The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6502

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Beastmoor Ridge’s war preparations still drove forward at full speed.

"Every day, Beastfolk Warriors arrived from every direction.

Every moment, defensive wards were reinforced, and array patterns were drawn again from the ground up."

"Wellspring Order’s disciples laid hundreds of alarm arrays throughout the Shrouded Wood.

The sword adepts of Azure Cloud Sword Order set sword arrays on the mountain peaks flanking the mountain gate.

Around Thornwild Palace, the spellwrights of Myriad Arts Order carved layer after layer of warding sigils."

All Beastmoor Ridge was like a beast waking from sleep, baring its fangs as it waited for the storm coming straight for it.

But one question stayed lodged in Morgana’s mind and would not leave.

She sat in the side hall with an old tome held in her hands.

"It was the order’s secret chronicle that Master Wellspring had brought from Wellspring Order.

The beast-hide cover had yellowed and turned brittle, and its corners were badly worn, plainly weathered by countless years."

"The pages were made from a special kind of spirit-silkworm thread.

Across them, tiny, tightly packed characters recorded the lives, cultivation insights, and ascension records of the ancestral patriarchs of Wellspring Order."

"She had read for a long time, turning from the First Patriarch all the way to the fifth.

Every page received the same careful attention. Not a single detail was allowed to slip past."

She wanted to know why that old man in white—the Patriarch of Wellspring Order—had become the Warden of the Primordial Sanctuary.

How many years had he been standing guard there?

And was what he guarded truly only a pool of Genesis Dew?

At last, in the final chapter of the scroll, she found a blurred passage.

“The Third Patriarch of Wellspring Order, Daoist name ‘Godric,’ ascended thirty-eight thousand years ago. On the day of his ascension, auspicious clouds descended from the heavens, golden lotuses rose from the earth, and cultivators within ten thousand miles sensed Heavenly Law’s dominion. Spirit beasts knelt low, grass and trees shone with radiance, and peace filled the world.

“Yet after the ascension, the patriarch sent back no word. Later generations used the order’s secret arts to contact him, but every attempt vanished like a stone sinking into the sea, like a clay ox disappearing into the ocean. Some said the patriarch had climbed into a higher celestial realm. Others said he had fallen in the heavenly tribulation. The claims were many, and no one could settle on the truth.

“All Wellspring Order could only sigh over the loss. On every ancestor-worship day, they burned incense and prayed, hoping that if the patriarch’s spirit still watched from above, he would protect the order and let it endure for ten thousand generations.”

Morgana set the old tome down, her brows drawn tight.

Patriarch Godric had ascended thirty-eight thousand years ago, yet now he had appeared inside the Primordial Sanctuary and become its Warden.

Was the ascension false, and entering the secret realm the truth?

Or had he ascended first, then returned to the Lower Realm afterward?

What exactly had happened in the middle of it all?

What could make a mighty adept who had already ascended willingly lower his own cultivation and guard a small secret realm, guard a pool of Genesis Dew, and wait there for thirty-eight thousand years?

"Morgana sat with it for a while, letting one possibility after another turn over in her mind.

In the end, she gave a small shake of her head."

A few scattered lines in the old tome were not enough to rebuild the truth of what had happened back then.

"She needed more.

She needed to ask that old man in white herself."

Morgana rose and walked out of the side hall.

The morning light over Beastmoor Ridge spilled across her white dress, stretching her shadow long across the ground.

"The early mist had not fully burned away.

Under the sun, it carried a faint wash of gold."

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