The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6300

"Grandpa, I understand now. Flame is power. Whoever has greater power is the strong one."

Grandpa looked at him.

Sorrow filled his eyes.

"Child, you're wrong. Flame isn't power. It's life."

The youth didn't believe him.

He turned and left the plain again.

This time, he went even farther.

Time sped up once more.

The youth became a young man.

The young man became a grown man.

His flame changed again.

From gold-white, it turned a deep blue. Then from deep blue, it became a nearly transparent white.

He became stronger and stronger.

And more and more alone.

He had devoured too many flames.

The wills inside those flames clashed within him, crashed against each other, and tore at his soul.

He grew harsher.

His temper came quicker. And little by little, he stopped trusting anyone.

He returned to the plain.

There were no fire spirits left on the plain.

Grandpa was gone too.

All that remained was dead silence, molten fire, and scorched earth.

He stood there, looking out over that barren land.

He said nothing for a long time.

Then he lifted his head and looked up at the sky.

"I'll prove it to you," he said under his breath. "The flame is power."

He raised a hand.

A mass of white flame gathered in his palm.

It burned so hot the space around it warped.

It burned so hot even the light bent.

Then he hurled that ball of flame into the sky.

The flame shot upward, punched through the barrier of the laws of the celestial realm, and crashed down onto the land of the Fifteenth Firmament.

It blasted out a crater 1 thousand miles across.

After that, the young man fought his way onward without pause, chasing the power of the supreme flame, and tens of thousands of years slipped by in the span of a finger snap...

The young man from back then had long since grown old.

Morning and night had bleached him with age, and in his eyes, there was nothing left except hunger for power.

His flame had already changed from that original white into an evil black.

He stepped onto the demonic path, and he gained a name that shook the world—Inferno Devil.

Jared's eyes snapped open.

He was still standing at the bottom of the Pyre Chasm.

His fingertip was still touching that cluster of white flame.

But his hand was shaking, and his forehead was slick with cold sweat.

"That was... Inferno Devil."

At last, it had become clear to him.

That youth, that fire spirit with the greatest talent, that young man who refused to be satisfied and kept chasing the furthest edge of power—he was Inferno Devil.

That heavenfire had not fallen from the sky.

He had thrown it there with his own hand.

The Pyre Chasm was not a natural disaster.

It was a mark he had left behind.

And that white flame, the flame beneath Jared's fingertip, was the last trace of purity Inferno Devil had left behind before he departed.

Untouched by the hunger that devoured everything. Unwarped by the chase for power. It was only the first the flame-lotus the gifted child had ever gathered under that old man's guidance.

Pure. Warm. Full of life.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify