The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5972

The familiar valley surfaced beneath them, green ridges folding like a cupped hand around smoky shelters.

As their shadows crossed the clouds, the entire encampment erupted—the air vibrated with cheers, footsteps, disbelief.

"It’s Jared!" a lookout barked, voice cracking like a split branch.

"He’s back!" someone closer to the ground whooped, the note lifting dust.

"They’re both back!" The shout rolled through tents like night wind through canvas.

Aurelian, Blaine, Oswald, and dozens more burst from temporary caverns, half-tied robes flapping.

The moment Jared’s presence brushed them, they froze—pressure without motion, depth without sound.

Aurelian’s eyes ballooned, voice wobbling. "Brother Jared… what—"

"Heavenly Immortal Realm, level seven? That’s insane!"

The words hung between them, more accusation than compliment, and for a heartbeat Jared heard his own history cracking.

A month ago he had gasped at the roof of level five; today he stood two rungs higher, footing effortless.

Yet nothing in his veins felt hollow; every thread of force curled together, dense, collected, almost tranquil.

The allies around him shivered, as though an unseen tide kept pulling at the muscles behind their knees.

Blaine paced around him twice, clicking his tongue like a jeweler weighing gems.

"Kid, what miracle pill did you swallow? I’ve lived millennia and never seen a climb like that."

Oswald’s sword-hand trembled, not from fear but instinct; sharpness recognizes sharper.

To him, Jared stood like a masterwork blade still cased—edge hidden, promise unavoidable.

His voice went low. "Your sword intent… it’s different."

Vermilion Demon Lord bared his pointed teeth. "You didn’t see him inside that ancient refuge," he crowed.

"If I told you what he pulled off, you’d drop dead from fright. His strength now? Heh… try guessing."

Jared answered the gloating with a measured smile and a respectful bow.

"I stumbled on some fortune, nothing more. Seniors, how are the wounded holding up?"

Aurelian steadied himself, awe fading into duty.

"Thanks to the supplies you left and Mr. Morse’s guidance, the worst cases have pulled clear of danger. Minor wounds are nearly mended."

But his chin dipped. "Gerald and Winslow’s deaths… the blow to morale is heavy."

At the names, a dull knife twisted behind Jared’s sternum; grief and ice in the same motion.

He let the breath burn through him, then leveled his tone.

"Blood debt demands blood. I intend to close accounts with Malevolent Path Hall."

"Now?" The question landed like a pebble in still water.

Blaine’s brows knitted. "Your advance is impressive, but Malevolent Path Hall runs deep. The Door of Reincarnation is tricky as hell. Better we prepare further, yes?"

He lifted a hand, palm slight, and said, "No need."

The shake of his head felt calm and absolute, the kind of refusal that accepted no argument. "Malcolm and Morven are still broken," he added. "The Door of Reincarnation only heals so much. Right now is our best window."

He let the silence hang, then swept his gaze across the gathered elders. "I'll take the front. You stay behind, cover the gaps. If things go sideways, pull me out—but the first clash is mine."

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