“I spare you today,” Jared declared, voice rolling across the shattered pillars. “But you will earn that mercy. Guard the Celestial King Palace with every drop of blood you still possess.”
The kneeling cultivators bobbed their heads, relief and dread warring on their ashen faces. Most of the palace’s own guards lay wounded or dead. Someone had to stand between this palace and the next wave of darkness.
Jared swept a slow gaze over the battlefield. With one quiet motion of his palm, tens of thousands of item pouches ripped free from fallen Demonic Cultivators and streaked toward him like a swarm of silver comets.
A small smile tugged at his mouth. This cache alone could feed his cultivation for months.
A single thread of internal flame spiraled from his fingers. In a breath, every corpse on the field turned to soft gray ash that the wind carried away.
Jared counted out ten thousand pouches and pressed them into Onneas’ hands. “Ms. Dusko, the palace is crippled. Use these to heal, rebuild, and grow stronger, quickly.”
Onneas accepted without protest, then lifted her gaze. “What about you? What will you do?”
“Get stronger,” he said, the words as low and certain as a mountain’s heart. A hush followed, thick with promise, and with the gathering storm yet to come.
Jared’s lips bent into a rueful half-smile. He had risen fast, blindingly fast, but every fresh rung on the ladder only unveiled stronger, crueler foes. If Maxwell had not thrown his life across that last battlefield like a shield, Jared would already be dust floating on the heavenly wind.
Strength was the only currency that was spent here. Even the privilege of swaggering required solid power behind the pose.
Not long ago, he had sworn that, if level eight yielded no clues about the lost souls of the Flaxseed clan, he would simply batter a path to level nine.
Now, that vow felt reckless. First, he had to sharpen his own edge. He needed might not only challenge the Malevolent Path Hall but also stare down the celestial clan leader himself and ransom Maxwell’s freedom.
Maxwell was a legend, yet he lay in chains. The gulf between Jared and that patriarch was an abyss.
Ah… If only Mr. Sanders were here… With him beside me, even the clan leader would probably be groveling for mercy…
But he had vanished the moment they set foot in the celestial realm, and Jared could not keep staking his life on the echo of another man’s shadow.
“Let me take you to a quiet sanctuary, somewhere you can lock the world outside and cultivate in peace,” Onneas said, her voice a mix of worry and calm authority.
“No… I’m heading back,” Jared replied with a shake of his head, the decision already settled in his chest. “Flaxseed is still on level seven, and I need to check on him.”
He had no intention of lingering on level eight. Level five was safer, and he burned to know how the Sword Sect had fared after the recent chaos.
While there, he would climb to level six and press Aurelius for information about the celestial clan leader. If anyone possessed those secrets, a monarch of celestial blood surely did.
“Very well,” Onneas said with a small nod. “I won’t keep you. I’ll seal the Celestial Guard Palace and focus on my own recovery.”
Jared raised his palm. Spatial energy rippled, unfurling a pale corridor of light through the void.
Opening passage toward level nine was still beyond him, yet descending to lower levels now felt effortless. He stepped inside. The portal folded behind him with a sighing rush of wind.
His first stop would be level seven to collect Flaxseed and explain that their hunt for the clan’s scattered souls must pause.
Without greater power, they could not even brush the borders of the Malevolent Path Hall, much less save the Flaxseed clan’s spirits.
Ever since Esorin spoke of level twelve and summoned the Protector Sovereign, Jared had understood raw courage would never suffice. Without a miracle, or Mr. Sanders, he could not hope to counter such might.
Moments later, the corridor spat him out over Eastshire District, moonlight washing the tiled roofs like liquid silver.
