The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6022

Behind him, Julian’s voice cracked through the vaulted hallway like a whip. "An assassin! Protect the envoy! Seal the treasury! Catch that thief!"

Jared risked a backward glance. Torches spilled light over Julian as the Manor Lord marshaled arriving guards, barking orders with full conviction, yet a flicker of something sly flicked through the older man’s eyes before it vanished behind duty.

Jared’s own body cut through archways and side corridors, gliding past rockeries and covered walks, his steps soundless, his pulse drumming fast but steady.

He chose every turn, every carved screen, to break Mr. Clive’s line of sight and to force the envoy’s senses to chase echoes instead of facts.

The shroud of chaotic force tucked his presence into a wrinkle of silence. Only the single faint trace Mr. Clive had marked kept the envoy from losing him altogether.

Twice a slash of silver lightning carved into empty storerooms or clipped garden walls—damage Jared had lured there on purpose, widening the uproar behind him.

A last dive over a stone bridge brought him into the outer paths of Grace Pavilion just as a fresh burst of sword-charged wind shredded air where his back had been.

Alert horns blared across the grounds. Lanterns bobbed near the pavilion, guards clustering into nervous ranks as orders snapped between them.

Jared slipped through a narrow gap where two sentries overlapped vision. His body thinned into shadow, flowed past them, and breezed through the side door.

Inside, he stripped the torn outer robe, loosed his hair, and settled a calm breath, the picture of a scholar emerging from long study.

Boot heels thundered on the stairs the moment he smoothed his sleeves, shouts driving closer.

Julian burst onto the landing, fury painted across his face. Mr. Clive followed, jaw tight, one hand at his chest, a wall of armored guards spreading to encircle the pavilion.

"Search it! Every corner!" Julian’s command cracked like ice. "The assassin ran this way!"

The manor lord’s gaze slid over the rail, met Jared’s for a brief, unreadable beat, then moved on as blades and boots flooded the rooms.

Cabinets flew open. Cushions scattered. Even Rania’s private chamber rattled beneath armored fists.

Rania strode out of the quiet room, fury flashing. "Father, what is this? This is my space!"

"Rania, an assassin hit the treasury and wounded the envoy. He may have fled here," Julian answered, softening his tone toward her while never lifting his eyes from the troops.

He watched Jared from the edge of his vision, weighing every twitch.

Jared offered the proper shock. "An assassin? The envoy is hurt? Manor Lord, is Mr. Clive all right?"

Mr. Clive’s palm pressed the rent in his inner armor, the gray sting of chaotic force still leaking discomfort across his face.

His stare skimmed Jared, then prowled over silken screens and carved pillars, hunting for the invisible thread that felt wrong.

To him Jared looked frail, aura capped near the peak of the Earthly Immortal stage—nothing like the ruthless shade from the treasury.

Yet unease clung to the envoy’s silence, as if a puzzle edge refused to fit.

Half an hour dragged by. Wardrobes lay emptied, floors bare. The guards found nothing.

The captain swallowed and reported, "No trace, Manor Lord."

"Useless!"

Julian snapped, sleeves flaring. "Keep searching. Widen the net. Lock down the inner court—do not let so much as a fly escape!"

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