood out.

At the center of the elevator stood a young woman in an elegant white dress, her presence composed and unshakable. Flanking her were two elderly men in pristine white robes. Their expressions were calm, but their eyes carried the alert sharpness of seasoned guardians. The air around them was different—powerful, cautious, dangerous. Clearly, they weren't ordinary attendees.

"Young Miss, are you sure that plant will appear in a small-scale auction like this?" one of the old men whispered. Though his voice was low, it carried clearly in the enclosed space.

The young woman turned slightly. Her jet-black hair cascaded smoothly over her shoulders. Her gaze was sharp, her tone firm.

"Uncle Lou, I'm certain. We just need to win it—no matter the cost."

Her words left no room for argument. Though she spoke with composure, there was a commanding pressure behind every syllable—like a decree already set in stone.

Several people, including Efan, instinctively glanced in her direction. But no one dared speak. The aura she radiated made it clear—this wasn't just some noble heiress playing bidder.

Lein narrowed his eyes, studying her quietly. There was something unusual in her tone—a conviction that didn't come from mere speculation. It was as if she knew something others didn't.

A plant? he wondered. Could that be one of the spirit artifacts they mentioned?

The lift continued to rise, and with it, a subtle pressure built up within the enclosed space. Not from any visible threat, but from the sheer number of individuals hiding unknown intentions beneath calm faces.

Meanwhile, the old man remained silent in the face of the girl's determined words. Not because he was afraid, but because he understood. Her position—both in bloodline and sect—was far above his. In this, he had no authority to argue.

Eventually, he just gave a quiet nod and a faint smile.

"I hope your instincts are right, Young Miss," he murmured, before returning to his upright, serene posture—like the conversation had never happened.

Silence reclaimed the elevator... until an irritating voice shattered it.

"Hey, old man," someone called out mockingly, his tone dripping with arrogance. "What did you mean by calling this a small-time auction? Are you insulting the Rainbow Valley Sect—the host of Arcteron?"

Though his voice wasn't loud, the provocation in it cut through the tension like a knife.

Everyone's gaze shifted toward the speaker—a plump young man clad in a long robe lined with gaudy golden embellishments. Rings encrusted with jewels adorned every finger, sparkling obnoxiously beneath the lift's lights.

Two seductive women clung to each of his arms, vying for attention like accessories on display. Behind them stood two grim-faced middle-aged men whose cold gazes and stone-like presence hinted they weren't just bodyguards—they were enforcers.

He didn't need to introduce himself. His wealth and power screamed it for him, loud enough that several people averted their eyes just to avoid drawing his ire.

But the old man merely glanced sideways. His brow furrowed—just slightly—then he turned his head away, ignoring the young man completely as if he were less than a breeze in the wind.

That indifference only poured fuel on the fire.

The plump man's face turned red in an instant. He stepped forward, jabbing a finger aggressively.

"What the hell was that look for, huh!? Do you even know who I am!?" he barked, his voice echoing in the narrow space.

Before the tension could escalate further, a soft sound interrupted.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

Floor 27.

The girl in the white dress didn't say a word. Without turning her head or acknowledging the drama, she and her two guardians stepped out with elegant, purposeful strides. In moments, they disappeared beyond the arch of the main corridor—silent and untouchable.

Lein watched the scene with a faint grin, stepping out of the elevator behind them.

"Lucky kid," he muttered, not quite clear whether he meant it sarcastically or with pity.

Efan followed behind, eyes wide with awe as he glanced at the still-fuming young noble stuck inside the lift.