The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6484

"At dawn the next day, the night had not yet fully withdrawn.

A thick, ink-dark color still pressed heavily over the sky above Everspire."

"Far out along the horizon, a faint line of pale gray-white split the edge of the world.

The first weak daylight was as thin as a cicada’s wing, nowhere near strong enough to pierce the weight of the night."

"Cold morning fog spread through the entire city.

White mist coiled around upturned eaves, bracketed roofs, and flagstone streets, carrying the biting chill left over from deep winter. When it brushed against skin, it raised a fine, needling cold."

"All of Everspire still lay sunk in deep sleep.

The long streets that were usually packed with voices and endless carriages had shed every trace of bustle. The flagstone road had been dampened by the morning fog, and a cold sheen of water glimmered across it."

"The shops lining the street kept their doors and windows tightly shut. Banners hung limp in the still air.

Only the occasional clear, lilting birdsong drifted out from the trees, piercing the quiet fog and lightly breaking the ancient city’s silence. Yet each sound vanished almost at once, leaving the cold stillness even heavier than before."

Within the top-floor guest room of the Blackstone Tower, Master Wellspring had already risen.

"No candles burned in the room.

Only a thin thread of dawn seeped in through the window, barely giving shape to the plain space around him."

"The wooden table and chairs were simple, with not a trace of luxury worked into them.

A faint trace of sandalwood still lingered in the air, mingled with the cool, clean presence of spirit stones."

"Master Wellspring stood before the window in a clean, plain inner robe.

His frame looked lean and upright, his back held perfectly straight. Only the depths of his eyes carried the marks of a night without rest, along with a weight too heavy to hide."

He had not slept all night.

"It was not because the guest room was too crude, or because the bed had failed him.

Too many concerns had tangled through him like a snarl of hemp cord, leaving no room for sleep to take hold."

"Through the night, he had sat still on the couch with his eyes closed, gathering his focus again and again.

In his mind, he replayed every detail of the coming journey to the Primordial Sanctuary, turning each step over until there was nothing left untouched."

"Osric’s hidden schemes, the brutal rumors that had followed the Primordial Sanctuary for years, the unknown dangers waiting within the sanctuary, and that frail wisp of soul sealed inside the phial against his chest—each one pressed down on him in layer after layer.

By the time dawn came, that weight had never once let him settle."

"He understood better than anyone what it meant to step into the Greywild Mountains and head for the Primordial Sanctuary this time.

It was no different from walking his own body straight into danger."

"That secret realm was known to the world as a place of no return.

Across thousands of years, countless cultivators had forced their way inside. Most had left no bones behind, and only a handful had ever come back alive. Calling it a nine-deaths-one-life journey was not exaggeration."

"But he had no other path.

For the Aureate Heir, Jared, and for the one portion of Genesis Dew that could rebuild a physical body, he had to keep moving forward, even if the road ahead was all blades and fire."

"He had to prepare for everything.

Every loose end, every hidden flaw, every possible danger had to be stripped away. Only then would he have even the thinnest chance of walking out of the secret realm alive, bringing the Genesis Dew back with his own hands, and helping the Aureate Heir rebuild his body and return to the Top Level."

"Master Wellspring drew his gaze back from the distance.

Then he slowly raised his hands and straightened his robes."

"He crossed to the copper basin of clean water in the room.

With his fingertips, he dipped into the cool water and wiped it across his face and wrists."

"The chill slid over his skin and cut through some of the heaviness left by the sleepless night.

His scattered focus, at last, steadied by a narrow margin."

After washing, he took a brand-new blue Daoist robe from his Storage Ring.

"The robe was plain, without elaborate embroidery or decorative patterns.

It had not been woven from any precious spiritual silk, either. It was only the most ordinary garment a cultivator might wear, but it had been washed clean, pressed flat, and kept crisp."

"The soft fabric settled neatly against his body.

It made his figure look even leaner and more solitary, while the clear, detached bearing of the Aureate Way seemed to gather quietly around him."

"This was Master Wellspring’s lifebound arcane implement.

It had accompanied him through several hundred years of cultivation, through countless dangerous places, through the slaying of demons, the breaking of formations, and the cutting down of enemies. After battle upon battle, it had long since fused with his spiritual power and his very awareness."

"Within the blade, Master Wellspring’s pure Aureate Way spiritual power had lingered year after year.

Man and sword moved as one, linked by intent. It was the support he trusted most, and the one he could rely on best."

"He flicked the blade lightly with one fingertip.

A clear metallic ring sounded through the silent room, then spread slowly outward, the lingering note refusing to fade."

Master Wellspring kept his eyes on the blade, his gaze steady. Then his wrist shifted, and Willowbrand slid back into its sheath before he fastened it at an angle along his waist.

Everything on him had been checked from end to end. Not the smallest flaw remained.

Master Wellspring drew in a deep breath of cool mist and pressed down the churn beneath his breastbone. Then he raised his hand and pushed open the wooden door of the guest room.

The wooden door gave a faint creak as it moved. Beyond it, the morning fog hung heavier than it had inside the room.

"In the gray-white haze, two figures stood in silence. They did not speak, and they did not move.

Their auras could not have been more different, yet both carried the same clear distance, the kind that warned strangers not to come close."

They were the two Golden Immortal cultivators Osric had arranged ahead of time, both under orders to accompany Master Wellspring to the Primordial Sanctuary.

The man on the left was powerfully built, broad and upright, a full seven feet and then some. His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow, his whole frame packed tight with controlled strength.

His features were sharply cut, every line hard. The edge of his jaw looked cold and severe, with not a trace of softness in it.

His skin held a cold pallor shaped by years spent roaming dangerous places and soaking in baleful energy. His brows were thick, black, and blade-sharp, slanting up toward his temples.

"The hardest thing to look at was his eyes. They were black and deep, without even a flicker of light, as if carved from ten-thousand-year frost.

Nothing rose or fell in those depths. They were cold, hollow, and empty, and a single careless glance from him could send a chill crawling over the body."

He wore a pure black fitted combat outfit that clung to his body and laid out every smooth, solid line of muscle. His bones and tendons looked brutally strong, with explosive force buried under the surface.

"A short blade hung at each side of his waist. Both sheaths were pitch-black from end to end, their surfaces carved with tangled dark patterns.

Deep inside those patterns, a cold gleam seemed to move. A piercing, sinister chill seeped from them, making it clear at a glance that they were no ordinary weapons."