“But we found none of the Flaxseed clan’s divine souls… Under interrogation, Dioz and the others confessed they’d already shipped them off to Malevolent Path Hall’s headquarters.”
Comprehension flashed in Corin’s eyes. He turned to Flaxseed, voice bearing quiet regret. “I’m sorry, Mr. Flaxseed. This can’t be easy…”
Flaxseed waved off the sympathy, swallowing the fresh stab of disappointment. “Easy or not, at least we know they’re still somewhere. As long as the headquarters stands, I’ll tear it apart until I find my family members’ divine souls.”
“Well said,” Corin replied, a spark of admiration in his gaze. “Sword Sect may be small, but whenever you have need of us, every blade we own is yours.”
At his words, the surrounding Sword Sect disciples pressed in, staring at Jared with open awe.
He had taught Lyra on Training Cliff, then marched with Flaxseed to crush the branch of Malevolent Path Hail. To those young disciples of Sword Sect, was already a legend.
“Mr. Chance, you’re incredible!” someone yelled.
The gate then rang with a chorus of enthusiastic agreement. Jared dipped his head in a modest smile. His gaze swept the crowd until it found Lyra standing near the back, white robe bright against the stone, a plain cloth bundle clutched tight in both hands.
The moment their eyes met, own lit like new-struck stars, yet nerves tugged at feet, one small step forward, a sudden halt, as if courage and shyness were locked in gentle duel.
A subtle flicker crossed Jared’s mind. He pivoted toward Lyra, boots whispering over the flagstones as though drawn by an invisible thread.
“Mr. Chance…” Lyra hurried up to him, voice bright with relief yet snagged by a tremor of worry when gaze snagged on the drying blood that streaked his tunic. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”
“It’s nothing, just a scrape…” He lifted one hand and let the tip of his finger smooth the tiny frown from brow, his tone coaxing and low. “I‘m sorry to have made you worry.”
A blush warmed Lyra’s pale cheeks. She shook head fast, words tumbling. “I’m not worried… Well, maybe a little, but I knew you’d come back in one piece.”
She thrust a neatly-wrapped bundle into his palm. “i gathered fresh selves and mystical herbs for you these last few days. Use them the moment you get back.”
The cloth was still warm, must’ve kept it pressed to chest the entire journey. Jared’s fingertips brushed the back of hand, absorbing steady warmth. A quiet tide of tenderness rose inside him. “All right. I’ll do exactly as you say.”
Flaxseed watched the gentle exchange, mouth stretching into a grin. He clapped Corin on the shoulder. “Corin, let’s grab a breather. I’ll fill you in on that branch once we’ve rested.”
Corin inclined his head. “Good idea! You’ve both been on the road long enough, catch your breath first.”
Together, they headed for Sword Sect’s quarters.
Sunlight poured across the slate-gray streets of Swordmaster City, casting long twin shadows. Soft currents of spiritual energy mingled with the scent of grass and white blossoms, worlds apart from the coppery stench and demonic energy that had choked Darkwind Gorge.
For Jared, the contrast felt almost dreamlike, as though had stepped out of one lifetime and into another. Back at the quarters, Jared made for his room. Lyra ghosted after him, determined to tend the wound herself.
“Sit there, Mr. Chance,” ordered, voice firm but gentle. “I’ll fetch a basin of spirit water…”
Without waiting for an answer, turned and wanted to slip out the door. He caught wrist for an instant, murmuring, “No need for all that trouble. A pulse of spiritual energy will mend it.”
“Absolutely not.” She freed herself with unexpected strength. “Spiritual energy only seals the surface. The out still needs proper cleaning. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Watching quick retreat, Jared could only laugh under his breath. Warmth pooled in his chest, spreading wider than any salve.
In the months they’d traveled, Lyra had outgrown the timid girl she’d been, an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Four with an untested blade. Her sword heart now shone like distilled starlight, cultivation rising step by measured step. Yet around him, still guarded that raw, unfiltered concern.
Minutes later, returned, arms balanced around a steaming basin of spirit water. Several sprigs of fragrant mystical herbs floated on the surface, releasing sweet vapor that curled through the room.
Lyra set the basin on a low table, drew fresh cloth strips and ointments from bundle, then straightened before him. “Mr. Chance, off with the cloak. Let me get medicine on that cut…”
