The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6002

Quentin’s pupils constricted to pinpricks; horror flooded the cracks of his composure.

That Mystic Tortoise Spirit Shield had cost him a fortune, yet Jared had erased it with one lazy tap.

Before he could rally the armor or any other trick, Jared’s chaotic-force-lit finger slammed into his Umbral Ice Armor.

A brittle snap echoed under the trees.

A sharp, glass-like crack rang out.

The Umbral Ice Armor—strong enough to shrug off sacred blades—met the chaotic force and shattered, turning to glittering frost in a heartbeat.

The annihilating surge riding Jared’s fingertip punched through the ruin of armor and flooded straight into Quentin’s chest.

"Urgh!" Quentin’s breath burst out in a ragged grunt.

His lips blanched, shoulders shaking, as a killing chill seemed to hollow him from within.

Under Jared’s spiritual sense, the man’s meridians flashed frost-white, his aura tearing apart in jagged bursts, and even his soul spasmed with needle-like agony, dragging him toward a cold abyss.

Centuries of honed umbral power boiled away like snow flung into a furnace.

"Hold him back!" Quentin rasped, stumbling in retreat.

He forced the last threads of energy to propel himself rearward.

A Crimson Jade Talisman—his lifeline to summon Julian’s aid—slipped from his sleeve, pinched between trembling fingers, ready to shatter.

The two guards, however, had troubles of their own.

From the shadow of the boulder, Luther struck.

Two hair-thin strands of Nether Soul Threads whipped out, so faint they barely bent the light.

They were no physical blades; they flew straight for the mind.

Focused on Jared’s pressure and the sluggish air, the guards never saw the trap.

The threads vanished into the base of their skulls without a ripple.

Both men jerked, eyes clouding with pain and confusion, movements locking mid-swing.

Their rank and will kept their souls from tearing free, yet any warning cry died in their throats.

Jared never let Quentin reach that talisman.

His left hand flashed out and clamped around Quentin’s wrist.

Crack!

The bones inside splintered under that grip.

Quentin’s wrist collapsed, angles warping grotesquely.

"Argh!" A short, broken scream slipped out of him.

The Crimson Jade Talisman spun free, tumbling through the thick air.

Jared ignored it; his right hand flattened into a palm and drove into Quentin’s lower abdomen.

Every ounce of strength was measured to a hair.

Chaotic force roared in, then wove itself into countless gray chains, wrapping his energy center, meridians, even the man’s sea of consciousness.

A second strand shot higher, pressing his very spirit under an iron lid.

Quentin’s eyes rolled; color drained from his face.

Jared keeps the sleeve raised, feeling the pattern of the Suppression Glyph Technique woven out of raw chaotic force. It is rough compared with a specialist’s work, but the shape is close enough.

With his depth of power, that makes subduing two wounded fourth-grade immortals a trivial task.

He steps in, taps each man between the brows, and pushes a thread of chaotic force inside. Their eyes roll back and they sink into a silent, bottomless sleep.

Jared sweeps a quick glance over the path.

Three bodies lie motionless; nothing else stirs.

The array’s barrier still muffles air and sound, swallowing the earlier clash before it can leak any farther.

In the distance the pines continue to rustle, untouched.

He flicks his wrist, reclaiming the Crimson Jade Talisman, then kneels to search Quentin and the two guards with swift, practiced hands.

Storage pouches, personal tokens, anything that might track or identify—each item comes off, especially the badges and communicators hanging on Quentin’s belt.

"Luther, carry the guards. We leave the way we came. Move."

Still gripping the unconscious Grand Chamberlain by the collar, Jared issues the order as Luther’s shadowed form steps into view.

"Yes."

Luther doesn’t argue. He hooks each limp guard by the waist and lifts them like sacks of grain.

Jared sweeps the ground once more, erasing every lingering rune from the quick array with a wash of chaotic force.

Then the two men melt into the same pockets of shadow they used before and head for the hidden tunnel in the abandoned garden.

The return trek rides on tighter nerves.

Three unconscious prisoners slow every step, and any stray patrol could still ruin the night.