Floating Island - Triple S Talent-Chapter 517: Robot army

Eron's spear of light struck the barrier with a resounding clang, a metallic screech slicing through the air. He gritted his teeth, gripping the weapon tighter with both hands as he injected more of his faith energy into it. But there was no crack, no weakness. The barrier didn't even flinch.

"Give up, child," the middle-aged man said with a mocking grin, his black staff spinning effortlessly in the air.

"Flame Arrow."

"Flame Sword."

In an instant, a three-meter-long flaming sword hovered beside him, forming a circular formation. Above his head, a massive flaming arrow took shape, its tip trembling slightly—a clear sign of the destructive power it was holding back.

Huff...

Eron took a heavy breath. His body wavered, his breathing ragged. His faith energy was nearly depleted, and his body had reached its limit. He watched as the flaming arrow shot toward him—fast, sharp, and deadly.

"I have to fall back…" he whispered in his mind.

Quickly, he pulled back his spear and tried to retreat. But there was nowhere safe to go. Within a twenty-meter radius, fire had already consumed the forest. The searing air clawed at his skin, burning the leaves and soil.

"You won't escape again."

The man's voice sounded like flames erupting from the depths of hell, making Eron's heart pound violently. Terror crept in, but there was no time for fear.

His mind raced—chaotic, panicked. No escape. So he did the only thing he could: he chose to stand his ground.

Eron began throwing light orbs in every direction—without hesitation, without a plan. His body moved like someone caught in a storm of despair, fighting a fate that had already been written.

Boom…

The flaming arrow collided with one of the orbs, erupting in a thunderous explosion. The force and blinding light pushed the man back several meters. But Eron didn't stop. He kept throwing orb after orb, as if trying to cover the entire world in his final light.

Boom…

Boom…

"DIE!!!" Eron screamed, his voice hoarse with frustration and hopelessness.

But amidst the blasts, Eron's eyes caught something strange. The flame swords and arrows were still floating… but the man had vanished.

Tsk...

A chill crept up his spine. Before he could turn, something pierced through his back. The tip of a flaming sword burst out from his chest, its heat scorching as blood gushed out violently.

Ugh...

Eron groaned, his body going limp. His breath caught as he stared at the blood pouring from his own chest, glowing under the fire's light. The surrounding flames began to break through his natural defenses. He could feel it—slowly, piece by piece, his protective layer was burning away.

Then, a raspy voice slid into his ears. Close. Too close.

"I told you… you wouldn't escape."

It was the voice of death itself. Eron trembled—not out of fear, but because he knew… the end had come.

His vision blurred, his gaze swayed, but his mind fought to stay conscious. He tried to count. How long had he held on? How much time had he bought?

More than ten seconds… was that all?

His heart ached. It wasn't enough. Not yet.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered faintly. No one heard it, but the words spilled out on their own, a final regret he couldn't hold back.

The middle-aged man chuckled behind him. "I told you, there was no escape," he said again, as if death needed to be declared twice.

Eron could feel the man readying to drag the sword downward, to cleave his body in two. The pain was growing—but then, the motion stopped.

Something was wrong.

The man's body went stiff. The sword's tip didn't move. Eron, though barely conscious, could feel it.

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Something… had happened to him.

Crack...

A sharp, brutal cracking sound—like a skull being crushed—rang out in his ears. The man suddenly went limp, his body collapsing forward. The flaming sword slid out of Eron's chest, freeing him from the grip of death.

His eyes widened, shocked and confused. "What just happened?" he screamed in his mind, his breathing ragged, blood still dripping from his wounds.

In front of him, explosion after explosion rose into the sky. Thick black smoke formed massive clouds, rolling upward. Waves of energy burst from the ground into the air, shaking the earth and deafening the skies.

Realizing he was still in the heart of the battlefield, Eron forced his body to absorb whatever energy remained. With one swift motion, he leapt from the flames and landed atop a massive tree at the edge of the field. His breathing was heavy, the wound on his chest burned, but he stayed alert.

From where he stood, he could see the middle-aged man's body—headless, lying still.

"Did… reinforcements arrive?" he muttered, still trying to comprehend what had just occurred. But when his gaze shifted toward the horizon, he knew—this was more than just backup.

"The others…" His mind instantly snapped back to his scattered companions. He turned, ready to rush after them along their previous path.

But his steps froze.

His eyes widened. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Before him, as far as he could see, the sky and land were flooded with an army of gleaming metal. Hundreds of thousands of two-meter-tall robots marched in perfect formation, like an unstoppable wave of steel, all heading toward a single point—the battlefield.

Above them, towering robots 10 meters tall floated in the air, moving like futuristic warships. The low hum of their engines filled the air, and the wind from their flight swept Eron's silver hair backward.

"This is insane… What the hell is going on? Has a war between realms begun?" he whispered, horrified. His voice trembled, his body shook slightly at the scale of the power moving before him.

Swush!

One robot zipped past the tree he stood on, the force of its motion sharp and strong, stripping the leaves from the branches.

After several seconds, Eron finally caught his breath. He swallowed hard, realizing that this army… was not the enemy. The fear slowly gave way to awe and an uncontrollable sense of wonder.

"Thank the Light they're on our side…" he thought, then without wasting another second, he dashed after his friends, following the path they had taken.