The idea that Jared, once a hunted our on level six-could stride into level seven and obliterate a Soul Urn felt impossible. Even a fragment of the Soul Devourer’s power was more than most level-six cultivators could fathom, let alone overcome.
That ancient fiend’s cruelty was legend, its methods whispered to chill marrow. For chance to escape such clutches hinted at hidden forces, secrets Drystan could neither explain nor ignore.
There is no time… This must reach Enaricus immediately! Drystan straightened, resolve crystallizing behind storm-dark eyes. He understood the stakes, one wrong decision could topple halls and dynasties alike, and dared not shoulder that consequence alone.
Drystan’s mind raced. Jared had not only shattered the Soul Urn, had likely uncovered the covert alliance between the Celestial Palace and the Malevolent Path Hall. Should that truth spread, arrows from every faction would converge, drowning the Celestial Palace.
He strode into the silent nave until stood before the Communications Array, Its runes burning like a portal cut from starlight, humming with distant promise.
His fingers flew, weaving seals too quickly for the eye to follow, movements etched into muscle and marrow by a thousand relentless drills.
At the final sign, poured a lance of urgent aura into the circle, it slithered away like quicksilver, vanishing the Instant It touched the Incandescent lines.
“Mr. Hexford, what matter drives you to disturb me so urgently?” The question rolled from the array, deep and commanding.
The voice felt as if it had dropped from the vault of heaven itself, heavy with authority that brooked no refusal.
“Mr. Enaricus!” Drystan bowed so deeply his breath scraped the floor. “Jared Chance is alive. He has reached level seven and destroyed the Soul Urn we traded for with Evil Path Hall!”
For a long, ragged moment, no answer came, the silence itself seemed to burn.
“Jared Chance… Not dead?” The simmer in Enaricus’ tone threatened to spill into open fury. “So Onneas truly led his men through level six and plucked those captives from the Soul Devourer’s grasp?”
Enaricus had known Onneas had descended with an elite force, yet their fate had been a blank spot in every report. The blank was now filled, Onneas had beaten the Soul Devourer, letting Jared survive to reach level seven.
What Enaricus still did not know was that the Fire Spirit Lord’s hidden hand had tilted that battle.
Drystan dared not speak, head lowered, shoulders trembling beneath the weight of his superior’s reproof. He understood that any excuse offered now would only feed the flames.
“Stabilize the situation. No one learns of this, understand?” Enaricus ordered, voice suddenly chilled to iron. “I will negotiate with the Malevolent Path Hall myself. Shadow Jared’s every move. The instant you see him, do nothing, inform me at once. I am dispatching Cormac to assist you… This time, Jared Chance leaves level seven only as a corpse.”
“Understood!” Drystan answered, clutching the order like a drowning man grips driftwood.
The array’s light winked out, restoring the hall to a deceptive calm that throbbed with unseen currents. But beneath that stillness, the waters of mutiny already churned.
***
Across level seven, within the branch stronghold of the Malevolent Path Hall, the air was no less suffocating.
The grand elder of the Malevolent Path Hall, Stebarin Hemato, lounged upon a throne of basalt black as midnight, its surface cold enough to birth frost.
Between his fingers rested the shattered halves of a jet-black token, the last signal sent by Scarface before oblivion claimed him. A token broken meant a life erased, a star that had fallen beyond the reach of dawn.
Below, several disciples who had fled the Soul Convergence Altar knelt, shivering like sparrows in a winter gale. Their stammered report of the Soul Urn’s destruction spilled out in fits of terror and despair.
“Jared Chance reached level seven this quickly?” Stebarin‘s voice out through the hall like ice, eyes blazing with murderous intent.
