The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5475

Yet even as the idea crossed Jared's racing mind, he forced himself to dismiss it.

The scene before him bore no resemblance to the Ethereal Realm he remembered.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and found himself standing inside a colossal canyon, its shadowed maw stretching farther than his eyes could track.

Both walls of that ravine were riddled with countless mine shafts—tiny, gaping wounds that climbed the cliffs like infected pores.

Down on the canyon floor, innumerable silhouettes moved in grim, mechanical rhythm.

When Jared's vision sharpened, his pupils contracted hard enough to hurt.

Human cultivators and beast race cultivators alike toiled there, their clothes little more than tatters, their skin crosshatched with scars—many missing fingers, limbs, or hope.

Armed with nothing but crude chisels and blunt hammers, they hacked at rock that looked hard enough to bleed sparks.

The sun blazed overhead, flooding the canyon with unbearable heat, yet not one laborer was granted a moment's rest.

Exhaustion and despair were written across every face. Sweat, mingled with blood, slid from their chins onto the searing stone and vanished in angry bursts of steam.

"Move! Faster—move, you worthless slugs!"

A Demonic Cultivator overseer in black armor cracked a whip across the back of a frail, gray-haired human, the lash loud as lightning in the heat-thick air.

The old man's howl tore through the canyon as he crumpled, gravel biting into his knees.

Terrified to linger, he scrambled up at once and swung his pick anew, every breath a plea for mercy he knew would never come.

"Lazy old geezer! You dare slack off?" the overseer sneered and lashed him again, each stripe blooming crimson through his ragged shirt.

Blood soaked the cloth in seconds, but the victim merely clenched his jaw and endured in silence.

He would rather swallow pain than invite a punishment even crueler.

Not far away, a young beast-race miner slowed, his strength spent and his strokes feeble.

Another overseer charged over and kicked the youth onto the dust-caked ground.

"Useless cur! Can't even dig a handful of ore—why keep you alive?"

He raised a spiked club, its iron studs already black with old blood, ready to crush bone and hope in a single swing.

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