Floating Island - Triple S Talent-Chapter 515: Primary Fortress #8, Ancient Transformer

The war was still in its early stages. Like embers slowly stirred by the wind, the flames had yet to ignite fully. Even the master-level sovereigns from both sides had not taken direct action. Most of the troops and resources were still being mobilized from the sects' cores toward the frontline fortresses. This was the beginning of a long preparation—a war of endurance, not just strength.

Lein gave a slight nod after hearing the explanation from the black-haired elder. It made sense to him. A major sect war was never about quick victories—it was a war of attrition. The goal wasn't simply to seize territory, but to completely exhaust the enemy: their soldiers, their spiritual resources, their artifacts, and even their very beliefs.

Moreover, the Invictus Sect and the Maledictus Sect were evenly matched in strength. Neither had enough power to pierce directly into the heart of the enemy's sect and force a swift victory without major confrontations. This war, no matter how it started, would inevitably be long and bloody.

But that moment of calm was swiftly broken.

"But Elder Lein," the elder's voice grew heavier, "they've been using Blood Beasts to massacre our lower-ranked troops."

He raised his hand. A magical screen materialized in the air, showing footage from the battlefield. Lein watched intently.

"What is that?" he asked flatly, though his eyes narrowed as he took in the details of the scene unfolding before him.

On the screen, dark creatures cloaked in red auras appeared. Some were humanoid, but with charcoal-like skin and glowing red veins. Others had partial animal forms, and some defied classification altogether—their bodies swirled and shifted like pools of living blood.

"The ones with the red aura are called Blood Beasts, Lord Lein. They are the creations of the Blood Sect, one of the forbidden sects in this universe," the black-haired elder explained, his voice thick with disgust, as if mentioning a vile plague infecting the spiritual world.

In the footage, one of the Blood Beasts lunged at an Invictus Sect soldier with savage speed. The soldier fought back and managed to slice the beast clean in half.

But then the impossible happened.

The severed halves didn't die. The blood aura wrapped around them, binding the pieces back together with a hiss and a flash of red light. In an instant, the beast returned to its full form and lunged again at the stunned soldier. The magical screen flickered out.

"A forbidden sect… but how is it being used by the Maledictus Sect?" Lein muttered.

The confusion in his expression was genuine. He knew the ancient taboos upheld by the laws of spirit and sect governance. The Blood Sect was supposed to have been sealed.

"The Dominion Nova Consortium hasn't banned them, my lord." This time, the bald elder responded, his voice low and filled with anger. The lines on his face deepened as he clenched his fists beneath his robes.

Lein fell silent for a moment. His gaze narrowed, drifting toward the sky as if to question the heavens themselves—how could justice become this murky?

"Interesting," he murmured, but his eyes were cold as stone.

He turned slightly, fixing his gaze on the three elders before him. "Then… what's your solution?"

He knew that such creatures couldn't be handled with regular troops. With regeneration that fast, a single Blood Beast could wipe out an entire squad in moments.

"We're relying on our combat puppet army, my lord," the black-haired elder replied quickly, eager to show they hadn't been idle.

The magical screen lit up again. This time, the night sky flickered with bursts of light from battle. A massive metal puppet—shaped like an ancient transformer—soared through the air on spiritual jets, dropping spirit bombs onto the blood forces below. Explosions ripped the battlefield apart, scattering enemies like dust.

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Other scenes showed brutal, rapid melee combat. Sleek, humanoid combat puppets cut through blood soldiers with frightening precision. Their movements were like shadows—fast, efficient, and deadly. Every swing of their weapons triggered bursts of energy from runes etched into their bodies, vaporizing the red-blooded monstrosities that charged without fear.

Lein nodded slightly. The sight didn't surprise him. He had expected that the combat puppet army would be their mainstay in this war. But he also knew their greatest weakness: the power core. Once it was destroyed, a puppet became no more than a dead statue. And beyond that, crafting even one required immense resources.

"How many combat puppets do we currently have?" he asked, his tone calm, yet carrying a sense of urgency.

He didn't want to waste time. If numbers alone could solve the problem, he knew he held an absolute advantage in that field.

"Tier 1 puppets, over 5 million units. Tier 2, around 500,000. And Tier 3... more than 5,000," the black-haired elder replied, now standing as he opened a scroll adorned with the sect's official crest. His voice was firm, tinged with pride.

Lein gave a light nod. For most, that number would be overwhelming. But to him? It was merely the beginning of what would be needed to bring the enemy sect to its knees.

"Good. For now, show me all battle data and direct field reports," he commanded, stepping toward the central headquarters without looking back.

From this moment forward, Fortress #8 was under his command. And that meant—the game was about to change.

***

Far from the clamor of war, by the side of a tranquil, crystalline lake, Luxador sat with a golden scroll open in his hands. The evening light shimmered across the water, casting a deceptive sense of peace.

His brows furrowed deeply. "He's already on the move?" he muttered, a trace of concern in his voice.

He glanced toward Darius, a middle-aged man in a black robe standing silently beside him. "Did he speak to you before taking over?"

"No, my lord," Darius replied, his tone flat but respectful.

Luxador sighed, the breath heavy in his chest. "Huftt… I don't know what move he's planning. But now that he's at the main fortress, those old foxes will definitely be aiming for him."

He stood, his eyes hardening. "Go. Protect him…"

Darius bowed slightly. "As you wish, my lord," he said, preparing to vanish into the shadows.

But just before he disappeared completely, Luxador's voice rang out again.

"Wait."

Luxador raised his hand and tossed a small object. A simple wooden sword—unadorned, uncarved, and plain.

Darius caught it reflexively. His hands trembled slightly as his eyes locked onto it. "My lord… but this is…"

"Don't worry about me." Luxador smiled faintly, his gaze still fixed on the lake's peaceful surface. "Big outcomes require big risks."

Tiny ripples formed as fish broke the surface, playing without a care in the world—unaware that the world above teetered on the edge of a bloody war. Luxador watched them for a moment, then closed his eyes.

Knowing that the order could not be refused, Darius bowed deeply. "Understood," he said quietly, then vanished with a whisper of wind.

The lake returned to silence.

But the storm had already begun to stir.