The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5955

Three days later, eighty thousand li northwest along the Five-Element Range, a veil of natural mists hid a narrow valley.

The place belonged to an old secret realm of the Five-Element Sect, its entrance tucked behind a roaring waterfall.

Caverns spread wide beyond the curtain, soaked in dense spirit energy and guarded by layers of untouched formations.

Seclusion here felt absolute.

The survivors of all three sects now pressed themselves into that refuge, breaths shallow even when no danger stirred.

Deep inside the gorge, an impromptu cave dwelling had been carved from the stone wall.

Jared sat cross-legged within, skin the color of parchment, breath so thin it barely fogged the cool air.

Spirit threads flickered around him, but his hold on them looked like a frayed knot slipping under rain.

He had stripped Jared to the waist so the lamplight could reach every gash. Cuts crisscrossed the man’s chest and flanks, but the one that kept drawing Aurelian’s gaze was the fist-sized hole just left of the sternum.

The Chaos Return-to-Void Pearl had punched it there, and three days of frantic tending had done little more than clot the rim. Inside, raw chaotic currents still churned, gnawing at flesh that tried to knit.

The grotto reeked of crushed petals, burnt roots, and something metallic. He had emptied nearly every sacred remedy the Five-Element Sect possessed onto the silk mats: salves that flickered like embers, pills that tingled cold as river stone.

Now a ragged crescent of jade vials crowded Jared’s side. Their contents were already gone, the medicinal warmth moving through his damaged meridians, weaving with the man’s own chaotic celestial energy in a fragile truce.

Aurelian forced himself out of the grotto. The air beyond tasted like dust and old smoke. In the rough stone pavilion, Oswald, Blaine, the Vermilion Demon Lord, and a handful of other chiefs waited, each wearing the same grave stillness.

His throat rasped.

"The casualty report… it’s finished." The words scraped out as though he had swallowed gravel.

He lifted the thin jade slip; weak light pulsed across its face, rows of names swimming like ghosts beneath shallow water.

Every line he skimmed leeched more color from his cheeks. By the third column his knuckles trembled, the slip clicking softly against his nails.

"Five-Element Sect." He forced a breath that hurt his ribs.

Disciples: three thousand two hundred. Dead: one thousand two hundred thirty-seven. Elder or enforcer above Level Eight: forty-eight fallen. Seriously wounded: eight hundred fifty-six. Minor injuries… almost everyone else.

"Among the Five-Branch Elders—Ferrum’s life-weapon destroyed, soul maimed, still unconscious; Woodric’s vitality burned, at least five hundred years of life lost; Aquilus, Pyre, Terran: lighter wounds, but half a year before they lift a blade again."

Silence sealed the pavilion like wax.

Leaves hissed in the mountain wind; somewhere down-slope a muffled sob cut the stillness.

Oswald’s voice, usually knife-sharp, barely reached Aurelian. "Heavenly Sword Pavilion."

"Sword cultivators: nine hundred. Dead: three hundred twelve. Two sword elders gone, forty-six elite disciples lost. Two hundred seven gravely hurt; half the rest carry wounds. My Lone Peak Sword… shattered."

He lifted only the hilt, the rest of the blade long since turned to glittering dust.

He had nursed that weapon for ten millennia. Sword and soul were meant to perish together; the sword had kept its half of the pact, leaving Oswald’s foundation cracked and bleeding.

Blaine cleared a throat that sounded full of gravel. "Myriad Beast Valley."

The once-booming Beast King stooped as if an invisible saddle weighed him down; grey threaded his beard where yesterday there had been none.

"Spirit beasts: nine thousand. Dead: four thousand three hundred. Thunderwing Golden Eagle King slain, Ironback Earth Dragon King critical, Gale Wolf King lost a leg. Beastmasters: four hundred; one hundred eighty-seven dead. All three Beast-Taming Grandmasters… gone."

"My own partner, the Three-Headed Flame Lion King… he’s fading."

The last word cracked, half breath, half sob.

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