The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5505

"Because ignorance misled you, I spare your lives today," Jared said, voice calm yet ringing with unarguable command. "But the fragments of soul you lost—those were your own choice. Blame no one else."

Though softly spoken, his words pressed down like iron.

Some lowered their eyes in shame, others smoldered with helpless anger, and a few simply stared, hollow.

All remembered how they had mocked his warnings and attacked him side by side.

Jared turned toward Edison and lowered his hand. Invisible force hammered the man to his knees, pinning him to the stone floor.

"W-What are you doing? I'm from the Sixth Hall! Harm me, and Mr. Hexford will hunt you down," Edison sputtered.

Jared's laugh was cold and thin. "Mr. Hexford? He's nothing. Even if he wished to spare me, I would never spare him. I came to level seven for his head."

Hearing that, the gold-robed cultivator's face drained of every trace of hope.

Jared glanced over his shoulder. "Flaxseed, time to leave."

"And this fellow?" Flaxseed asked, tipping his chin at the pinned man.

"Leave him be. Once we step out, others will collect the debt." Jared's tone made the matter final.

With that, Jared turned and walked away, boots echoing in the stunned hush.

He was certain the half-souled cultivators behind him would soon vent their fury on the true culprit.

Between massive fingers, he rolled a milk-white charm. Candlelight danced across its surface, casting secret runes that pulsed softly, as though breathing.

Flames wavered along the walls, restless sprites splashing shadows over Drystan's features, sharpening the predatory curve of his smile.

Moments earlier, he had received word from Edison. Everything at the Soul Convergence Altar was proceeding perfectly.

That message—brimming with pride—boasted that the Soul Urn already held nearly one thousand soul threads. In a few more days, it would be delivered to Malevolent Path Hall in exchange for favors bought only in darkness. Drystan had tasted the reward in advance—promotion, prestige, power—and the taste curled his lips in unconscious delight.

Elsewhere in the treasury, mountains of celestial gems waited. Once he handed those treasures to Third Hall's Enaricus, his ascent inside the Celestial Palace would be all but sealed.

But fate delights in ambush. A message talisman, cracked and spiraling like a dying comet, darted through the doors. It burst mid-air—paper shredding into embers—while a voice, ragged with terror, fluttered through the smoke, half-formed, half-lost.