The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6288

Early the next morning, Jared got out of bed looking refreshed. Vivian was still lying there, too drained to move.

Jared took Roland and twenty elites from the Sky Dragon Lineage and set out for the Demon Marches.

Lydia Wraithmoor, Evelyn Ashcroft, Luther, and Grace all wanted to go with him, but Jared didn't allow it.

"I alone am enough," he said. His tone was calm, but it left no room to argue. "You all stay in Cloudhaven City and watch over home."

Lydia Wraithmoor wasn't willing to let it go, but she also knew Jared was telling the truth.

With the power Jared had now, there really weren't many people left in the Fourteenth Firmament who could stop him.

"Be careful," Lydia said.

"Mm."

Jared led Roland and the others into the air.

They broke into streaks of light and vanished into the horizon.

Gwendolyn stood upon the city walls, watching their retreating figures disappear into the distance, a faint crease touching her brow.

She had wanted to go with them.

Jared hadn't allowed it.

Gwendolyn turned and walked down from the city walls.

Lydia stayed where she was atop the wall, looking at Gwendolyn's back as she left.

Then she suddenly said, "Do you like Jared?"

Gwendolyn's steps halted.

She didn't turn around.

"Does it matter whether I do or not?"

Lydia froze for a beat.

Gwendolyn's voice came out very soft, almost like she was speaking to herself. "I've lived for over ten thousand years. I'm long past the age for talk of love. My mission is to rebuild the Frost Deity Branch. Everything else... doesn't matter."

She kept walking and disappeared around the turn in the city wall.

Lydia stood there without moving, watching that distant, frost-cold figure.

Something rose in her chest, hard to name and harder to shake.

That woman was far more alone than Lydia had imagined.

The Demon Marches lay 30 thousand miles north of Cloudhaven City, a barren land shrouded in black mist.

The sky there was always dim and ashen.

The sun stayed buried behind thick clouds, and only once in a while did a few pale white rays slip through the cracks.

Not a blade of grass grew from the ground.

There was only charred black stone and cracked, dried earth.

The air was thick with the mixed stench of sulfur and rot.

It was enough to make a person sick the moment they breathed it in.

After Jared and his group entered the Demon Marches, their pace noticeably slowed.

It wasn't because anything was blocking them.

It was because the place was too quiet.

Wrongly quiet.

"Mr. Chance, something's wrong."

Roland kept his voice low. "There are usually plenty of low-level demons roaming around the outer edge of the Demon Marches. But we've been walking this long today, and we haven't seen a single one."

Jared gave a small nod.

He'd picked up the same thing.

This stretch of the Demon Marches looked like something had swept it clean.

"Keep moving," he said, his voice steady. "Whatever game they're playing, we're ending this today."

The group kept going, pushing deeper in.

After another 2 hours or so, a massive vale appeared ahead of them.

On both sides of the vale, black cliff walls rose so high they disappeared into the sky.

That kind of strength wasn't something Darian could handle.

And now, from the look of it, Jared's cultivation level had risen again. Even a True Immortal Realm Level Three cultivator probably wouldn't have been a match for him.

"Jared, I know you can fight."

Darian's voice stayed low. "But this is the Demon Marches. This is my turf. No matter how strong you are by yourself, do you really think you can take on my thousand Demon Dragons?"

The Demon Dragons behind him let out a low roar at the same time, and the wave of sound made the whole vale tremble.

Jared looked around at the packed mass of Demon Dragons surrounding them, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"A thousand? That's a lot. But..."

He raised a hand, and purple chaotic force gathered in his palm.

"Numbers don't mean anything to me."

The moment the words left his mouth, he moved.

A purple blade-flare ripped through the darkness of the vale like a bolt of lightning.

With the first strike, the ten Demon Dragons charging at the front were swept by the blade-flare and torn to pieces like they were made of paper.

With the third strike, Jared himself turned into a streak of purple light and shot straight into the mass of Demon Dragons.

He moved so fast the eye couldn't catch him at all.

Everywhere the blade-light swept, Demon Dragons dropped in rows like wheat under a sickle.

One strike, ten dragons fell.

Ten strikes, a hundred.

In the span of a few breaths, nearly half of the thousand Demon Dragons had been slaughtered.

The Demon Dragons that were left finally broke.

They let out shrill, ragged cries and scattered in every direction, trampling over each other as they fled toward the depths of the vale.