Floating Island - Triple S Talent

Lein leaned back slowly on the plush sofa provided in the VIP zone, but a subtle discomfort still clung to his body. It wasn't the couch—it was too soft, too luxurious... too exposed.

From what he knew, VIP lounges were supposed to guarantee absolute privacy. Important guests were usually seated in separate chambers, hidden behind impenetrable magical barriers. But here, at the Arcteron Auction, the arrangement was different.

All VIPs—whether high-ranking kings, imperial merchants, or nobles from distant continents—were seated in one open area. No curtains. No partitions. Everyone could see who had arrived, what they looked like, and how their faces reacted to each artifact presented.

They did this on purpose, Lein thought as his eyes swept across the room.

On the upper floor of the cylindrical building, pressure hung thick in the air. Not just from spiritual energy—but social standing. It wrapped around the room like an invisible fog. Each group sat silently, yet radiated clear power. Even without activating any spiritual eyes or analysis techniques, Lein could tell—everyone here was a predator.

Some wore long robes spun from celestial silk, others donned rune-inscribed light armor, and some dressed in simple but pristine attire. But every single outfit hinted at strength—not just wealth. Even the old man in plain robes sitting quietly in the corner... when Lein focused on him, he could sense it—that faint pressure, unmistakably belonging to a high-tier king.

Not far off, Lein's gaze landed on a familiar figure. The fat young man he had encountered earlier in the elevator. His expression was still dark, his lips pressed in a tight line of smoldering fury. His eyes stabbed toward a group of girls in white dresses—the very group he had clashed with before.

That look... it was the gaze of a caged beast. Waiting. Watching. Hunting.

Simmering vengeance... That won't end with just a few exchanged glares, Lein thought coldly.

"I really don't get it," he muttered, almost to himself. "Why do kids like that never realize who they shouldn't provoke?"

Laras, seated beside him, turned calmly. Her eyes followed Lein's line of sight until they settled on the overweight youth.

"I think he knows exactly who he's messing with," she said softly, her tone thoughtful. "That old man behind the girl... he's clearly strong. But maybe, that fat brat has someone even scarier backing him."

Her voice was neutral, like someone stating facts she'd seen play out time and again. Having completed missions across realms, Laras was no stranger to young masters who thought the world lay at their feet.

Lein nodded slowly. "You're right... In this world, strength alone isn't enough. Social rank, family name, background—those can make people act beyond reason."

There was resignation in his voice. He held no personal grudge against that boy. In fact, if given the chance, he would've warned him—told him just how much danger he was in. But people like that never listened. Not until it was too late.

Lein looked away from the boy and turned his eyes to the central stage.

At the heart of the cylindrical hall, a grand platform stood tall. Four crystalline pillars glowed gently at each corner, while staff members busied themselves arranging artifacts inside transparent display cases. A massive screen behind the stage projected a glowing countdown, ticking down second by second.

1 minute and 30 seconds...

A gentle breeze drifted through the room—magic-fueled ventilation. Silent, but enough to stir a subtle vibration beneath their feet. The atmosphere was tightening. The chatter among VIPs faded. One by one, all eyes shifted toward the stage.

"Almost time!" Efan said excitedly. His face glowed with anticipation, like a child moments before a grand performance.

Since they sat down, Efan had been glancing in every direction. His eyes scanned the room, locking onto each guest as he activated his spiritual senses—trying to detect aura light radiating from their bodies.

The brighter the glow, the greater the potential—or the power. And if possible, Efan intended to approach them, befriend them, or at the very least, remember their faces.

Ahem...

Lein heard someone clear their throat softly behind him. He turned—and saw a middle-aged man standing there, wearing a warm smile. The man's long robe was deep violet, embroidered with gold—a mark of high status. Behind him stood a young man and a young woman, both wearing disciple uniforms, silent and poised.

"Excuse me?" Lein asked, his voice neutral but alert.

The man's smile widened. "Elder Lein, is it?" he said—not as a question, but as a confirmation. His eyes held no doubt.

Lein raised a brow. Only a few people ever addressed him with that title—and they all came from the same place: the Invictus Sect. It clicked immediately. The man before him had to be another elder from the same sect.

Seeing no rejection, the man stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Elder Fian. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Lein stood and shook his hand. The grip was firm but not overbearing—typical of someone accustomed to leading, but still respectful.

"The pleasure is mine, Elder Fian," Lein replied warmly, then glanced at the two youths standing behind him.

"They're my disciples," Fian explained quickly. "Still young, but full of potential."

Lein nodded approvingly. "Then how about you join us? It's always good to strengthen bonds between fellow sect members."

"We'd be honored," Fian replied without hesitation. "Then we'll gladly accept."

They sat down at the same table. Light conversation followed—ranging from the current pressure on their sect due to regional conflicts to the reasons they had come to the Arcteron Auction.

Lein took note of the two disciples. They sat quietly, occasionally listening in, but didn't interrupt. Well-trained. Disciplined. Aware of when to stay silent.

But soon, the conversation came to a natural halt. The atmosphere on the VIP floor grew heavier. Heads turned—one by one—toward the stage.

From behind the stage curtains, a middle-aged man emerged, clad in an elegant black robe lined with bronze trim. His steps were slow yet steady, his presence commanding the room effortlessly. The aura he gave off was thick, heavy, and completely unrestrained.

A Tier 8 King.

Lein stiffened slightly.

A high-tier king? he thought, eyes narrowing at the figure. That dominating presence—it pressed down like the weight of the sky.

He began to doubt what Uncle Luo had said earlier—that this was just a minor, mid-grade auction.

Because if the auctioneer himself was a high-tier king...

Then this event was anything but ordinary.