The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5265

“I know that,” Kishor answered with a crooked, bitter smile. “But so many years have passed. She has become someone I scarcely recognize. Can we really step back into what we once were?”

“The past may be unreachable,” Jared said steadily, “but the future is still unwritten. Running won't heal anything, and Madam Pudge's condition might not be as hopeless as it seems.”

“What did you just say?” Kishor jerked his head up, a spark of hope igniting in his eyes. “Jared—do you truly have a way?”

“I can't promise miracles,” Jared admitted, scratching at his hair in embarrassment. “But I can try. An ancient text I once studied described cases where Demonic Cultivation warped the body. If we locate the technique's core pattern, map its energy path, then balance it with precise medicines and counter-techniques, we might reverse the damage.”

A pause later, he said, “So, Kishor, would you arrange for me to sit with Madam Pudge? I need to hear every detail of that cultivation before I can chart a cure.”

Kishor wavered for a heartbeat, then nodded. “All right... thank you, Jared.”

He knew this could be Alice's only chance—and his own chance to atone.

Not long after, Alice bustled across the courtyard, delight shining from every pore as she dragged Kishor toward the banquet hall she had ordered prepared.

“Kishor, come along! I've laid out fine wine and the best dishes. We need a proper talk—so much to say after all these years!”

Kishor glanced nervously back at Jared, who answered with a subtle nod and a reassuring wink.

“Alice... there's something I need to discuss with you. Also, Jared believes he might—just might—be able to help you.”

The words slid into her heart like a key turning in an ancient lock. Her laughter snapped off. She stared at Kishor in stunned silence, yearning and disbelief warring in her widening eyes.

Of course she wanted it. Over the years, she had dreamed countless nights of becoming the delicate Alice once more, curling against her Kishor beneath the moonlit eaves. But every dawn shattered that sweetness. She would awaken to the bulk of her swollen body, and despair would pour in like icy water.

“Is there... really a chance?” she whispered. The words were faint as a mosquito's hum, yet a fragile hope fluttered within them.

“About seven-tenths, by my reckoning,” he said, giving the most cautious estimate his research—and the dust-choked tomes—would allow. “But I'll need everything. Every detail about that Demonic Cultivation—the chants, the energy paths, what you felt, how your body changed.”

Alice hesitated, eyes flicking to the silent encouragement in Kishor's gaze. Memories of years spent in pain and self-loathing tightened her throat. Then, with a sharp breath, she nodded. “All right! If there's even a sliver of hope, I will try—failure be damned.”