The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5991

Night swallowed the Western District by the time they slipped back into Jade Immortal City.

Jared led Luther through a lattice of half-collapsed alleys until the abandoned shack reappeared, squatting behind a curtain of moldy bamboo.

Inside, the young cultivator hunched over a pile of prime crystals, lips shaping silent numbers.

The door scraped, and he jerked so hard that glittering stones sprayed from his palms like startled fish.

His voice cracked before his knees did.

"S-Seniors, I swear that was everything I knew. Press me again and it will still be nothing!"

Jared said nothing. He untied a broader sack and let it settle between them with a muted thud.

The mouth gaped just enough for light to spill out—hundreds of high-grade prime crystals blazing beside sleek vials of recovery and cultivation elixirs.

The boy’s pupils dilated, breath snagging like cloth on a nail.

Jared let the silence do its work, then spoke in a tone that offered no exits.

We are not here to rough you up.

"You live by trafficking whispers, so you know which doors such people hide behind."

He flicked a glance at the treasure, then at the quiet blades hiding in Jared’s eyes.

His tongue rasped over cracked lips before words emerged.

"S-Senior… one wrong step could cost me my head—no, my very soul on Soulfall Slope."

Luther cut in, voice low but steady.

Exactly why we need them.

"This cache is your fee for the introduction. When the job is done, more will follow."

He watched calculation muscle its way past fear in the boy’s eyes; silver always out-shouted terror.

Teeth set, the youngster scooped the sack to his chest and whispered,

"Follow me. No talking, no sightseeing."

Monkey slipped ahead like a shadow, never pausing long enough for Jared's boots to settle on the cobbles.

Broken walls rose like jagged ribs; every few breaths Monkey vaulted one, obliging Jared to scramble after.

When gaps narrowed into black mouths, Monkey ducked and slid into tunnels that stank of wet stone.

Half an hour bled away before the alleys spat them into a district of sprawling, once-grand manors.

Their roofs still dwarfed the street, yet vines throttled every beam, and windows gaped like pulled teeth.

Monkey halted at a gate where half a door dangled from a single hinge.

He rapped the frame—three slow, two sharp—each strike echoing like a code Jared could not read.

A drawn-out creak answered. A narrow slice of courtyard appeared, framed by a single suspicious eye.

"Monkey? That you? Who are the others?"

The voice was a low growl, the kind that suggested steel lived somewhere beneath the speaker's ribs.

"Panther, it's me," Monkey hissed. "These two want in—hard fighters, generous gifts, serious about the big score."

Silence stretched, then the door yawned wider. A scar-faced man, compact as coiled rope, stepped aside and barked, "Inside, quick."

Jared crossed the threshold and felt the air shift, as though a film slid over his ears.

The courtyard sprawled, improbably neat amid ruin, flagstones reset, roofs patched. A faint ripple of warding energy kissed his skin—someone had carved symmetry into the chaos.

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