A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5827

Beyond the mountain range, at the ragged fringe of the Blood-scar Plains, the once-ominous coalition limped homeward.

A day earlier, they had been arrogant. Now clusters of survivors skulked like strays, ripping off sect insignia and cursing the slow gift of two legs.

At the head staggered Sheldon, skin the color of grave dust, eyes unfocused, gait that of a man centuries older than sunrise. Jared's indifferent stare kept spooling through his mind; the casual flick that erased a demon elder to ash; the single sweep of sword-light that turned hundreds of elite cultivators into drifting sand.

Again and again, the same fragments replayed inside Sheldon's bruised mind. He saw Jared's sword split the sky. He saw Mordain—once the immovable pillar of the Infinite Soul Demon Sect—vanish in a single, merciless flash. Each recalled image felt like a shard of ice boring straight through his pride.

He had lost.

No—he had been utterly, humiliatingly crushed. More than seventy percent of his elite forces lay dead or scattered, and the sect's strongest protector was nothing but drifting ash.

Their once-dominant stronghold on the Blood-scar Plains was in ruins. Whether the sect could even keep its gates open beneath the hungry gaze of rival powers on level ten had become a terrifying unknown.

Yet the blade that pierced Sheldon's heart most deeply was Jared's final, glacial warning. "Tell Soul Devourer to wait."

The master Sheldon had believed to be his salvation now looked more like an executioner's summons. Jared was coming for Soul Devourer. And, judging by the nightmarish strength already displayed, the young swordsman might—might—actually be able to topple that living god. Terror tangled with hatred, despair, and twisted, frantic hope until Sheldon's sanity began to fray.

With a sudden, feverish jerk, he lifted his head toward the distant, smoke-ringed heart of the sect. A crazed shimmer lit his eyes.

"The lord... yes, the lord is still there!" he rasped. "Only Soul Devourer can crush that little beast. We return at once—full speed—report everything and beg him to avenge us!"

The few surviving elders staggered into motion as Sheldon's cracked roar lashed across the ruined plain.

Meanwhile, in the Mystic Sky Sword Sect, relief at still being alive mingled with the raw horror of battle's wake. Tear-streaked disciples gathered the fallen, swept blood-spattered flagstones, and patched shattered walls one stone at a time. The sect had endured, but at a price that took one third of its members—familiar smiles that would never return.

On the grand plaza before the main hall, Linden stood with help from two elders. Blood leaked through the seams of his robe, and each breath rattled, yet his gaze burned with gratitude as it found the man in the blue cloak ahead.

"Mr. Chance... no, Sir Chance!" He pushed aside the supporting arms and bowed until his forehead touched the scarred marble. Emotion strangled his voice. "Had your sword not descended like a heaven-sent miracle, the thousand-year foundation of our sect would have been erased today. Your grace has saved our lives and preserved our home. Mystic Sky Sword Sect and I will remember this debt for as long as our blades draw breath. We offer you our deepest bow!"

Every elder and disciple still able to stand followed, bending low in a single, thunder-silent salute that seemed to shake the mountain more than any roar.

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