“Enough!” The lead Demonic Cultivator’s shout detonated like cannon fire, rage contorting every scar across his face. “Didn’t you hear me? This ground belongs to Twin Ridge Stronghold. If you challenge us, you sign your own death warrant!”
He raised a demonic sword etched with wicked runes, the blade exhaling a violet mist that reeked of old blood. The other Demonic Cultivators formed a tightening ring, each wearing the same hungry grin.
Spiked clubs swung menacingly, their cold points glinting, while demonic hammers hummed with oppressive weight.
“Run, brat, before we enjoy ourselves killing you!” one Demonic Cultivator hissed, eyes gleaming like wet copper.
“We warned you,” another added, breath hot with bloodlust.
“You’ll taste Twin Ridge Stronghold’s fury before night falls!”
Voices overlapped, a savage chorus that rattled shackles and sent frightened birds wheeling into the dusk. Jared merely smiled, a chill, dispassionate curl of the lips that made even the bravest brute falter.
Compared with Obsidian Stone Sect had crushed earlier, these Demonic Cultivators barely reached Immortal Realm Level Seven. Still, to him, they were ants fighting a wildfire.
Jared’s white robe drifted in the faint breeze, making seem less a mortal youth and more a wandering immortal descending from night clouds.
“Since you’re so eager to perish, I’ll oblige…”
The verdict in his voice weighed heavier than any hammer the demons could lift.
Before the sentence finished echoing, Jared vanished-only a fading shimmer remained where his body had been.
“What?”
“Where did go?”
Cold pricked each Demonic Cultivator’s throat at once, as though an invisible blade had slipped cleanly through flesh and stolen their final breath.
In the very next heartbeat, consciousness drained from the Demonic Cultivators’ eyes.
Strings severed, the puppets collapsed, bodies thudding to the ground In a ragged cascade. Their pupils, still blown wide with terror and disbelief, stared blankly into nothing, as though even in death they hunted for the invisible hand that had struck them down.
“H-How is that even possible?”
“No one should be that fast!”
The enslaved cultivators stood rooted to the spot, stunned into silence.
Moments earlier, they had braced for a lifetime of chains and a pitiful death. Now a single young stranger had shattered their nightmare with one effortless sweep. Eyes bulged, mouths gaped wide enough to swallow an egg, every face scribbled with raw, unfiltered awe.
Quincy and the others surged forward, faces blazing with joy, desperate to share the impossible news.
“Do not be afraid! This is Jared Chance, Immortal Lord. He’s here to break our chains. From this moment on, we are free!”
Quincy’s declaration rang like dawn over a battlefield, flooding the captives’ hearts with blazing light.
Tears, hot, unstoppable, filled eyes that had been dry for a hundred grinding years.
Some dropped to their knees, hands clasped, whispering frantic thanks to Jared for the gift of life.
Others wrapped shaking arms around one another, weeping so hard their bodies rocked, letting decades of pain wash away in torrents of salt.
“Thank you, Immortal Lord!”
“Long live Immortal Lord!”
Cheers and gratitude braided together, rolling across Twin Ridge Stronghold like thunder shaking the mountains.
