A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5983

He turned the question back across the snow.

"And you, Luther—where will your feet carry you now?"

Luther's shoulders sagged. The greenish fire in his eyes dulled as he muttered, "The Door of Reincarnation is gone. My clan may already be dead. I have nowhere left to return."

Jared watched the once-proud ghost sink into silence, the ragged cloak hanging like wet ash.

Memory supplied flashes of towers carved from bone, banquet halls lit by soul-lanterns—an empire now ground down to wandering survivors.

Pity, thin but unexpected, rose alongside his breath.

After a pause long enough for wind to slip between them, Jared said, "If nowhere feels safe, walk with me. I just arrived on level thirteen and could use someone who knows the edges."

Luther’s head jerked up, eyes widening like twin moons. "Mr. Chance… you— you don’t blame me?"

"One debt at a time."

Jared kept his tone even. "What you did on level twelve hurt people, yes, but the motive was survival, not cruelty. The Door is gone, and Mr. Sanders has already marked you. Live clean from here on, and I'll give you space at my side. A wet sheen slid across Luther’s eyes. He dropped to his knees so fast dust puffed around his boots.

"Your mercy, Mr. Chance, I will never forget! Let me serve, let me repay your grace!"

"Stand up." Jared caught the ghost’s elbow, the shadow-cold skin like glass under his fingers.

"First we find shelter," he added, guiding Luther to his feet.

Luther brushed gravel from his knees. "South thirty thousand miles lies Coldabyss City, largest haven on the southern edge of the North Abyss Icefield."

"Its City Lord is a High Immortal, unaffiliated and mostly fair. We could start there."

Jared inclined his head. "All right."

The moment felt like the hinge of a new book—level thirteen opening beneath his boots, untitled chapters waiting.

Inside his storage ring, mountains of ore, spirit herbs, and the Primal Unity Refinement Tome pressed against the tiny pocket of space like treasure impatient for daylight.

With that he could bargain, study, and survive.

Faces drifted across his mind—Mr. Vermilion’s amused eyes, Metalhart’s stern nod, the quiet patience of the valley lord, the solitary swordsman’s distant smile.

An inward whisper followed—an apology for slipping away and a promise to return once strength and footing were his.

Resolve settled behind his ribs like cooling steel.

Without another heartbeat of hesitation, he kicked off the frost-crusted ground.

His figure blurred into a streak of gray light that carved a silent path through the winter air.

The wind bit and howled, tugging at his sleeves, but ahead stretched uncharted skies, tougher foes, and a stage wide enough for every ambition.

Far behind, somewhere beyond the veil of realms, a tremor brushed the edge of his awareness—as though a towering gate had sighed and folded into nothing.

He glanced over a shoulder at empty sky, felt only the quieter pulse of the world, and kept flying.

A brittle shout cracked across the ridge. "The Door of Reincarnation… it’s gone?!"

Benches scraped. Aurelian, Blaine, and the others surged upright as if a cord had yanked them.

Blood drained from their faces; the air tasted suddenly of metal.

Could it be…

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