The Man's Decree (Favo novel) novel Chapter 5802

Jared's brow knit, jaw tight. "How did you end up this battered?"

He pulled three healing pills of his own making—pearly, fragrant—and slipped them between Paxton's mouth before any protest could form. A ribbon of pure chaotic energy followed, uncoiling through blocked meridians and carrying the medicine where flesh could not.

The pills dissolved at once. Warm vitality swept outward; color crept back into Paxton's cheeks, and his erratic breathing settled into an even cadence.

"My thanks, sir. Had you not reached us in time—had you not gifted such elixir—Paxton would already be ashes on the wind."

"Now's not the time to thank me." Jared's voice cut the air like cold steel.

He surveyed the hollow. Fewer than thirty disciples—bruised, bandaged, some barely conscious—huddled in the rubble where once the Myriad Beast Sect bustled. Anger flickered behind his eyes, a storm building pressure.

"Where is Elder Barrington? And Gavin? Yvette? I don't see them anywhere."

At the mention of Barrington, Paxton's gaze clouded. His voice rasped, thick with grief. "Elder Barrington... stayed behind so we could escape. Garth and the Infinite Soul Demon Sect thugs surrounded him. He... He died..."

Jared had braced for bad news, yet the confirmation drove a spike through his ribs. Bartram, that blunt, quick-tempered, but loyal bear of a man, was gone.

He closed his eyes, swallowing the taste of blood, forcing the urge to kill back into its cage.

"What about Gavin and Yvette?"

"After we broke through, we split up and agreed to meet here," Paxton said, steadying his breath. "Their wounds were not serious, and because they knew you best, I sent each with a scouting team—one toward the Mystic Sky Sword Sect, one toward our ruined headquarters—to find your trail. No matter the result, they were to return within ten days. Eight have passed. No sign of them, no message—nothing."

Jared's heart plunged. A bad feeling crept up his spine.

Gavin and Yvette were cautious to a fault; silence meant trouble of the darkest kind. They would've at least sent a message.

He knelt beside Paxton. "Which routes did they take? Landmarks, coded signs—tell me every detail."

Paxton recited bearings, river bends, bluffs marked with claw-scars—their entire clandestine map—while Jared etched each point into memory.

He rose, plan already forming like iron in a mold.

A young leopard sentry burst in, spots bristling, voice kept to a frantic whisper. "Sir! We've found fresh tracks—enemy patrols, many of them, sweeping this way!"

"They're less than a hundred miles away! At least three patrol squads have merged, and two auras—strong ones—feel like Level Six Heavenly Immortals!"

"What?" Jared's head snapped toward the valley mouth, eyes narrowing to slits that promised ruin.

Faces blanched, worry rippling through the valley like a cold wind across tall grass. Paxton heaved his wounded body from the sheltered boulder, trying to bark orders, but Jared's palm settled on his shoulder, gentle yet immovable—an unspoken command to stay down.

Enemies were hot on their tails, and they had nowhere else to go. Are we going to be wiped out here?

"My master, the Flame-Sword Venerable, discovered it ages ago," she explained. "The entrance is masked, opened only by a sigil stone and a spoken charm. Inside stretches a labyrinth of fire-charged air. Ordinary trackers cannot breathe there long, but hunters who need only refuge will find endless turns and shadows. Better still, it sits less than two days from here, and the path there is quite remote."

Jared's pulse quickened. Secret realms bent natural law; most tracing spells died the moment one stepped across such thresholds.

Hope flickered in Paxton's eyes, mirrored by the other elders—then dimmed beneath courtesy. "A treasure like that belongs to your sect. We are outsiders—"

"That's the least of our worries now," Clara cut in, her tone suddenly a sword edge. "My master drilled one lesson into me—steel your heart, aid the helpless. Now that your sect is in danger, and the Demon Sect is on a rampage, the Mystic Sky Sword Sect will do anything we can to help. My father will agree with that, too."

She faced Jared. "What do you think, Mr. Chance?"

Jared weighed options—the bleeding convoy, demon hounds howling in memory, paths closing like claws. No safer card lies in this deck. He nodded once.

"Paxton," he said, "what do you think?"

Paxton drew a slow breath, then bowed deeply. "Clara, the Myriad Beast Sect owes you life itself. If we survive this night, we'll do anything in our power to aid you should you need it."

"Spare the ceremony. Save that strength for the road—and for whatever waits beyond the secret gate."

Clara bowed, then lifted her chin, grim urgency sharpening her voice. "There's no time to waste. We have to move now—slip out before their net closes. I know a back route that's almost safe."