Jared spun toward Everett, determination blazing in his golden eyes.
"Everett, take everyone inside! Grab everything that isn't nailed down. Leave these five to me!"
"But Mr. Chance, they're five Level Nine Wandering Immortals!" Everett gasped.
"Move, or there won't even be soup left for us!" Jared roared and swung the Dragonslayer Sword. A thunderous golden arc blasted the thick iron gate to powder.
Flaxseed whooped and bolted through the opening. "Hurry up! If we're late, there won't be anything left for us to loot!"
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