A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5982

Color washed from Luther’s face; shame fought embarrassment.

"Yes. Resources were scarce, yet the Door drinks staggering amounts of soul power. Once our hideout was exposed, I couldn’t stay on level thirteen."

"Level twelve sits in the Lower Realm. The cosmic gaze weakens there, and cultivators peak at High Immortal. With my strength and the Door’s latent force, I could operate unseen."

"I planned to bait them with promises of eternal life and blessings, letting volunteers offer soul power, or I’d gather the spirits of the dead from battlefields—quietly amass enough energy, then slip back, causing no wider storm."

A shrug that looked more like self-contempt. "Malcolm, Morven, and their ilk were willing pawns—hungry for power, easy to steer."

His gaze met Jared’s; a rueful twist lifted his lips. "What I didn’t foresee was crossing paths with you—and the man standing behind you, Mr. Sanders."

Silence thickened. Jared weighed the confession, the broken door, the ghosts of empires, and felt the future tilt.

"He could follow the twisted logic that had driven Luther’s people—the Ghost Clan—to the edge. When an entire race dangled between extinction and rebirth, mercy became a luxury they could not afford.

Even so, the memory of the riots they had sparked across level twelve still sat like grit behind his eyes—streets flooded with terrified refugees, healing halls overflowing, names that would never be spoken again."

Jared cleared his throat. "Did the souls of the Flaxseed clan really make it into the Reincarnation Division?"

"Absolutely."

Luther’s answer came fast, almost stepping on Jared’s last syllable. "Mr. Sanders worked wonders—they’re all back where they belong."

He lifted both palms in a calming gesture. "Their essences are whole, not a thread frayed. The passage through the cycle only polished them; next life, they might even thank us."

Jared’s shoulders loosened; the knot beneath his sternum finally slipped free.

Promise kept. Mr. Flaxseed could rest.

The relief lasted only until he took in the landscape—a barren sweep of slate-colored earth, no wind, no songbirds, just the weight of level thirteen’s thicker, purer aura pressing against his skin.

The laws themselves felt tighter here, as if every breath demanded a toll.

Mr. Sanders hadn’t bothered with good-byes; he had simply opened a door and dropped Jared onto level thirteen. The message was obvious enough—whatever could temper him in level twelve was finished.

Level thirteen—first rung of the Middle Realm. A stage wide enough to lose an army on, wide enough for him to find his place or vanish trying.

But behind the thrill lurked faces: Aurelian’s crooked grin, Blaine’s scowl of pretend indifference, Oswald tracing formation lines in the dust outside Reincarnation Peak.

And the Demon Lord of Vermilion clouds, loyal in his own jagged way, would think Jared had died inside the Door of Reincarnation.

He swallowed. He needed to find a way to reach them.

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