A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6005

"Then I’ll start with his daughter first…"

"Senior, she almost never leaves the manor, and strangers can’t get near her. How will you reach her?"

Her brow furrowed; the question hung between them.

"I can take Quentin’s shape, walk into Jade Immortal Manor, then look for a window to approach Rania."

The room went still; even Luther’s ever-cold eyes widened.

Posing as Quentin inside the manor’s heart and dancing around the Manor Lord’s darling—one wrong note and everything burned.

The proposal was both breathtakingly bold and razor-thin on margin.

If he slipped while wearing Quentin’s face in the manor’s core, no rescue would reach him.

"Senior, this… this is far too reckless!" Lyza blurted, her voice cracking under the weight of alarm.

She stepped closer, speaking fast. "Quentin is Grand Chamberlain of the inner court. He deals with people all day, and plenty know every quirk he has."

"You can copy his face and aura, sure, but the tiny habits, the way he files reports, even who he greets first—any of that could give you away. And Rania—"

Lyza paused, lowered her tone. "Julian’s only daughter may look carefree, yet her talent is frightening. Her mind is sharp as a blade."

"She knows music, arrays, old texts. Folks in the manor respect her. If you approach her as Quentin and she senses a flaw—"

Luther rumbled, "Mr. Chance, Lyza is right. Slipping into the enemy’s nest while wearing a high-rank mask is a desperate play."

"Julian stands at seventh-grade Upper Immortal. His divine sense is razor-keen. One hint that something is off and we’re finished. Let’s rethink this."

Jared stayed unruffled, as if every danger they named had already run through his mind a dozen times.

"Danger is real," he admitted. "But this is still the best route to Julian, the Soul-Refining Crystal, and whatever secret the celestials are hiding."

"Breaking in by force would tip the whole manor and warn the celestials. Our chances of winning head-on are near zero."

He glanced at the limp, half-conscious Quentin on the floor, eyes cold. "And who said I need a perfect imitation?"

Quentin heard that and despair flickered inside his clouded gaze.

Jared walked to him, crouched, and asked softly, "Quentin, do you fear death?"

A rasp scraped out of Quentin’s throat. He tried to beg, but his chaos-scarred body no longer obeyed.

Jared laid a palm on the man’s crown. "Your memories, your reflexes, everything you are… I’ll borrow them."

The words fell, and a surge of purer, vaster chaotic force, laced with Jared’s overwhelming mind, flooded into Quentin’s shattered sea of consciousness.

"Soulsearch Technique."

Among cultivators it was one of the harshest acts—tearing memories by force; the victim often ended as a simpleton, sometimes as drifting ash.

Quentin’s limbs jerked uncontrollably. His eyes rolled white, a guttural croak spilling while pain twisted every feature beyond recognition.

Jared closed his own eyes, weaving through the torrent like a master loom, sorting, stripping, absorbing the tangled scraps that made up Quentin’s life.

He saw the man’s climb from obscurity, Julian’s favor, and the dirty errands that bought him power inside Jade Immortal Manor.

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