The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5927

Lindsay, silent until now, darted forward and clutched Jared's sleeve. "I'm going too!"

"Nonsense!" Ignatius scolded. "Lindsay, your cultivation is far too low. Level twelve will swallow you whole."

The princess lifted her chin, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Father, I'm already at Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Six, and the Earthfire True Scripture I practice restrains demonic techniques. I can help!"

Jared laid a gentle hand over hers. "No. You should stay. This path drips with peril. Earthfire Pavilion needs steady hands here just as badly as swords out there."

Lindsay bit her lip; moisture shimmered across her lashes. Yet after a trembling breath, she let his sleeve slide free, knowing he spoke the hard truth.

At her current level, she might end up being a burden if she went.

Winslow rose, robe sleeves brushing the floor as he bowed deeply. "Your courage humbles me, Jared. Though the Azure Firmament Sword Sect lies in ruins, these old bones retain some worth. I know every contour, faction, and hidden gate across level twelve. Permit me to act as your guide."

Behind him, Leopold and Selina stepped forward, bodies folded in solemn salute. "We follow our master wherever he treads."

Jared glanced toward Gerald. The elder offered one slow nod—an ember of approval glowing in the wrinkles around his eyes.

He dipped his chin, a thoughtful breath escaping his lungs. After a heartbeat, he clasped his hands and spoke—each word steady as a temple bell. "Then we must trouble you, Mr. Walden. We entrust everything to your guidance."

Jared brought his fists together in salute, the gesture both respectful and resolute. As he straightened, his gaze swept across the vaulted hall, lingering on the battered cultivators who had escaped level twelve and were now huddled beneath Earthfire Pavilion's crimson banners.

His voice carried, warm yet commanding, echoing off pillars forged from living magma. "Friends, remain within Earthfire Pavilion as long as you must. Mend your wounds, hone your spirits. When we carve open a path back into level twelve, we may yet need your blades beside us."

Elio and the others traded uncertain looks—torn cloaks, splinted arms, eyes rimmed in sleepless red. Then, as if seized by the same invisible chord, they bent at the waist. "We await your command!"

Fear still gnawed at their hearts, a cold animal refusing to loosen its jaws. Yet Jared's words had struck flint against steel; within that darkness a single spark rekindled.

They were not fleeing.

They were gathering strength—waiting for the hour to turn—and then they would storm back through the gates of ruin and make their enemy bleed.

Jared's final murmur cut through the hall like the first crack of dawn. "There is no time to lose. We'll set off in three days."

During those three days, Jared cloistered himself with Lindsay in the deepest chamber, sharing breath and flame until exhaustion left her draped across his chest, heartbeat fluttering like a spent bird.

He knew that once he stepped onto level twelve, untold years might pass before their hands found each other again.

So he loved her with reckless abundance, as though trying to fill an hourglass to bursting before the sands were snatched away.

Three dawns later, they gathered before the stone arch that marked Earthfire Pavilion's main gate.

Ignatius stood with the pavilion elders, sending them off. Tears rimmed Lindsay's eyes as she pressed a red-gold pendant into Jared's palm. "This is Earthfire Pavilion's protective charm," she whispered. "When danger closes in, crush it, and it will release an Earthfire True Flame Shield. Also... Promise me you will return alive."

Jared closed his fingers over the warm pendant and nodded with solemn certainty. "I promise."

Gerald had traded his ceremonial crimson for an unadorned gray robe; hands clasped behind his back, he masked his formidable aura until he seemed no more than a kindly traveler awaiting a carriage.

Vermilion Demon Lord, by contrast, lounged with irrepressible swagger, scarlet hair whipping in the wind, a grin promising mayhem to any realm foolish enough to bar their path.

At Jared's heel frisked Lucky, the small fire unicorn, scales glimmering like hot coals and tail swishing in eager loops.

Across the courtyard, Winslow waited with Leopold and Selina, their travel cloaks billowing, swords and bells silent yet taut with readiness.

His cane had been mended, his robe snow-white once more; his expression returned to placid calm, though grief and iron resolve still smoldered deep within his eyes.

"The teleportation array is ready," Ignatius announced, voice echoing off the mountain walls.

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