The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6641

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When Jared and the others returned to Clearwind Village, day had already broken.

Golden sunlight covered the earth, lighting the distant mountains and the nearby wasteland. Everything seemed quiet. Peaceful.

Then Jared stopped.

His nose moved slightly.

Something was wrong with the air.

Blood.

Thick, dried blood, mixed with burned rot and ash, drifting in the morning wind.

Rowan stopped as well.

His face went white.

"Mr. Chance... that smell..."

Jared did not answer.

He suddenly sped toward Clearwind Village.

Rowan and the nine cultivators followed close behind. A terrible premonition rose in every heart.

When the village came into sight, all of them froze.

It was gone.

The ancient tree at the entrance had been burned into charcoal. Its heavy trunk lay across the ground, crushing several blackened corpses beneath it.

What remained of the houses still gave off thin smoke. Ash drifted through the morning air like black snow.

Dark-red blood covered the ground. It had already dried into a black film over every inch of soil.

Bodies lay everywhere.

In the square.

On the streets.

Inside the ruins.

Some were burned black. Some had lost their heads. Some had been cut open.

The deaths were too terrible to look at.

Blood and burning filled the air until breathing itself felt sickening.

Rowan's whole body shook.

Then he let out a sound that tore through the ruins.

"No!"

He rushed into the village and began digging through the bodies like a madman.

His wife.

His child.

His parents.

His neighbors.

All of them were on the ground.

All of them were cold.

He lifted a woman's body.

It was his wife, Lila.

Her clothes were torn apart. Wounds covered her body. Her eyes were still open, full of terror and unwillingness.

"Lila! Lila, wake up! Open your eyes and look at me!"

Rowan held her and broke down. Tears poured from his eyes and fell onto her pale face.

The nine cultivators went mad as well.

They scattered through the ruins, searching for their families.

Some found their parents.

Some found brothers and sisters.

Some found their children.

Cries, shouts, and grief-filled roars echoed through the wreckage like a funeral song.

Jared stood at the village entrance and looked at the scene before him.

His black eyes showed no emotion.

But his fingers trembled.

He remembered those villagers.

The white-haired old chief.

Rowan, who had guided them through demon hound territory.

The villagers who had looked at him with awe and worship.

They had treated him as a savior.

A hero.

Their hope.

Now they were dead.

Killed by greed.

Killed by cruelty.

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