Floating Island - Triple S Talent

The remaining two grandmasters refused to stay idle. Xyrael, the man with the iron mask and a soulbone bracelet wrapped around his wrist, made his move. He raised both hands high, and from beneath his tattered cloak, hundreds of dark chains slithered out one by one, extending forward like wild serpents breaking free from their cage. They stretched out for dozens of meters, dragging along the ground with the deafening clatter of metal.

"Malchaezar, don't just stand there. Show us your star prophecy," Xyrael called out, his voice deep but laced with excitement. Then he shot forward, his body propelled like a pendulum pulled by the force of the swinging chains. The ends of the chains swept through the ranks of robots in their path.

Each time a chain hit its target, a flash of black light engulfed the machine's body, draining its energy until it dimmed completely. Only empty, powerless husks were left clattering to the ground.

On the other side, Malchaezar merely watched with a faint smile as his comrade began their assault.

"Tch... What a waste of time," he muttered lazily, like someone annoyed by the thought of lifting luggage. He reached into his cloak and pulled out another scroll—this one a vivid red-orange, glowing faintly as if containing the sun's heat.

And he didn't stop there. With a slow motion, his right hand conjured a white staff topped with a skull. He lifted it like someone holding a refined quill, and began to inscribe intricate patterns on the scroll. His movements were swift and graceful—like an ancient calligrapher carving fate into parchment.

"So be it," he whispered, his eyes flicking toward the battlefield in the distance.

The crimson scroll suddenly shot forward, turning into a streak of light that tore through the air, aimed directly at the heart of the robot army. The moment it arrived, it unfurled midair and triggered a vortex that pulled in the clouds above. Winds howled violently.

Lightning cracked down from the rift in the sky, revealing a burning storm beyond the atmosphere.

From that breach, spears of fire began to emerge one after another, their numbers growing until they blanketed more than a hundred meters of sky.

Like a downpour from hell, the fire spears rained down mercilessly, striking both the robotic forces and the frontline soldiers of the Invictus Sect.

Some of the robots managed to activate their protective barriers—energy domes typically strong enough to withstand plasma cannon fire or mid-tier elemental magic. But before the might of a grandmaster, those shields were no more than thin cloth in the middle of a storm.

The fire spears pierced through effortlessly, destroying the core power sources that supplied energy to the mechanical bodies—causing them to explode in bursts of flame.

***

Above the battlefield, Efan observed the ongoing war through a five-meter-wide holographic screen. The interactive map displayed troop formations—blue dots represented allies, while red indicated enemies. Each dot varied in size, reflecting the strength of the force it symbolized.

On the hologram, the blue dots surrounded the central fortress of the Maledictus Sect. Their formation was tight, like a swarm of ants slowly gnawing away at a massive structure. From above, the movement of their lines resembled waves steadily eroding the enemy's defenses.

But then, from within the besieged fortress, three much larger red dots suddenly appeared. They burst forth with tremendous speed, leaving trails of devastation through every blue dot in their path. When they slammed into the allied lines, the impact was like hurling fireballs into layers of butter—melting, obliterating, leaving nothing behind.

"They've started moving," Efan muttered, a faint smile curving on his lips. His eyes locked on the three red blips that continued to tear through the lines. The gleam in his gaze reflected the screen's light, filled with deep curiosity. "Most likely... Grandmaster level," he added casually, as if simply watching a match he had already predicted the outcome of.

Moments later, two figures stepped into the room, emerging from a soft blue glow—two elderly men who had earlier welcomed him and Lein at Main Fortress #8. They approached silently, their auras restrained yet formidable.

"Young Friend Efan, I can sense the Divine Heralds of the Maledictus Sect have begun to move," said the bald old man in a deep, rumbling voice. His eyes remained shut, but that did not dull the sharpness of his senses. He could feel the spiritual waves emanating from the three powerful forces now advancing from the enemy fortress—distinct signatures of grandmasters.

"Of course," Efan replied lightly, still watching as the red dots continued to decimate the blue. "If they didn't move, it'd only be a matter of time before the fortress defenses collapsed entirely." A faint smile appeared once again—the smile of someone whose plan was unfolding exactly as intended. He had positioned the robot troops with surgical precision, using them like chess pieces to eliminate the enemy's weaker units efficiently.

"Has Elder Lein given the order to move?" Efan asked, finally turning to the two elderly men behind him. Though his tone remained calm, he knew one thing clearly—if three grandmasters were now on the move, the robot forces wouldn't last long without equal resistance.

The two men exchanged glances, then slowly shook their heads. Their expressions were grim, full of hesitation. Without Lein's command, they had come to Efan instead, hoping for direction or an alternative decision. But they knew—without the leader's blessing, they couldn't recklessly involve themselves in a battle of this scale.

The three Grandmasters of the Maledictus Sect were a real threat. Their mere presence warped the battlefield's pressure—and if they attacked with full strength, the robot troops would be torn apart like glass beneath a hammer.

"Very well," Efan finally said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of finality. "Wait here."

With a smooth motion, Efan opened a portal before him. Violet light rippled outward like water, forming a stable dimensional gate. Without another word, he stepped into it and vanished, leaving the two elders behind—silent, uncertain, and slightly anxious.

"Takara... where did Young Friend Efan go?" the white-haired old man asked softly, his voice low as if not meant for anyone but his companion.

Takara, the bald man known for his composure, closed his mouth briefly before replying, "Be silent. He told us to wait." His voice was a shade heavier than usual, as if suppressing an unease rising within. He knew this wasn't the time for guesswork. Efan wasn't the kind of man to act without reason.

Several minutes later, the portal reopened with a flash, drawing the attention of both elders immediately. But this time, the figure that emerged radiated an even more commanding presence. Efan stepped out from the dimensional rift with a calm face and sharp eyes, looking directly at the two elders with a slight, confident smile.