The King Of Warriors novel (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5244

Jared and Flaxseed flowed with the crowd into Swordmaster City. What met them stole breath from every lung.

Streets broad enough for caravans were paved with dark, iron-flecked stone. On either side, buildings rose like serrated blades, each storefront bearing a sign that whispered of steel—”Forging Hall,” “Sword Scripture Vault,” and dozens more.

Eight of every ten passersby wore a weapon at hip or across back. Even those in plain linen gave off a razor-keen aura that pricked the skin.

“Mercy,” Flaxseed muttered, shoulders hunched as he fingered the charm pouch at his belt. “A walk down this avenue is enough to make a man sweat steel.”

Jared scanned the endless avenues, eyes dark and steady. “First we find lodging,” he said. “Then we start digging for answers.”

They wandered the crowded arteries of Swordmaster City for the span of a slow-burning incense stick before a building finally commanded their halt. It was Hospitality Lodge—no mere inn but a fortress of welcome—its facade crowned by two iron greatswords crossed in perpetual challenge, each blade flashing in the late-afternoon sun.

Those colossal swords, part sculpture and part oath, projected a boisterous confidence that seemed to ask every traveler who passed beneath them whether steel, and the will behind it, still ruled their hearts.

The moment they stepped inside, a bright-eyed attendant hurried forward. “Welcome, honored sirs. Dining or lodging?”

“Lodging,” Jared said, voice calm. “Two of your finest rooms.”

“Right away!” The boy’s quill skated across the ledger, and in the next breath he was leading them up a polished staircase toward the second floor.

Their chambers proved immaculate: fresh linen, a hint of sandalwood curling from a brazier, and wide windows overlooking the restless avenue where sword-bearing pilgrims flowed like a living river.

Flaxseed sank into the nearest chair as though it were a lifeboat, tipped the teapot straight to his lips, then exhaled a scalding sigh. “Jared, a city this obsessed with blades has to be crawling with agents from Malevolent Path Hall, don’t you think?”

Jared moved to the window, eyes tracing the glitter of steel below. “Maybe,” he answered. “That sect works in shadow. Even if they keep a foothold here, they won’t hang banners for it. First we find a local tongue willing to whisper the truth.”

A ripple of unseen pressure brushed Jared’s skin; he stiffened, the motion no larger than a breath.

“What is it?” Flaxseed asked, voice dropping.

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