The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5605

That same disciple had once traded blows with Jared, enough to know the man alone could never topple a sovereign, not even Esorin.

Which meant someone—hidden, potent—stood behind Jared, lending him the kind of power stories whisper about.

If Myles ever crossed that person backing Jared, he would be marching straight to his grave.

What they needed now was patience—investigation, not open combat. But Myles refused counsel, insisting on hounding Jared, and there was nothing the lower-ranked runner could do to stop him.

Jared waited alone in the wasteland between moments—a barren pocket of torn space where even sound seemed exiled. Only the stray wind stirred, fluttering the corner of his coat.

"The Dragonslayer Sword rested in his clenched hand while his eyes swept the nothingness, alert for the allies the Nethergate Sect had promised. Fate, however, loved its little jokes."

A pressure rolled toward him, violent as a typhoon. The instant it touched his skin he felt the malice coiled inside it and knew—the Malevolent Path Hall. Only they hated him that much.

Myles appeared first, striding from the gloom with four shades at his heels, each movement as silent as candle smoke. His posture was ramrod straight, the sword over his shoulder shining a glacial blue that seemed to slice the darkness by simply existing.

Behind him, the four black-cloaked subordinates showed only eyes—cold, narrow slits that watched Jared the way wolves study a wounded stag.

"So, you're Jared Chance?" Myles asked, his words sliding across the void like drawn steel.

Myles' voice drifted across the battlefield like wind leaking from an ice cellar—low, detached, and deathly cold. The mere sound of it pricked the skin the way frost bites fingers left too long in winter air.

Jared's heartbeat lurched, yet his face never showed it. He straightened, shoulders squared, and met that chill voice with one of iron. "That's right. The Malevolent Path Hall has hounded me again and again. What trouble have you brought today?"

Myles let his lips curl, a smile that carried neither warmth nor humor. "Trouble? I came to collect your life, Chance—to avenge the Grand Elder and Lord Ashcroft."

Inside, awe swelled. One casual slash and the pressure alone felt as heavy as a mountain. Myles Moffat is no ordinary foe.

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