Floating Island - Triple S Talent-Chapter 507 - 4,000 quadrillion years

The river surged violently, rolling like an enraged dragon. Its current rose slowly, inching toward Dragnar's motionless body above. Only when the tip of his foot touched the flowing water did Dragnar jolt.

A searing pain pierced through his bones. His flesh blistered in an instant, releasing a burnt stench that filled the air. He growled, trying to pull his foot away, but the current refused to let him go.

The river continued to rise, pulling him in deeper. Like invisible hands gripping him tight, it dragged his body further into the vortex of time.

Above, Lein watched the scene unfold with ease. A faint smirk curved on his lips, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

With a simple flick of his hand, the river's flow intensified. He observed Dragnar writhing endlessly, his body seemingly being pulled by an inescapable force.

This prison was not just a trap. It was a dream without end, where time was no longer a mere number but an unbearable torment.

"You will spend billions of years here…" Lein whispered, his voice soft yet carrying a threat far more terrifying than death itself. "Until numbers lose all meaning to you."

Lein's hand tightened around the river of time, and he could accelerate it however he pleased.

The wider his smile grew, the faster the passage of time eroded the soul trapped within it.

"Let's try a thousand years."

"100 thousand years."

"1 million years."

Each word that left Lein's lips brought an unimaginable shift to Dragnar's existence. Within the river, his body began to blur. No, not his body—his soul. It was being stripped away, consumed by the endless tide of time.

Lein narrowed his gaze. "One billion years."

His eyes darkened. "One trillion years."

Only five minutes had passed in the outside world. But for Dragnar? It was an unending journey. He twisted, struggled, but it was useless. His consciousness crumbled bit by bit.

Lein remained standing in the void, relishing every second of the suffering before him.

The man finally lifted his head. His gaze was empty, his body nearly transparent—a sign that his mind and soul had reached the brink of destruction.

"100 trillion years."

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"4,000 quadrillion years."

Lein's grin deepened. He observed Dragnar, now reduced to a transparent skeleton. His mouth moved, forming silent words.

Argh…

"I… surrender…"

Lein caught the movement. His body leaned forward slightly, waiting.

Snap.

With a single flick of his finger, the river of time vanished in an instant. The Eternal Dream Prison cracked and then collapsed.

Lein returned to reality. Only ten minutes had passed in the real world.

Dragnar still lay on the ground, his breathing ragged. Cold sweat drenched his body, his face as pale as a corpse. There was something in his eyes—not just fear, but a deep-seated trauma that refused to fade.

Lein stepped closer, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Hello…" His voice was light, almost friendly. "Are you ready to talk now?"

Cough…

Dragnar flinched. He tried to move, but his body refused to respond. When he finally managed to lift himself slightly, a violent cough sent blood spilling from his lips.

His hands trembled, his breath unsteady. He lifted his weary gaze, meeting Lein's satisfied expression.

The world around him felt strange, as if he were still trapped in that nightmare. Or… was this merely another part of it?

Dragnar swallowed hard, then, with a hoarse voice, forced himself to speak.

"I surrender, Master… I'll talk…" His voice was weak, barely audible, yet laced with fear that had not yet faded.

Lein smirked. "Excellent. You finally came around," he said lightly, though his eyes still held a sharp, domineering glint.

Casually, he tossed a bottle toward Dragnar. It was large, filled with a liquid that swirled softly inside. Dragnar reached for it, but his weakened fingers failed to grasp it properly. The bottle slipped, striking his body before rolling onto the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Dragnar mustered the last of his strength to retrieve it. His trembling hand stretched forward, struggling, but with sheer effort, he managed to seize it. Without hesitation, he twisted the cap open and gulped down the liquid greedily.

The moment it flowed down his throat, a refreshing sensation spread throughout his body. His tense muscles relaxed, the pain dulling, and his heavy breathing grew steadier.

"Hahh…" He exhaled deeply, as though he had just escaped a scorching desert after days without water.

Lein watched him quietly. "How do you feel?" he asked casually, observing as Dragnar's body slowly regained some strength.

Dragnar inhaled sharply before lifting his head. "I'm better, Master," he replied curtly. His eyes, now bloodshot from the immense mental strain, held a mixture of fear and newfound respect for Lein.

Lein remained silent, scrutinizing him. Dragnar's once-muscular body now appeared slightly shriveled—an effect of the billions of years of torture he endured in the Eternal Dream Prison.

'That's what he gets for being stubborn,' Lein thought with mild irritation.

He had no intention of wasting any more time. "Answer my question. Can you help me absorb the Seed of Law?" he asked directly.

Dragnar stiffened. His eyes flickered before he quickly nodded. "I can, Master."

Lein smirked in satisfaction. "Good. Then we leave now."

Without waiting for further response, Lein raised his hand. A thin mist of violet enveloped Dragnar, wrapping him in his dream element. In an instant, they vanished—heading toward the Zone of Law Manifestation.

***

Meanwhile…

"His life crystal has begun glowing again, my Lord."

The voice of an elderly man in a white suit echoed through the vast open chamber. Before him, a middle-aged man sat calmly, adorned with a golden crown that shimmered beneath the sun's rays.

His gaze did not immediately shift to his subordinate. His eyes remained fixed on the distant landscape—a towering mountain that pierced through the clouds. A gentle breeze swept past, yet his robes remained motionless, as if even the wind dared not disturb his presence.

The man sat leisurely in the palace courtyard, reclining in an intricately carved chair. Before him, a cup of tea released a thin wisp of steam, its aroma blending with the crisp air.

A moment of silence followed. The elderly man waited patiently, not daring to interrupt his master's thoughts.

At last, the middle-aged man offered a faint smile, reaching out to grasp the teacup. With a slow yet authoritative motion, he took a sip.

"What a fortunate turn of events," he murmured softly, though his voice carried a weight far deeper than mere words.