Chapter 5702

“Sir—” The single syllable left Jared’s cracked lips like a plea whispered through dust-dry lungs.

Relief flared, then fled. His chest caved inward, knees turning to water, and the world pitched. The breath he forced out carried flecks of bright blood—royal lifeblood he had burned without hesitation—leaving his body hollow, spent, trembling on the edge of collapse.

“You have done wonderfully,” the Tower Spirit said, his timbre deep and gentle, as if every word were a hand steadying Jared’s faltering soul.

A current—pure, verdant, unmistakably alive—surged from the phantom’s upraised palm. It poured through Jared’s veins, knitting shredded flesh, stitching torn meridians, filling the hollows that pain had carved inside him with liquid sunrise.

“The wretch sealed on the upper level spent centuries corroding my mind, hoping to seize the tower and drain every drop of Draconian strength to break free. Had you not come, had your Golden Dragon Bloodline not awakened me, all would be lost.” The old phantom’s eyes burned with renewed clarity as he spoke.

With the true Tower Spirit awake, every berserk ward within the Beast-Subduing Tower fell silent. Snaking black energy that had haunted each tier thinned, then vanished like smoke in a gale.

Far below, Cyanna and Coall straightened. The crushing force that had gnawed at their bones dissolved, leaving only stunned relief ringing in their chests.