The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6129

While Jared cultivated in Sky Dragon Valley and mapped out counter-measures with Roland, a very different struggle was playing out elsewhere.

Beyond Cloudhaven City, out on the endless stretch of the Wastelands,

a single bedraggled figure tore across the barren ground at full tilt, fighting for her life.

That fleeing figure was Vivian.

For three days and three nights she had gone without sleep, running as if darkness itself snapped at her heels.

Any moment her eyelids sagged, she bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood, using the surge of pain to stay awake.

When her legs turned to water, she forced the last threads of spiritual energy through her meridians just to keep moving.

Blood seeped from half-healed gashes that had already begun to inflame; she ripped strips from her own sleeves, winding them around the wounds without slowing down.

She dared not stop.

Not even for a single step.

Behind her, Dominic led a small army—House Wagner's guards reinforced by Celestial Palace troops.

They clung to her like burrowing ticks, impossible to shake.

If she halted, only death—or something worse than death—would be waiting.

"After her!

Move!" Dominic's shout cracked across the open plain.

"Don't you let that little wench get away!"

He rode a pitch-black demon beast that thundered over the cracked earth.

His stare never wavered from the slim, staggering silhouette ahead, and hunger burned behind his grin.

Vivian, you can't escape.

Even if you flee to every corner of the heavens and seas, I will drag you back.

You were born to be mine.

Vivian's vision kept greying at the edges; shapes blurred and danced.

Her legs had been numb for so long she no longer felt ground underfoot—each stride stabbed like stepping on naked blades.

The last of her spiritual power was long gone, her body on the verge of collapse, driven forward only by a will that refused to break.

Eyes squeezed shut for an instant, she reached out with her senses, hunting for the faint pulse tied to the Spiritlock Collar that had once hung at Jared's neck.

There—

straight ahead—

Jared lay somewhere in that direction.

The thin but familiar thread between them grew clearer, tugging stronger with every yard.

She was close.

Pain split her lip as she clenched down, but she gathered the final scrap of strength, leaned into the wind, and forced her body into another desperate sprint.

Two more hours bled away.

The setting sun painted the horizon a bloody red.

Time had become a broken concept; she only knew the sky had travelled from noon to dusk and was sliding toward night once more.

Just as her body pitched toward the dirt, ready to give out—

towering mountains appeared ahead, range after range spearing into the clouds.

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