The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5338

“But we found none of the Flaxseed clan's divine souls. Under interrogation, Dioz and the others confessed they'd already shipped them off to Malevolent Path Hall's headquarters.”

Comprehension flashed in Corin's eyes. He turned to Flaxseed, voice bearing quiet regret. “I'm sorry, Mr. Flaxseed. This can't be easy.”

Flaxseed waved off the sympathy, swallowing the fresh stab of disappointment. “Easy or not, at least we know they're still somewhere. As long as the headquarters stands, I'll tear it apart until I find my family members' divine souls.”

“Well said,” Corin replied, a spark of admiration in his gaze. “Sword Sect may be small, but whenever you have need of us, every blade we own is yours.”

At his words, the surrounding Sword Sect disciples pressed in, staring at Jared with open awe.

He had taught Lyra on Training Cliff, then marched with Flaxseed to crush the branch of Malevolent Path Hall. To those young disciples of Sword Sect, he was already a legend.

“Mr. Chance, you're incredible!” someone yelled. The gate rang with a chorus of enthusiastic agreement.

Jared dipped his head in a modest smile. His gaze swept the crowd until it found Lyra standing near the back, white robe bright against the stone, a plain cloth bundle clutched tight in both hands.

The moment their eyes met, her own lit like new-struck stars; yet nerves tugged at her feet—one small step forward, a sudden halt, as if courage and shyness were locked in gentle duel.

A subtle flicker crossed Jared's mind. He pivoted toward Lyra, boots whispering over the flagstones as though drawn by an invisible thread.

“Mr. Chance...” Lyra hurried up to him, her voice bright with relief yet snagged by a tremor of worry when her gaze snagged on the drying blood that streaked his tunic. “You're hurt—aren't you?”

“It's nothing—just a scrape.” He lifted one hand and let the tip of his finger smooth the tiny frown from her brow, his tone coaxing and low. “I'm sorry to have made you worry.”

A blush warmed Lyra's pale cheeks. She shook her head fast, words tumbling. “I'm not worried—well, maybe a little, but I knew you'd come back in one piece.”

She thrust a neatly-wrapped bundle into his palm. “I gathered fresh salves and mystical herbs for you these last few days. Use them the moment you get back.”

He caught her wrist for an instant, murmuring, “No need for all that trouble. A pulse of spiritual energy will mend it.”

“Absolutely not.” She freed herself with unexpected strength. “Spiritual energy only seals the surface. The cut still needs proper cleaning. Wait here—I'll be right back.”

Watching her quick retreat, Jared could only laugh under his breath. Warmth pooled in his chest, spreading wider than any salve.

In the months they'd traveled, Lyra had outgrown the timid girl she'd been—an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Four with an untested blade. Her sword heart now shone like distilled starlight, her cultivation rising step by measured step. Yet around him, she still guarded that raw, unfiltered concern.

Minutes later, she returned, arms balanced around a steaming basin of spirit water. Several sprigs of fragrant mystical herbs floated on the surface, releasing sweet vapor that curled through the room.

Lyra set the basin on a low table, drew fresh cloth strips and ointments from her bundle, then straightened before him. “Mr. Chance, off with the cloak. Let me get medicine on that cut.”