"Next stop, Greenwood Sect. I want every shard of their ten-millennium Spirit-Nurturing Tree," Jared said, his voice quiet yet sharp enough to draw blood.
The Draconian army arrived like a summer squall and departed just as quickly, leaving the Netherfrost Sect in smoking silence. Their radiant, crimson-robed sect master stood amid broken pillars, her expression a tangle of humiliation, lingering dread, and, though she would never admit it, relief.
At the very least, the sect still stood, and her people still breathed.
Across the Ninefold Heavens, those uneasy breaths soon morphed into open panic.
Jared's legion marched as an iron flood, unstoppable and unhurried, drowning one skybound realm after another in its wake.
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