Moments later, beyond the soaring archway of Mystic Sky Sword Sect’s mountain gate, Clara came forward with twenty disciples. Every one of them was clad in close-fitting travel blacks, long blades across their backs, eyes clear and predatory.
Each disciple’s realm hovered between Levels Three and Five of the Heavenly Immortal Realm; their movements rustled no more than a passing breeze. They were, without doubt, the sect’s finest scouts.
Jared now wore a plain azure travel robe, its hems caught by the wind at the very front of the formation. Clara stood half a step behind him, pretty face locked in a rigid mask. To her, taking orders from a Level Seven Human Immortal was humiliation etched in granite.
“Safe travels, Mr. Chance. Should you need aid, send word at once,” Linden called. He pressed a sword-shaped talisman into Jared’s palm, its edges cold, its glow faint as moonlit frost.
Jared closed his fingers around the charm. “My thanks. Farewell, Master Cloudridge…”
He spoke no further. A streak of blue light burst from beneath his feet, then Jared became a racing comet aimed at the distant Myriad Beast Mountains.
Clara hissed through her teeth but lifted her arm all the same. “Form up! After him!”
Twenty-one sword lights ripped through the sky, chasing the azure trail. They cleared the Myriad Sword Mountains and dived into a sprawl of untamed forest and broken highlands.
Jared held his pace to something the group could match, yet tension furrowed his brow. His spiritual sense swept every shadow, every rustle, reaching for the faintest trace of the Myriad Beast Sect’s aura.
Behind him, Clara studied his unhurried speed and the steady, unimpressive fluctuation of a Level Seven Human Immortal. With every mile, her doubt thickened.
Father says he drove off Sheldon Soulsby?
No chance! Sheldon must have been exhausted after dueling Father; this Jared simply happened to strike the final blow, or he used some treacherous trick!
Maybe those rumors were planted by Father for reasons of his own. No way this man is that incredible.
“Hey!” Clara surged forward until her sword light skimmed Jared’s shoulder. “Where exactly are we going? The Myriad Beast Mountains cover hundreds of miles; are we supposed to wander like headless chickens?”
Without breaking stride, Jared answered, “First to the sect’s former grounds. In the wake of the revolt, the Melded Beastkin and the Infinite Soul Demon Sect will be moving there. We grab a captive, and ask them about Paxton’s whereabouts. If not, we scout the lay of the land.”
“Easier said than done,” Clara scoffed. “What if we stumble onto an army out there, just the twenty-one of us?”
“Then we improvise.” Jared offered no further explanation. Truth be told, were it not for Linden’s courtesy, he would have set out alone.
Clara tried to fall in beside Jared but found him as unyielding as an iron wall.
She snorted, slowed half a pace, and sent a hiss of thought toward the friend behind her. “I have no idea what Father was thinking, putting us under the command of this show-off!”
The young disciple behind her managed only a tight, uneasy smile. He kept his eyes forward and offered no reply.
Another long hour passed in tense, wordless flight. Below them spread a desolate canyon where knife-edged boulders clustered like broken fangs.
A flicker crossed Jared’s expression. He lifted one hand, an unspoken order that rippled down the column and brought every sword light to a halt.
“What is it?” Clara asked, her voice sharp with battle-ready suspicion. She swept her spiritual sense through the ravine yet felt nothing but wind and dust.
Jared did not answer. His gaze drilled into a swath of darkness deeper inside the gorge—cold, focused, foretelling violence.
The instant the others followed his stare, that darkness writhed. Dozens of figures burst out, howling, and blocked the open sky ahead of them.
Half of the newcomers wore the pitch-black robes of the Infinite Soul Demon Sect, their auras thick with malevolent mist.
The rest were not entirely human. Some bore half-shaped snouts, others full pelts or clawed hands—warriors of the Melded Beastkin tribe, their breaths ragged with feral rage. Whether this was a patrol or an ambush, the enemy had clearly been waiting.
At their lead strode a Level Five Heavenly Immortal Elder of the Infinite Soul Demon Sect and, beside him, a hulking boar-tusked Melded Beastkin expert swinging twin bone hammers the size of millstones.
“Ha! We scoured these ravines searching for stray beasts and sword-sect spies,” the Demon Sect elder roared, delight dripping from his voice. “And look what flies into our net! Fresh disciples of the Mystic Sky Sword Sect, badges shining like lanterns! Even better, a tender little lass to please Sect Master Thornscale when we drag her home!”
His hungry gaze crawled over Clara, making her cheeks burn crimson with fury.
