Floating Island - Triple S Talent - Chapter 423

Chapter 423: The battle of the kings
The Caravan Ship towered in the void, its presence shaking space itself as if asserting dominance over everything. Stretching for tens of kilometers, the colossal vessel resembled a moving mountain, while Lein’s spaceship, though advanced, looked like nothing more than a small boat in comparison.

However, the three layers of protection they had erected—Lein, Aleron, and Tauriel—held firm. The violent tremors that should have torn through the structure now felt like mere ripples on the surface of the water.

Above the emptiness, the three of them hovered, gazing toward the newly arrived ship. Aleron frowned, his expression displaying unmistakable displeasure.

“Damn it… the Caravan Ship,” he muttered in a heavy voice, his eyes filled with dissatisfaction as if he were looking at something he had no desire to face.

Lein turned to him, slightly puzzled. Wasn’t encountering a Caravan Ship supposed to be a good thing? They could potentially find valuable goods or even greater opportunities.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Aleron did not answer immediately. He simply stared at the ship with a sour expression, like a man reluctant to face the inevitable.

“Just wait a little longer, and you’ll see for yourself, Lord Lein.”

Lein followed his gaze. On the deck of the Caravan Ship, five figures stood in striking elegance. They radiated a majestic glow, their auras pulsing like the light of stars.

Even as they stood still, their presence weighed upon the space around them, making the air feel heavier. One of them was clearly a Level 9 King, while the other four ranged from Level 6 to Level 8—rulers of their respective domains.

Aleron let out a deep sigh. “They’re all mid-level kings.”

Tauriel followed suit, her sharp gaze remaining alert beneath her flowing green cloak.

“Yes… This Caravan Ship is weaker compared to others. But that doesn’t mean we can let our guard down.”

Her tone was cautious, as if ready to act at any moment.

Lein finally took a proper look at the ship. Tiny lights flickered across its cold surface, like trapped stars embedded within its dark metal.

On the side of the ship, several figures rushed out, their shouts echoing through the void. Lower-level cultivators and a few immortals stared at the main deck with fear, hoping the five kings guarding the Caravan could protect them from something—or someone.

Lein’s gaze fixed on the five figures on deck. For a moment, his heart trembled.

Their aura was overwhelming. Even with his attributes exceeding a billion, he could feel the difference. This wasn’t just raw power—it was authority.

The five kings stood unshaken, saying nothing, simply existing like immovable gatekeepers of the world.

“Insane… how high are their attributes?” Lein murmured, his eyes locked onto the five kings. “Are these Level 6 Kings?”

It was no wonder Aleron—who was usually relaxed and never took things too seriously—had suddenly turned tense.

But the greatest pressure came from the man standing at the forefront. His presence was like a god descending to the mortal realm. His golden robe billowed gracefully, radiating a divine aura that repelled all pressure aimed at the Caravan Ship.

Lein swallowed hard. “Is this a True King?” he whispered.

For the first time in ages, he felt it again. Powerlessness.

A feeling almost forgotten.

Something stirred within his heart—a faint urge, almost like longing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt something like this. It was as if he had returned to the past, to a time when power was something to be pursued, not something already within his grasp.

Yet another question arose in his mind.

With power of this magnitude… who would dare to cause trouble with them?

As if in response to his thoughts, the space around them trembled.

In the distance, a massive portal opened. Dark light surrounded it, though its size still paled in comparison to the Caravan Ship. From within the dimensional rift, a black ship emerged—only a fifth the size of the Caravan, yet its design was strange, unmistakably striking.

Lein furrowed his brows. The shape of that ship… it reminded him of a pirate vessel.

At its front, a colossal skull, a hundred meters tall, was mounted, its jaw open with jagged teeth that seemed ready to devour the world. There was a distinct aura of menace emanating from it, something that made it clear this was no ordinary ship.

And on its deck, a man in a black robe stood.

His eyes—glowing red behind a mask. In his hand, he held a staff pulsating with the energy of space and time, as if the entire dimension bowed to his will.

Lein glanced at Aleron. “Who are they?” he asked.

Before Aleron could respond, Tauriel spoke first, her voice low and filled with emotion. “They are the Cosmic Pirates.”

Lein’s gaze shifted to her.

There was something different about Tauriel this time. The usual calm in her eyes had been replaced with deep-seated hatred—not mere dislike, but a long-buried rage.

“Lord Lein,” Aleron warned in a serious tone. “Be careful. They… are strong. Very strong.”

He cast a brief glance at Tauriel, a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

Meanwhile, in the distance, the five kings on the Caravan deck observed Lein and the others for a moment. But after assessing that their power posed no real threat, they turned away, dismissing their presence entirely.

Suddenly, laughter echoed through the empty void.

“HAHAHAHAHA!!”

Lein tensed as the laughter of the black-robed man echoed across the vast emptiness. The mocking tone of his voice seemed to pierce the pride of the five kings standing on the main deck of the Caravan Ship.

“You won’t be able to escape!” the man declared with absolute confidence. His glowing red eyes swept across each figure before him, one by one.

Lein watched intently. Even without standing close, he could feel the immense pressure radiating from this figure. The black staff in the man’s grasp, adorned with a glowing crystal, pulsed with an eerie energy, as if it were seeping into the cracks of the dimension itself.

On the main deck, Grandmaster Orin, the golden-robed man, stepped forward. The large-built figure in golden robes showed not a hint of fear. The gravity around him surged, causing the air to tremble violently.

“Captain Drathos,” Orin said, his voice deep and authoritative. “You have come for something that does not belong to you.”

Drathos smirked. “Not mine? Oh, on the contrary, Orin. I have come to take what is rightfully mine.”

He lifted his staff slightly, and Lein felt the space around him subtly distort. This was no mere empty threat—this man could tear apart the fabric of dimensions simply with his presence.

“The Heaven-tier artifact,” Drathos continued, “and also… the Divine Dragon. Hand them over, and perhaps I will let your ship remain intact.”

Soft murmurs rippled among the Caravan crew watching from a distance. Even Lein himself flinched at the demand. A Divine Dragon? What exactly did the Caravan Ship possess to attract the attention of a pirate like Drathos?

Orin remained unmoved. “I will not hand over a sacred being to a scoundrel like you.”

For a brief moment, silence enveloped the space between them.

Then, one of the other kings, Sylva, a masked woman shrouded in a glowing green aura, stepped forward. She looked at Orin with a serious expression.

“Grandmaster Orin, we do not need to engage in an unnecessary conflict. If we surrender the dragon, perhaps we can avoid battle.”

Lein frowned. So there was a difference of opinion among them?

Orin turned his gaze to Sylva, his eyes narrowing. “No.” A single word, but filled with unwavering resolve.

Drathos chuckled again. This time, it was lower, more menacing. “Interesting… So you choose the hard way.”

The air around them began to tremble. Lein could feel the energy seeping from Drathos’ staff, intertwining with the very fabric of reality, twisting space and time itself.

“In that case,” Drathos said, raising his staff higher, “let me show you the price of your arrogance.”

Orin let out a low growl. “You won’t do as you please here.”

Then he moved.

In an instant, the gravity surrounding Orin expanded. Space warped, as if the world itself was being forced to submit to his will. Lein nearly lost his balance just from standing near the unleashed power.

“Lord Lein, don’t let your guard down. They’re about to fight,” Aleron reminded him from the side.

Drathos, however, did not retreat. Instead, he swung his staff. In an instant, the space-time around him twisted, forming a vortex of dark energy that devoured the surrounding light.

Then the battle began.

The clash between the Law of Gravity and the Law of Space-Time shook the void. The Caravan Ship trembled violently, causing several crew members to stumble and fall. Lein held his ground, keeping his sharp gaze locked on the unfolding battle.

Orin’s first attack struck with immense force, generating a gravitational pressure so overwhelming that debris from Drathos’ pirate ship was torn apart and sent drifting into the abyss. However, with a single twist of his staff, Drathos diverted the attack to the side, letting it pass harmlessly past his body.

“Too slow,” Drathos mocked.

In a blink, he vanished.

Lein could barely track his movement, but in an instant, he reappeared above Orin, swinging his staff downward. Dimensional fractures split open around them, threatening to swallow Orin into the chaos of space.