Jared glanced at the Vermilion Demon Lord’s quivering ember, gave the faintest nod, and then swung an arctic stare back to the elder’s flickering soul remnant.
The elder, feeling that stare pierce straight through his soul, pleaded, “Sir, I have told you everything I know, every secret, every thread. I beg you…”
His words dissolved into a ragged whimper as the chill in Jared’s eyes pressed on him like the lid of a stone coffin.
“Your usefulness,” Jared said, his tone as chill and smooth as polished steel, “has finally run its course.”
Without a flicker of emotion, he allowed the thought to bloom behind his eyes, and everything inside him fell silent, ready.
Deep within his consciousness field, the Golden Tome flared like a newborn sun. A torrent of pure golden flame, woven entirely from the Heavenly Law itself, whipped outward and swallowed the elder’s tattered soul remnant in a single heartbeat.
“N-No…” The elder’s cry shattered into a raw, impossible note of terror that tore through the mindscape before vanishing in sparks.
Thus ended the long, covetous life of the Skyfiend Sect’s elder. His soul remnant was scoured clean, ground to luminous dust, and drawn apart, some sinking into the Golden Tome, the rest diffusing like warm rain to nourish Jared’s boundless consciousness field.
The danger gone, Jared let his consciousness field drift back to the waking world.
He opened his hand. The Myriad-Blood Soul Orb rested there, no longer an enigma but a seed of limitless hope, pulsing softly against his palm.
“Mr. Vermilion, try stepping out for a moment…” he whispered, almost tenderly.
A faint yet jubilant flame—black shot through with crimson—slipped from Jared’s brow and hovered before the orb. It was the soul fire of the Vermilion Demon Lord, trembling like a heart that had just remembered how to beat.
“Kid, I…” Vermilion Demon Lord’s voice hitched, heavy with gratitude too ancient to name.
“Go on inside,” Jared urged, moving the orb closer. “I’ll find enough Nascence Soul Liquid to rebuild your physical body; this I promise.”
“Thank you… Truly…” The flame quivered, then flowed into the orb like ink drawn into water.
The sphere brightened, its surface glazing with gentle light. Deep within, the black-red soul fire settled, no longer savage but quietly expectant.
Jared felt the new bond knit itself to his core; he could sense Vermilion Demon Lord’s every heartbeat if he wished.
Carefully, he stowed the orb away, then lifted his gaze to the far horizon, eyes sharpened into blades of intent. He mouthed the list like a vow. “Nascence Soul Liquid, Spirit-Nurturing Tree, Rebirth Herb, Nether-Lotus…”
A storm of resolve rose off him—imperious, unarguable.
“Coall!” The single bark cracked through the air. He didn’t have to shout again; iron-winged footsteps were already slicing toward him.
“Here, Mr. Chance!” Coall sprang in, barely breathing, yet sensing the vast new gravity that clung to Jared like a second sky.
“Hear my command, now!” Jared’s voice rang across the cliff like steel striking an anvil, each syllable ricocheting through the canyons and rolling over the assembled Draconians.
“Every claw and scale of our race will rest, replenish what they have spent, and stand ready. In half a day, we march, side by side with me, to war!”
“War?” Coall rumbled, flexing one massive talon as sparks of black lightning crawled over his onyx scales. “Mr. Chance, are we heading straight for that mangy Soul Devourer in the Nether Blood Sea?”
With the thrill of battle already stirring his blood, the great black dragon scraped stone beneath him and looked almost disappointed for a heartbeat’s breadth when no answer came at once.
“No…” Jared shook his head, the corner of his mouth curving into an icicle-sharp smile. “Before we hunt down Soul Devourer, we have something far larger to settle.”
He let his gaze sweep across the mountains of loot the Draconians had just stripped from the fallen Skyfiend Sect, stacked so high they eclipsed the cliff’s ragged edge.
The words that followed were soft, yet each carried the weight of a guillotine.
“Send word to every so-called power in Ninefold Heaven. Tell them to prepare millennia-aged Spirit-Nurturing Tree, Rebirth Herb, Nether-Lotus, and to lay bare their soul steles and statues of their founders.”
Coall blinked, bewildered, his horned head tilting. “Mr. Chance, what does this mean…”
The question frayed away, half-formed, as if he already sensed the storm that was coming.
Jared clasped his hands behind his back. His robe shifted without wind, and his words seemed to skip across the void and slide into every ear from cliff top to the furthest cloud of Ninefold Heaven.
“I require Nascence Soul Liquid to save a life. Those who offer the materials willingly will have the peace of their sect guaranteed, and perhaps a stroke of luck from my own hand. Those who hide, who dissemble, who dare raise a palm against us…”
Cold light exploded in Jared’s eyes. The Dragonslayer Sword’s sword intent tore skyward, shredding clouds like parchment and sending a shudder through the realm itself.
