The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5459

He drifted downward, robes whispering against the poisoned wind, until his boots hovered a breath above the rock. One crimson eye swept the crowd, then locked on Jared. "You, boy. I sense talent—and a streak of Draconian blood. Kneel to me. Serve at my heel, and I'll grant you luxuries the Celestial King Palace never dreamed of. Follow, and one day you'll claw past level seven, perhaps even higher."

Jared squared his shoulders, every vein humming with refusal. "Serve you? You presume too much." His stare cut like flint. "Monsters who bathe in souls end up under the same lightning they unleash. I'd sooner die on my feet than wallow in your filth."

"Insolence!"

A chill slid into the canyon as Soul Devourer's smile died. "You refuse the toast—so drink the punishment." His voice plunged into a growl. "If you ache for death, I'll oblige."

He raised one clawed hand. Night-colored radiance condensed in his palm, a sphere of demon light so dense it swallowed every glimmer around it, ready to erase Jared and anyone foolish enough to stand near him.

Then—just as that midnight orb reached critical mass—the heavens convulsed. A sheet of searing scarlet bled across the clouds, igniting the whole sky in living flame. Heat roared over the valley, so intense that even the demonic miasma shuddered, fractured, and recoiled like smoke against a furnace.

Soul Devourer's brow furrowed. The killing light in his palm flickered. He tilted his head back, wary now, and stared into the reddened vault overhead.

From the horizon, a comet of pure fire tore through the gloom, a blazing spear splitting the heavens. Its tail carved molten rivers through the clouds, and in a heartbeat, the inferno hung above the valley, humming with ruinous might.

Deep inside the flames, a silhouette stood motionless.The blaze peeled away to reveal a white-haired elder clad in a robe the color of fresh embers. Though age marked his hair, his face retained the serene vigor of youth. Twin pupils burned like twin suns—kind, yet carrying the warning heat of a forge.

Haloes of gentle fire danced along his sleeves, and beneath his sandaled feet floated a lotus sculpted entirely of flame. The very air bowed, reverent, to the sacred heat he exuded.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. None in the ravine had ever witnessed a presence so strange—or so mighty.

Jared's eyes flew wide.

That's him—the old man who taught me the Blazing Stride and vanished without a word, Fire Spirit Lord. What is he doing here in level six?

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