The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5607

One of the white-robed guards lunged first, blade flashing. Myles turned the attack aside with negligent ease, sending the man skidding backward on his heels.

Around them, bodies from the Nethergate Sect already littered the ground—some still, some groaning. The few left standing clutched wounds that bled as fast as their courage.

"At this rate, we're finished!" someone cried, voice cracking under terror.

Rowena's eyes narrowed. She knew the battlefield's tide needed turning—now.

An idea flashed—sharp, desperate.

She drew a small onyx emerald vial from her sleeve and popped the seal. Acrid fumes surged out, eye-watering and vicious.

Myles caught the scent and barked a warning to his followers. "It's toxic mist! Back away!"

It was too late. Rowena flung the vial. Dark vapors billowed, wrapping the Malevolent Path Hall fighters in a choking shroud.

Coughs rattled through the fog.

Eyes watered and blurred. Swords wavered as lungs fought for breath.

"Now! Strike!" Rowena shouted.

Whip lashing like a lightning bolt, she plunged into the haze, her ten companions close behind, turning venom and twilight into their cruel allies.

Steel scraped against steel as the disciples of the Nethergate Sect—Rowena's desperate cry still ringing in their ears—surged forward beside Jared, blades gleaming through the churning veil of emerald poison.

For a brief, breath-stealing heartbeat, the toxic haze gave them cover. Swords whistled. Sparks flared. The fighters of Malevolent Path Hall staggered, coughing, half-blind.

Then, Myles planted one boot on the fractured flagstones. Power rippled off his shoulders like a shock wave. His long sword snapped up in a silver arc, severing the poison mist with a single, ruthless slash. The noxious cloud shredded and vanished. Myles blurred—there one instant, gone the next—reappearing beside Rowena. His blade cracked against her ribs, hurling her across the courtyard as though she weighed nothing at all.

Rowena skidded through gravel, scarlet splattering the ground. She forced herself upright, wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, and tasted the bitter truth: every trick, every talisman, every last shred of cultivation—they had spent it all, and still could not touch the man who stood laughing in front of them.

What is with this Nethergate Sect, anyway? They strut around like legends, yet the escort they sent for me can't defeat one swordsman—numbers on their side and still losing. Ridiculous.

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