Jared chance novel Chapter 6436

The setting sun bled across the sky, staining the vast, barren wilds of the Sixteenth Firmament red.

"At the far edge of sight, Freevale’s outline kept shrinking, then fading, little by little.

Among its broken walls and shattered ruins, smoke that had not yet dispersed still clung to the air, tangled with the reek of blood and scorched flesh."

"The collapsed main peak lay buried under heaps of jagged stone.

Godsbane Fortress, once packed with cultivators and locked behind layer after layer of defenses, had been reduced to a dead ruin. Only the mangled bodies of Resistance cultivators and snapped arms lay scattered through the silence."

"Wind swept over broken armor and torn cloth, lifting blood-dust from the ground.

The vale that had once thundered with clashing arcane arts and battle cries now held only the keening of the dead, bleak and desolate in every direction."

"A celestial elite host, bright in armor and sharp with killing pressure, marched steadily across the Wastelands beyond Freevale.

They drove at speed toward the Celestial Alliance great hall."

"Their formation stayed strict and solemn.

Golden armor caught the last light of sunset and gave off a holy radiance cold enough to bite through bone. Around every cultivator coiled pure, domineering celestial spiritual power; their eyes looked down on everything before them, and each step struck the earth with the hard weight of conquerors."

"Alaric wore a purple-gold divine robe edged in molten-gold trim, the Wyrmcoil Binding Girdle cinched around his waist.

Vast spiritual light rolled around him with a stately pressure as he walked at the very front of the entire force."

"His back stayed straight, his presence bearing down on the road ahead.

The space between his brows carried the look of a man who had already taken the board, and a cold, satisfied curve never left the corner of his mouth."

"The battle had ended.

The greater situation had been settled. Every threat lodged deep in his side had been ripped out by the root."

"Within the ranks of his personal guard, two pieces of ""spoils"" mattered above all else.

Heavy troops guarded them layer upon layer, escorting them under tight watch the whole way, not daring to allow even the smallest mistake."

The first was Gwendolyn, barely alive, her life hanging by a thread.

"A sealed prison cage forged from specially made meteoric frost-iron floated in the middle of the column.

At each of its four corners, spirit-lock sigils had been carved in three stacked layers. Golden radiance moved darkly beneath the markings, sealing the flow of spiritual essence around the cage with a dead grip."

"Inside the cage, Gwendolyn’s limbs had been pinned by spirit-lock chains tempered from ancient black-iron.

The chains pierced through her shoulder bones, ankles, and wrists. Cold metal had bitten deep into flesh and muscle, closing off every meridian and acupoint in her body."

"The top-tier ice spiritual power in her had been completely sealed.

Not even the slightest trace of it could be called upon."

Her long white ice-silk dress, always so clean and plain, untouched by dust or worldly stain, had already been ruined beyond recognition in the saintfire of Freevale’s final battle.

"The hem had blackened and curled.

Great sections of the fabric had melted away or torn open, exposing wide patches of swollen, festering skin beneath, some of it burned black and carbonized."

"The Frostwrought Panoply that had fit close against her body had cracked apart inch by inch.

Sharp fragments of the panoply were buried deep in her flesh."

"The edges of her wounds had long since inflamed and turned black.

Dark-red blood kept seeping along the lines of her skin, pooling in a shallow stain at the bottom of the cage. The sight struck hard and would not let the eye look away."

"The Golden Immortal adepts had measured their attacks with terrifying precision.

Flames had burned her body without damaging her nascence heart-veins. Her spirit had been grievously injured without cutting off her life. They had forced that last remaining breath to stay trapped inside her."

"Gwendolyn’s eyes remained shut.

The glow of ice nascence between her brows had gone completely dim, and the rise and fall of her chest had weakened until it could barely be seen."

"Her breathing was thinner than a strand of silk.

She looked like a dying candle guttering in the wild wind of deep winter, ready at any moment to go out for good."

Before the battle, Venerable Emberlain had given his order in a low voice, each word hard and impossible to dispute: "Keep this woman alive. Keep that remnant breath in her. She will have great use later. Whoever dares damage her nascence without permission will be killed without pardon."

"Alaric understood the meaning perfectly.

From beginning to end, he kept the cultivators under him under strict control, not daring to slack off in the slightest."

"All he wanted was to bring the rightful heir of the Frost Deity Branch back to Celestial Palace intact.

Later, she would serve as a bargaining piece to restrain the foreign kindreds of the heavens and keep the surviving Resistance powers in his grip."

"It was also Venerable Emberlain’s command that kept Gwendolyn untouched.

With a face like hers, there was no telling how many celestial cultivators had already begun stirring, itching for the chance to take a taste of her beauty."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify