A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5867

Dustin dared not argue. "Yes, Elder Quill. I will relay the order immediately."

In the wavering torchlight, Elder Quill's lips curled into a crescent of cruelty. "Jared… I wonder how many heartbeats you can last inside the Netherworld Triple-Slaughter Array. After you fall, even your wandering soul will feed my cultivation—hee-hee-hee." His icy laughter slid along the stone walls like a serpent tasting air.

Three days slipped by in the blink of an hourglass.

Dawn of the third morning found Jared and the Vermilion Demon Lord standing once more outside Sandrock City's eastern gate, every precaution taken.

Jared now wore a teal combat suit cut for freedom of movement, several storage pouches, and a miniature array of plates dangling at his belt.

Though his surface aura still mimicked a Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One cultivator, chaotic celestial energy flowed steadily inside him, ready to explode at a flicker of intent.

Vermilion, clad in a dark-crimson robe etched with occult sigils, kept his demonic essence banked low; yet his hawk-bright stare promised violence. In his breast pocket rested vials of life-igniting elixirs—final measures for the worst.

Jared had stowed the small fire unicorn inside a storage ring; its blazing majesty would draw too many eyes.

Jared glanced eastward, toward the direction of Blackwind Gorge. "Time to move."

The two rose into the sky, streaking away as twin trails of light toward Darkwind Gorge three hundred leagues distant.

Level eleven's fabric proved denser, the very air pushing back against flight.

Jared estimated that his top speed here had dropped by roughly forty percent compared with the previous level.

Which meant that, should disaster strike, retreat would be far harder.

Half an hour later, a stretch of obsidian canyonland surfaced on the horizon.

Sheer black cliffs walled the chasm on both sides, and perpetual cyclones of sable wind whipped sand and stone through the gorge, reducing sight to a ghostly blur.

They called this place Blackwind Gorge. Every gust roaring through its fissures carried coal–black grit, a savage breath that had scoured the canyon walls for ages until even daylight seemed bruised.

Guided by the markings, Jared had studied on the device; he and Vermillion touched down at the mouth of the gorge. More than twenty cultivators had gathered there already. Each one pulsed with power in the middle tiers of the Heavenly Immortal Realm, their auras bristling like unsheathed steel.

Dustin, smiling broadly, pushed through the wary crowd and hurried toward them, the tails of his cobalt robe snapping in the restless wind.

"You two are right on time." Dustin's voice carried an easy warmth, but his eyes kept a merchant's tally of every blade and badge on their persons. "Allow me to introduce Conrad Hawke. He stands at the very peak of Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Six and will lead today's expedition. And this distinguished friend beside him…"

Name after name spilled from Dustin's lips until each principal figure had been presented like pieces on a freshly set game board.

Connor, expression placid, let his gaze drift across the assembly. Most were veteran rogues or minor-sect fighters—seasoned, distrustful, and careful to leave a sword's length of space between alliances.

Conrad looked every inch his reputation: broad-shouldered, bare-armed, a coffin-wide Ghoulblade strapped over his back. His stare raked Connor with open disdain. A Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One? Not worth a full breath, that glint seemed to say.

"We're moving," Conrad barked. Without waiting for agreement, he tramped into the gorge, boots cracking loose shale. The rest of the party fell in behind, the clink of talismans and the hush of caution merging with the mournful wind.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold than Darkwind Gorge exhaled its signature storm—black, knife-edged currents that slapped their protective light with a hiss of sand. Worse, the wind gnawed at the mind. Connor felt his spiritual sense cramp until it could barely stretch a hundred paces.

Perfect ground for an ambush, Connor thought, noting the overhangs that could rain stone and the blind corners begging for traps. A single misstep here would cage us like crabs in a pot.

Boom—stone exploded, shards whirling past protective shells in lethal streaks.

"Move!" Conrad barked, his great blade already flashing ahead of him as he dove into the darkness.

The rest of the party poured in after him, a staggered river of anxious silhouettes that vanished one by one beyond the lip of the opening.

Inside, the passage sloped downward in lazy coils. Walls wide as city streets bulged with age-polished rock, their faces etched with fading murals—flames, magma rivers, creatures half serpent, half bird—each panel pulsing with old, furnace-hot breath that mocked the valley's usual chill.

A voice drifted from the rear. "Whoever owned this lair must have practiced some ancient fire technique." The words trembled between awe and greed.

Jared's skin prickled. Those flames… that molten abyss… Dustin spoke of a Blaze Region, of an Infernal Lava Abyss. Could this place be linked? The timing feels too neat, too convenient.

After another quarter-hour, the corridor abruptly widened into a vast subterranean chamber, the ceiling lost in shadow.

At its heart stood a crimson dais nearly twenty feet tall. Upon it rested a jade casket that shimmered with liquid light, exhaling waves of tempting spiritual energy. Around the dais lay brittle skeletons and shattered relics, bleached by centuries.

"Treasure!" a wide-eyed cultivator cried and sprang forward, hunger smothering caution.

"Hold it!" Conrad roared, sweeping his blade sideways. "There's a trap!" His warning came a heartbeat too late.

The instant the first two zealots crossed within thirty yards of the dais, blood-red sigils spidered across the floor, glowing like fresh scars.

Boom!

A crimson curtain—wide as a parade ground—erupted, swallowing both men. Their screams rose, shrank to gurgles, then stopped as flesh, bone, even soul vapored into nothing but oily mist.