Quentin’s pupils constricted to pinpricks; horror flooded the cracks of his composure. That Mystic Tortoise Spirit Shield had cost him a fortune, yet Jared had erased it with one lazy tap. Before he could rally the armor or any other trick, Jared’s chaotic-force-lit finger slammed into his Umbral Ice Armor.
A brittle snap echoed under the trees. A sharp, glass-like crack rang out. The Umbral Ice Armor—strong enough to shrug off sacred blades—met the chaotic force and shattered, turning to glittering frost in a heartbeat. The annihilating surge riding Jared’s fingertip punched through the ruin of armor and flooded straight into Quentin’s chest.
“Urgh!” Quentin’s breath burst out in a ragged grunt. His lips blanched, shoulders shaking, as a killing chill seemed to hollow him from within. Under Jared’s spiritual sense, the man’s meridians flashed frost-white, his aura tearing apart in jagged bursts, and even his soul spasmed with needlelike agony, dragging him toward a cold abyss. Centuries of honed umbral power boiled away like snow flung into a furnace.
“H-Hold him back!” Quentin rasped, stumbling in retreat. He forced the last threads of energy to propel himself rearward. A Crimson Jade Talisman, his lifeline to summon Julian’s aid, slipped from his sleeve, pinched between trembling fingers, ready to shatter.
The two guards, however, had troubles of their own. From the shadow of the boulder, Luther struck. Two hair-thin strands of Nether Soul Threads whipped out, so faint they barely bent the light. They were no physical blades; they flew straight for the mind. Focused on Jared’s pressure and the sluggish air, the guards never saw the trap. The threads vanished into the base of their skulls without a ripple.
Both men jerked, eyes clouding with pain and confusion, movements locking mid-swing. Their rank and will kept their souls from tearing free, yet any warning cry died in their throats.
Jared never let Quentin reach that talisman. His left hand flashed out and clamped around Quentin’s wrist.
*Crack!*
The bones inside splintered under that grip. Quentin’s wrist collapsed, angles warping grotesquely.
“Argh!” A short, broken scream slipped out of him. The Crimson Jade Talisman spun free, tumbling through the thick air.
Jared ignored it; his right hand flattened into a palm and drove into Quentin’s lower abdomen. Every ounce of strength was measured to a hair. Chaotic force roared in, then wove itself into countless gray chains, wrapping his energy center, meridians, even the man’s sea of consciousness. A second strand shot higher, pressing his very spirit under an iron lid.
Quentin’s eyes rolled, color drained from his face. Just before darkness claimed him, he stared at Jared’s gaze—cold, deep, star-lit.
*Thud!*
The big body sagged onto the mossy path, breathing shallow, shackled tight by chaotic force. From the first glint of danger to this collapse, barely a couple of breaths had passed. Fast. Too fast. And every link in the plan had clicked exactly where it should.
The two guards blinked through the lingering soul-pain and saw their commander sprawled in the dirt. A young man stood over the fallen figure, expression calm, eyes unreadable. Terror drenched the guards; with Quentin captured, they doubted they would leave this path alive. They traded a quick look. At the same instant they barked out a harsh shout, blood flaring dark around them, and launched themselves straight at Jared with reckless force.
The short halberds in their hands erupted in a blinding black glare. The message was clear even to Jared’s eyes: if they couldn’t win, they would at least explode and rattle the whole manor.
“Stubborn fools…” Jared let out a low snort. He did nothing more than sweep his sleeve through the air. A weight without shape or sound slammed down, as heavy as a mountain and just as final, crushing the path between him and the two men. From where Jared stood, he saw their charge jerk to a halt, as if an unseen peak had landed on their backs.
Bones creaked loud enough to carry. Their chests caved, mouths opened for breath that would not come, and the crimson fire licking their skin sputtered and died under the pressure. They strained, yet not even a fingertip twitched. Attack, shout, move—none of it was possible for them now.
Jared kept the sleeve raised, feeling the pattern of the Suppression Glyph Technique woven out of raw chaotic force. It was rough compared with a specialist’s work, but the shape was close enough. With his depth of power, that made subduing two wounded fourth-grade Immortals a trivial task.
Jared stepped in, tapped each man between the brows, and pushed a thread of chaotic force inside. Their eyes rolled back and they sank into a silent, bottomless sleep.
Jared swept a quick glance over the path. Three bodies lay motionless; nothing else stirred. The array’s barrier still muffled air and sound, swallowing the earlier clash before it could leak any farther. In the distance the pines continued to rustle, untouched.
Jared flicked his wrist, reclaiming the Crimson Jade Talisman, then kneeled to search Quentin and the two guards with swift, practiced hands. Storage pouches, personal tokens, anything that might track or identify—each item came off, especially the badges and communicators hanging on Quentin’s belt.
“Luther, carry the guards. We leave the way we came. Move.” Still gripping the unconscious Grand Chamberlain by the collar, Jared issued the order as Luther’s shadowed form stepped into view.
“Yes.” Luther didn’t argue. He hooked each limp guard by the waist and lifted them like sacks of grain.
Jared swept the ground once more, erasing every lingering rune from the quick array with a wash of chaotic force. Then the two men melted into the same pockets of shadow they used before and headed for the hidden tunnel in the abandoned garden.
The return trek rode on tighter nerves. Three unconscious prisoners slowed every step, and any stray patrol could still ruin the night.
