The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5580

Third Hall disciples swallowed their fear, drew what courage they could, and launched themselves skyward in a ragged but desperate formation.

"Celestial Guards, with me—advance!" Onneas commanded.

A glittering phalanx of armor-clad warriors followed her, taking position at Jared's flanks like living walls of steel.

She would sooner fall from the sky than watch him be beaten by sheer numbers.

Behind them, Percival and Esorin remained still. Esorin's gaze never wavered from the Dragonslayer Sword, the reflection of its dark edge flickering in his ancient eyes.

A weapon that could splinter the Soul-Snaring Bowl with a single blow—such power bordered on legend.

In that instant, a forbidden desire bloomed in the elder's heart: the hungry wish to claim that sword for his own.

The Soul-Snaring Bowl—an artifact whispered about in every corridor of the Evil Path Hall—would have bought Enaricus a lifetime of favors. Yet Jared leveled the Dragonslayer Sword, tapped the bowl once, and it burst like cheap glass under a hammer. In that brittle shatter, everyone on the terrace finally understood what the Dragonslayer Sword truly was: a weapon that could slice through legends.

"You cannot hope to fight the Celestial King's Palace with so few men."

Onneas strode forward, Celestial Guards fanning out at her heels. A single step from her boot turned the air electric, a tidal wave of power rippling across the flagstones.

Enaricus' own troops were competent brawlers, yet they had never faced disciplined warriors raised inside the palace walls. That imbalance was the reason he had begged for the Malevolent Path Hall's help in the first place.

Boom!

The moment Onneas and the Celestial Guards released their auras, Enaricus' soldiers staggered back a full hundred paces. No blades had crossed, yet victory and defeat had already been stamped into the ground.

"Prince Percival, Grand Elder!" Enaricus called, desperation sharpening his voice.

Esorin answered first, springing skyward as lightly as a leaf in wind.

A casual flick of his sleeve sent Jared skidding across the courtyard. Against Esorin's cultivation, Jared had no footing—at least not yet.

Jared could overwhelm Enaricus, yes, but Esorin was a mountain he had not yet learned to climb.

"Jared, are you hurt?" Onneas asked, worry threading her words.

"I'm fine," Jared gasped, forcing himself upright. "Protect the Palace first."

He could not match Jared's sword. He could not match the Palace's numbers.

"They can call reinforcements—why can't we?" Esorin replied, his voice as calm as falling snow.

He tilted his chin toward Percival.

Percival dipped his head in silent assent, then traced a glowing circle in midair, its edges pulsing like a crimson drum—an invitation for darkness to answer the Palace's shining rally.

Within the swirling outline of the magic circle, the empty glow slowly hardened. Silvery runes fused until the ring became a solid, blazing gate, and at its core a single spiritual crystal pulsed like a jagged star—each flare announcing that the teleportation array was fully awake.

Jared recognized the design at once. A Teleportation Array. Percival had started calling in reinforcements.

Almost immediately, currents of murderous pressure seeped through the circle. Every fresh pulse felt like a claw raking the air, hinting at the monsters about to arrive.

"Grand Elder, you mean you keep another branch all the way up on level eight?" Enaricus asked, his voice a taut wire of surprise.

He thought Percival was only drawing troops from the Malevolent Path Hall's branch he already commanded.