The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6601

Cedric stopped about 30 yards from Florian.

He slowly raised Gloamdeep and leveled its tip at Florian's throat.

"Vice Court Master Florian, die."

He was just about to strike when a piercing chill suddenly crawled up his back.

It wasn't the cold of the northern ice plains.

It was the cold in someone's gaze.

Cedric whipped around.

Jared stood less than 3 yards behind him.

The Dragonslayer Sword was already out, violet chaos-flame burning along the blade hard enough to make the space around it warp.

Those violet eyes rested on Cedric without a trace of emotion, like an executioner looking at a condemned man.

"Mr. Chance, you..." Cedric's voice shook. "What are you doing?"

Jared didn't answer.

He only lifted the Dragonslayer Sword.

Violet sword energy gathered along the blade, stretching longer and brighter until it condensed into a violet light-blade about 3 yards long.

The light-blade throbbed with terrifying power—the destruction that came when chaotic force was compressed to its absolute limit and then unleashed.

"Mr. Chance! We're friends!" Cedric took a step back, his face gone white. "Listen to me..."

Jared did not listen.

The sword came down.

The violet light-blade slashed across Cedric's chest, cutting diagonally from his right shoulder to his left abdomen.

Before the chaos-flame, the silver-white panoply might as well have been paper.

It tore open without resistance.

Dark-crimson blood burst from the wound and sprayed across the gray-white sand, hissing the instant it hit.

Cedric's body locked in place.

He looked down at the wound across his chest, his red-gold eyes wide with disbelief.

"You... how could you..." His voice was hoarse to the point of breaking, each word dragged out with what little strength he had left.

Jared lowered his sword and stood in front of Cedric, looking down at him with those cold violet eyes.

"I heard your whole conversation."

His voice was calm, so calm it was almost casual.

"From the beginning, you never planned to be my friend. You were using me, and I'm not an idiot."

"And I happen to like choosing the side with the biggest profit too. Right now, it's obvious I'll get more resources if I get rid of you—so why would I share?"

Cedric's eyes went wide. Wider than seemed possible.

A thin line of dark-crimson blood spilled from the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin.

His lips parted. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

Then his body tipped and hit the gray-white sand with a heavy thud, kicking up a sheet of dust.

Dark-crimson blood poured from the wound and spread beneath him, gathering into a small pool.

His red-gold eyes stayed open, frozen with regret and bitter unwillingness.

Even in death, he never closed them.

Cedric was dead.

The cultivators of the Abyssal Exchange saw their chairman cut down, and all the color drained from their faces in an instant.

Some turned and ran.

Some dropped to their knees and begged for mercy.

Some just stood there, stunned and helpless.

Jared didn't chase the ones who fled, and he didn't kill the ones who begged.

He only stood there with the Dragonslayer Sword laid across him, his violet eyes fixed on the people who remained.

"Drop your arcane implements. Cripple your own cultivation, and you can leave alive."

His voice was calm, but in the dead silence of the battlefield, every word carried.

The cultivators of the Abyssal Exchange looked at each other.

Then, one by one, they let their arcane implements fall.

Gold, silver-white, green—arcane implements clattered against the ground, each sharp metallic note ringing in the silence.

Then they circulated their spiritual power and shattered their own meridians.

Silver-white spiritual power leaked out of them as their cultivation collapsed, dropping fast from the Golden Immortal Realm to the True Immortal Realm.

A moment ago, they had been the Abyssal Exchange's elite cultivators—Golden Immortal experts.

Now they were nothing.

But they were still alive.

As for the ones who had run, Jared didn't bother going after them.

In the Ancient Battlefield, crawling with danger, the fugitives wouldn't survive a day.

They would die to ancient remnant souls, be swallowed by spatial fissures, or end up trapped somewhere they would never escape.

He didn't need to lift a hand.

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