Chapter 5506

“Mr. Hexford… disaster… the Soul Urn… stolen… the gold-robed master-” The

words were severed, throttled by silence. Ash drifted down like gray snow, settling across the marble floor as though mourning what was still to come.

Drystan’s easy smile vanished. Eyes bulged wide as shields. He slammed the desk; oak detonated beneath his palm, splinters spraying like shrapnel.

A torrent of spiritual power erupted, rolling through the chamber in crushing waves. Cultivators toppled, faces drained chalk-white, dropping to their knees without a breath to spare. He paced-one thunderous step, then another-boots drumming a war-beat against stone. Each stride bled fury. In his glare burned a promise to set the world itself alight.

The Soul Urn was no mere vessel; it was the keystone in a pact between Sixth Hall and the Malevolent Path Hall, a clandestine engine that minted profit from lingering souls.

Its loss would not only enrage that formidable ally but also derail the grand design entrusted by Enaricus.

Drystan knew Enaricus’ methods-swift, merciless, and fond of sending warnings no one survived to recount. If this scheme failed, even Drystan might perish without understanding how the blade found his heart.