With the word “traitor” hanging over Jared’s head, hostility spread through the gathering like wildfire. Eyes once clouded with confusion now blazed with murderous intent. A barrel-chested brute, beard bristling like iron wire, stamped forward.
“Who are you?! And why are you ruining this?!” roared. hefting a war-axe that crashed against the stone. Silver light rippled along the axe’s edge-keen enough to promise Jared two neat halves at the slightest twitch.
“I bet he’s jealous!” a swordsman in blue declared, palm resting on the hilt at his waist. “He can’t stand that the Celestial Palace favors us!”
Steel whispered as the cultivator’s thumb nudged his blade free by an inch. waiting only for an excuse. Jared’s brows knit, a weary sorrow tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Blind fools, all of them…
“Listen to me!” Jared stepped forward, voice cutting through the uproar. “That jade scepter is laced with a hypnotic mist. The runes beneath the altar form a Soul Convergence Array. Your soul threads are being funneled into a Soul Urn hidden in that recess, wait any longer and your very spirits will be stolen!”
His warning drowned beneath a fresh wave of shouts, curses, and the metallic scream of weapons leaving their scabbards.
“Utter nonsense! The Celestial Palace stands as the purest line of our divine blood, we would never sully it with such treachery!” The white-haired elder’s eyes bulged, rage booming across the square like distant cannon fire.
“You’re just scared we’ll surpass you after breaking through. So you spin bedtime stories to keep us small.” A young cultivator sneered, every syllable dripping with contempt.
“Enough talk! Seize him! Hand to the Celestial Palace for judgment!” someone bellowed from deep inside the mob.
In an instant, more than a dozen frenzied cultivators lunged for Jared Chance, their robes whipping like torn banners in a storm.
The steel and jade in their hands flashed cold and hungry, loose waves of aura crackling out in jagged, desperate bursts.
Most were wandering cultivators who had languished at the same bottleneck for years. The promise of a miraculous breakthrough had gnawed away their sanity until nothing remained but hunger. Now, Jared was the heretic blocking their promised future, and that heretic had to fall.
Flaxseed yanked a fan of defensive charms from his sleeve and slapped them across his chest, runes flaring like miniature suns. “Jared, you’ll never reason with them! Their minds are shackled to that breakthrough dream!”
He knew too well that obsession had sealed their ears. No truth, however earnest, could pierce greed that deep.
Jared watched the charging cultivators, a flicker of disappointment dimming his gaze. He could shatter them like sticks, yet they were not wicked, only pitiable souls duped into a grander conspiracy.
In chasing higher realms, they had wagered everything, blind to the snare springing shut around them.
He pivoted, letting a saber whistle past and shave a single thread from his sleeve, its passing wind hot against his skin.
With a pulse of spiritual energy. blasted another attacker’s artifact from numb fingers, the glittering tool pin-wheeled away and clattered across the stone.
“Feel your own brow!” Jared shouted. “That faint sting between your eyes, that’s the first tug of a soul thread being stolen!”
The only answer was a new, wilder storm of blows.
The white-haired elder flung a bronze compass skyward, its face flared open, lancing golden beams straight for Jared’s heart.
Heat from those rays warped the air itself, curling it like parchment over flame.
“Deceiver!” the elder spat. “Today I purge evil in Heaven’s name!”
The last hint of hesitation slid from Jared’s eyes. He knew these men were now chained to obsession. Save them today, and they would crawl back to the Palace tomorrow for another poisoned sermon. They were already too deep to rescue.
The Black-White Flame burst from Jared’s pores and billowed outward. weaving an unseen wall.
The attackers slammed into that barrier and staggered back several steps, unharmed yet shaken, as if a mountain had exhaled against them.
Anger simmered in Jared at their stubborn ignorance, but compassion still stayed his hand.
“Believe me or don’t. It’s your path now,” said, voice flat as winter stone.
The words landed cold, without ripple or warmth. In his eyes lived a sudden finality, hope extinguished, bridges quietly burned.
