The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5638

The Celestial King still stood where he had first appeared, eyes vacant, as though this cataclysm were no more than wind passing through reeds.

Half an hour dragged by. All three combatants bled strength, yet Jared drew fresh reserves, siphoning stray celestial energy from the air to refill his lungs and limbs.

Jaehaerys and Brennan were not so blessed. Their faces had gone ash-pale, their breathing ragged, each heartbeat louder than the last.

Every clash sharpened Jared further. Even pressed by two masters, he still held the line, growing stronger stroke by stroke.

Jaehaerys fought for breath, shoulders lifting like bellows. "Boy, what are you?" The words scraped from his throat, equal parts demand and disbelief.

"Who I am is meaningless. What matters is that tonight you breathe your last," Jared answered, his voice flat as winter steel.

Footsteps rang across the ruin-littered courtyard, crisp and hurried. Through the drifting dust strode Sylvia, cloak snapping behind her. The instant she took in the scorched flagstones and blood-slick walls, the color drained from her cheeks.

"Jared, are you hurt?" Concern thickened her tone, though her stance was already poised for war.

"Nothing serious," Jared said, brushing ash from his sleeve. "Sylvia, why have you come?"

She stopped an arm's length away, gaze sweeping over him for hidden wounds. "I followed because I feared for you," she admitted, soft yet steady. "I never imagined the danger would be this real."

Her eyes iced over as they shifted to Jaehaerys and Brennan. "You dared lay a hand on Jared? You just signed your own death warrants."

Both hall masters blanched, sweat beading at their brows. Sylvia stood at the Heavenly Immortal Realm—a summit they had never reached. If she joined the fray, they knew survival would slip beyond prayer.

Jaehaerys forced a brittle smile. "Ms. Vale, this is an internal matter of the Celestial Palace. I ask that you stay neutral."

"Internal?" She let the single word fall, sharp as broken glass.

He refused to borrow another warrior's strength. Victory earned alone honed the edge of his soul. Near-death battles had become whetstones. Each brush with the Reaper tempered him faster than months of silent cultivation. Let danger come again. I will rise higher once more.

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