The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6088

Ten thousand miles beyond the Sacred Mountain

Jared and Luther drifted through the sky, their course as aimless as their thoughts.

They needed the Celestial Basilica, yet neither knew where to find it.

The Fourteenth Firmament dwarfed the thirteenth; without landmarks, the vastness felt endless.

"Mr. Chance, which way do we go?" Luther called, the wind tugging at his cloak.

Jared scanned the rolling forests and jagged valleys below. Not a single city broke the green expanse.

"We find someone who knows the roads first," he decided.

"There should be a small city or trading post nearby," Jared added.

They were just about to move when the air ahead trembled.

The clash of weapons drifted from afar, braided with a woman's furious shout and a man's mocking laughter.

A shrill plea for help tore across the valley.

The scream shredded the quiet like torn silk, echoing between the cliffs.

Jared met Luther's eyes.

In the same breath they became streaks of light, racing toward the disturbance.

The clamor drew them to the western rim of the gorge, where sparse trees thinned into open ground.

Five celestials in bright gold armor tightened a rough circle around the woman in white. Metal edges clinked against metal as they shifted their stance, blocking every gap that might let her slip away.

Grace looked no older than her early twenties, her features soft as a spring lotus, yet sweat streaked the gentle lines. Blood striped the hem of her robe, and a deep sword gash split her left shoulder clear to bone.

She kept both hands on an emerald-green longsword. Each time the blade breathed, a phantom azure roc coiled along the edge and vanished again, proof the weapon had never belonged to an ordinary forge.

Grace's realm stopped at High Immortal Level Four; the aura told her as much. All five opponents stood at Level Five at minimum, and the bearded brute in front carried the oppressive weight of a Level Six peak.

The brute laughed and dragged the back of his sword across a rock. "Run on, little rabbit! Why've you stopped?" His voice rang against the cliff walls, louder than the whistle of the wind.

He licked cracked lips, eyes drifting over her with open hunger. "Three thousand miles from Cloudhaven City to here, and you still dance. If headquarters didn't want you alive, I'd have split you in half long ago."

Grace forced her breath past the sting in her shoulder. "The Celestial Palace disgraced itself—slaughtered my parents, butchered my Moonridge Sect. I'll chase you in death if I can't in life."

"Death?" The brute barked a laugh that shook his breastplate. "You think ghosts frighten us?"

He jabbed a thumb toward his own chest. "Remember who wiped the Ghost Clan off the maps. Believe me, lass, we sleep fine at night."

His grin widened. "Sacred Mountain needs offerings. You'll fill the altar nicely. Boys, grab her. Don't break the merchandise." Boots scraped as all five leapt forward.

Blades flashed in concert, their formation cutting off sky and ground alike. The ring closed before the fallen leaves finished stirring.

Grace bit down on pain and met the first sword head-on. Her emerald blade scattered teal light in an arc, barely turning aside a strike that would have taken her hand.

Steel screeched, sparks snapped across dry grass, and still they pressed her from every angle. The next breath would finish the chase unless a miracle landed between heartbeats.

Sweat blurred her vision; swords glittered on every side. The gap to escape vanished the moment it appeared, and raw fatigue pulled at her wrists.

A streak of dull gray light split the sky like summer lightning. It slammed toward the bearded brute with a crack that made the pines sway.

"Who's there!" He jerked up his blade, boots skidding in startled gravel.

Steel met steel midway.

Clang!

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