The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6746

No light emerged from the fissure.

It was as black as solidified ink, and standing before it, Jared could feel the faintest current of air flowing from within, carrying an indescribable presence.

The first time he noticed it, a Ghost Clan cultivator happened to approach. Without pausing or hesitating, the man stepped inside.

Darkness swallowed his figure, and he vanished in an instant without making a sound or leaving a trace.

Jared waited, but no movement came from within, and the cultivator did not return.

From then on, he watched the fissure more closely.

Over the next several days, more Ghost Clan cultivators arrived and walked into it. Not one of them ever emerged again.

Most wore no expression as they entered. Their steps were steady, with neither fear nor anticipation, as if they were carrying out the most ordinary of duties.

"Is this some kind of teleportation array?" Jared wondered aloud.

Yet that did not seem right.

A teleportation array ordinarily produced spiritual fluctuations. Sigils would light up, and space would show signs of distortion.

The fissure produced no reaction at all. It simply remained there, as quiet as an ordinary crack in the rock, while swallowing one life after another.

Jared decided to ask Ghost Seven when an opportunity arose.

Before he could do so, however, he saw something unfold before his eyes.

It happened one evening, if anything in the Nether Abyss could truly be called evening.

The dark red glow of the minerals cast a dusk-like light over the entire cliff.

Jared stood at the edge of a rope bridge, watching nether energy churn in the abyss below, when a sudden commotion sounded in the distance.

He turned and saw several Ghost Clan cultivators escorting a prisoner toward the fissure.

The captive was young and pale. He struggled violently to escape, but several much larger cultivators held him fast.

"Release me! I won't go in there! I don't want to die!"

His hoarse, despairing cries echoed through the gloom. "I haven't lived long enough! Why does it have to be me?"

"Be quiet," an elderly member of the escort said coldly.

"This has been our law for generations. Your turn has come, and no amount of struggling will change it."

"What do you mean, it's my turn? I did nothing wrong! I don't want to be sacrificed!"

That word: sacrifice.

Jared's body tensed slightly.

The word pierced his ears like a needle.

The young cultivator was dragged before the fissure.

He fought desperately to retreat.

His nails scraped the rock with a shrill sound, leaving several white marks, but the two cultivators holding his shoulders did not let go.

The elderly escort stepped in front of him and looked into his eyes, his voice calm to the point of cruelty. "Don't be afraid. Once you're inside, it will end quickly."

"No, I won't—"

The young man's protest ended unfinished.

The elder gave him a violent shove. He stumbled into the fissure and vanished without a trace as the darkness consumed him.

The opening remained silent. The scrape of his struggles and the echo of his screams ceased the instant he disappeared.

His escorts stood before the fissure for a moment, then turned and left.

No one spoke or looked back. Their faces held an almost numb calm, as though they had completed a routine task.

Jared watched them recede from his position on the rope bridge. Complex emotions shifted through his violet eyes beneath the dark red light.

The meaning was unmistakable: a sacrifice.

The fissure.

People who entered and disappeared.

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