The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5330

He did not rush. First, he fanned his spiritual soul outward, casting an invisible net of awareness that sifted every whisper of movement. Only then did he step forward—one blur of golden light into the depths of Darkwind Gorge.

Visibility plunged to barely nine meters; beyond that, the forest dissolved into formless shadow and crooked outlines of trees.

From every direction came the howls of demon beasts—some low as thunder, others shrill as razors—laced with half-heard murmurs, as though a legion of vengeful spirits watched from the darkness.

Jared slid through the timber on Blazing Stride. When a dry branch cracked beneath him, the sound was lost in the greater cacophony a heartbeat later.

His eyes, sharp as a hunting hawk's, missed nothing—not the twitch of a leaf, nor the quiver of shadow where no wind blew.

A tremor of spiritual energy brushed his senses. He vaulted into the crown of an ancient tree and peered through the leaves. Below, a rough encampment sat wedged in a narrow valley.

Scores of black-robed Malevolent Path Hall cultivators drilled in tight ranks, swinging bone-white blades carved from demon beast remains. Every slash hissed with black energy.

Their faces were masks of feral delight; bloodthirsty eyes glittered under the hoods while coils of demonic energy wrapped their bodies like living smoke. Obviously, they had Malevolent Path Hall's Demonic Cultivation.

At the center rose a crude altar—a pyramid of skeletons nine meters high. Emerald flames burned in every empty socket, and above the apex swirled a dense green fog.

Within that fog writhed countless broken illusory shadows, wailing and tearing at invisible bars—divine souls, torn from murdered cultivators, imprisoned for some obscene rite.

Jared's lips pulled into a soundless snarl.

The golden aura around him blazed hotter, bright enough to sting the gloom. At the same time, the murderous intent in his eyes surged.

Those trapped divine souls included the auras of fellow cultivators. The cultivators from Malevolent Path Hall had butchered them and ripped their divine souls to cultivate black magic. That was unforgivable.

Swoosh!

The cultivators in black fanned outward in a ragged charge. Bone knives, reeking of demonic energy, carved jagged arcs toward Jared's throat and heart, their reckless formation held together only by the suffocating demonic energy that blanketed the camp.

Jared's answering snort was colder than deep-winter steel. The Power of Dragons surged through his veins, and the Dragonslayer Sword bloomed with roaring gold fire.

“You all have a death wish,” he said, the word frosted with contempt. In a blur too fast for mortal sight, he slipped into their midst—more phantom than man.

The Dragonslayer Sword swept outward. Golden flames flooded the air in a tidal rush, and screams rose, scattered and shrill, as cloth, flesh, and arrogance burned together.

Their once-menacing demonic energy melted like frost beneath the sun, undone in the heartbeat it took Jared's fire to pass.

One attacker swung his bone blade; the weapon hissed, cracked, then shattered in glowing fragments. Fire raced up his sleeve, devouring him between breaths until all that remained was a smoking husk that hit the dirt with a hollow thud.