The King Of Warriors (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5723

"Next stop, Greenwood Sect. I want every shard of their ten-millennium Spirit-Nurturing Tree," Jared said, his voice quiet yet sharp enough to draw blood.

The Draconian army arrived like a summer squall and departed just as quickly, leaving the Netherfrost Sect in smoking silence. Their radiant, crimson-robed sect master stood amid broken pillars, her expression a tangle of humiliation, lingering dread, and—though she would never admit it—relief.

At the very least, the sect still stood, and her people still breathed.

Across the Ninefold Heavens, those uneasy breaths soon morphed into open panic. Jared's legion marched as an iron flood, unstoppable and unhurried, drowning one skybound realm after another in its wake.

They descended upon sects, ancient citadels, and hidden sanctuaries alike—cracking gates, toppling wards, and leaving the taste of dragon fire in every breeze.

Greenwood Sect chose courtesy. Though their master bled at the mouth, handing over three segments of the Spirit-Nurturing Tree, recent memories of the Skyfiend and Netherfrost disasters kept him humble.

True to his word, Jared spared them. He even traced a fingertip through their sect defense formation, pointing out hairline flaws the elders had never seen. Relief washed through the mountain like summer rain; grateful disciples knelt until their robes soaked through.

By contrast, the Hundred Herb Pavilion tried to stall, pressing forward mere five-thousand-year Rebirth Herb as if it might fool a dragon.

Coall slammed one taloned paw through their gate plaque; dragon breath scorched half their medicinal mountain. The pavilion master scrambled through ash and ember, thrusting his entire trove of ten-millennium Rebirth Herb stamens into Jared's waiting hand.

Then there were the obstinate—Blaze Soul Sect—whose creed rang, "While the Soul Stele stands, the sect endures." They refused to surrender the monument that anchored their lineage.

Jared did not hesitate. His order cut through the wind like a falling blade.

"Kill!"

The Draconian army surged forward. Within the time it took a single incense stick to burn, a millennia-old mountain gate lay in shards, its disciples scattered as corpses and cinders. The Soul Stele was torn from its altar, and the proud Blaze Soul Sect became nothing more than smoldering rubble.

Word raced outward, faster than sound on dragon wings. Every faction beneath the Ninefold Heaven shuddered.

Jared's will—branded in dragon flame—seared itself into the mind of every patriarch and matriarch from cloud-tipped peak to sunken marsh.

Serve me and prosper. Defy me and vanish.

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