The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5572

The Guardian stood unmoving, clad in armor the color of sunrise metal. His eyes, visible through the helm's narrow slit, burned like twin torches aimed straight into every heart.

The long sword in his grasp quivered, frost-bright edges glinting—a silent warning that even the faintest misstep would draw blood.

Sweat pearled along Enaricus' hairline. The Guardians truly exist, and we have roused one of them.

He risked a glance at Percival and Esorin. Both wore the same hard mask he did—grim, cornered, unsure which move might unleash ruin.

Dark haze leaked from Percival's sleeves, coiling like angry snakes around his armor. Shame and fury crashed inside him; he was heir to the Malevolent Path Hall, yet a single Guardian kept his rage leashed. But facing such a formidable presence, he dared not take reckless action. His fists clenched until the gauntlets squealed, eyes locked on the Guardian, daring him to blink.

Esorin half-closed his eyes, mind racing through stratagem after stratagem. If they mishandled today, the tension between the two palaces could ignite a calamity felt across every realm.

No weakness surfaced in the Guardian's posture; Esorin found nothing to exploit.

Behind that radiant suit stood Onneas, her shoulders finally loose, breath finally steady. With the Guardian here, no one would dare charge again.

She met Enaricus' gaze with cool contempt, as if silently mouthing the verdict he feared. Your scheme ends here.

Isabel and the surrounding Celestial Guards tightened their grips on spear and blade. Muscles coiled, eyes narrowed—they were one breath away from battle and held themselves ready for the inevitable spark.

Minutes dragged like hours. Air thickened, each heartbeat pounding as though under a mountain's weight.

Percival felt a cold knife of panic slide down his spine. Even after he twisted aside, the streak of sword energy clung to him like a parasite gnawing at bone, refusing to let go.

He had no choice. Demonic power surged through every vein, forming a trembling wall of power that barely—just barely—kept the killing wind from slicing him in two.

"Defy me again, and I will show no mercy," the Guardian said, his voice as frigid as iron cooled in snow.

Esorin watched the exchange, shoulders sinking with the grim certainty that the day could no longer end peacefully.

"Mr. Guardian," he began, taking one measured step forward, "we never wished to stand against the palace. Today's folly is ours alone. We are ready to pay the price. Tell us—what settlement will satisfy you?"