A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6044

King Ironhide stopped pacing and turned as Hartcrest entered.

"Elder, you have returned. These two are…?" His deep voice carried cautious weight.

His gaze swept over Jared and Luther, lingering on the stranger's calm eyes.

Thick brows knitted into a wary line.

Hartcrest relayed the tale in quick, low words—the passage through the death range, the slaughter of the Five Venerables.

The bear king listened without a breath wasted.

When the account ended, King Ironhide’s eyes widened, black pupils sharpening.

"Did you truly kill all five?" he demanded, voice rough as gravel.

Jared answered with a single steady nod.

The bear king threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter that shook tent poles.

Buried inside the sound lay both ancient grief and fierce delight.

"Well done!" he bellowed.

"Those mangy elders crippled my father; their debt is paid. From this night, Jared, you are brother to King Ironhide. Wherever you need me, fire or flood, I will follow."

Around them, beast soldiers thumped chests and growled approval; the beast race never hid gratitude or hatred.

In that uproar, trust settled over Jared like a warm cloak; the king’s pledge sealed it for every ear inside the tent.

Jared raised a hand for silence.

"King Ironhide, tell me the current state of the siege. Is there a path to break it?"

The bear king’s smile faded; his shoulders sagged beneath unwelcome reality.

"Dire," he admitted. "We have been trapped three months. Stores of grain and pills are nearly gone, wounds fester, and morale sinks by the day."

He pointed to the rough sand table in the tent’s center.

"Outside lies the Heavenbound Beastlock Array," he said. "We cannot break out, and the celestials wait, wearing us thin before their final strike."

King Ironhide clenched his massive fists. Thick black fur bristled across his shoulders, and for a breath he only ground his fangs.

"And besides…" The words jammed in his throat, half-snarl, half-sorrow, as though the next truth might shatter what remained of his composure.

A tremor rippled along his wounded flank before he forced the rest out.

"They drag our captured kin to the front lines every single day," he rasped.

"They flay, burn, and break them where we can see, hoping to grind every shred of resolve we have left."

Jared’s gaze turned to iron. The torchlight edged his eyes, making the gray colder.

"Where is the Beast-Quelling Venerable, and where are the Five Beast Kings?"

Elder Hartcrest replied first, voice low but steady. "The Beast-Quelling Venerable remains at Beast-Quelling Hall Headquarters, three thousand miles from here, holding the core of their formation."

King Ironhide drew a rough circle on the sand table.

"Each of the Five Beast Kings commands an army encircling Skyfiend Gorge," he said. "King Redstinger and King Nightbat are the strongest—both High Immortal Realm Level Seven."

"The other three stand at the peak of Level Six."

He tapped five carved tokens into place. "Redstinger in the east, Nightbat in the west. The remaining three tighten the net from the south, the north, and the southeast."

Jared studied the layout in silence, fingertips hovering above the line that marked the gorge.

After a breath his hand flattened into a blade, a glint of frost in his eyes. "If they’ve split their strength, we strike one segment at a time."

Elder Hartcrest blinked. "One at a time?" The disbelief slid out before he could restrain it.

King Ironhide let out a humorless laugh and rubbed the fresh blood seeping through his bandages. "Brother Jared, fewer than twenty thousand of us can still stand, and most carry wounds."

King Ironhide shoved a larger marker beside each enemy token.

"Any single army under those kings numbers over thirty-thousand, fully supplied and rested. Breaking out is suicide—much less destroying them one by one."

Jared let the concern flow past him like wind over stone. A faint curve lifted one corner of his mouth.

"No legion is necessary. I alone can handle it."

An uneasy hush spread through the tent. Canvas walls creaked in the night breeze, but no one spoke or even breathed too loudly.

Elder Hartcrest’s antlered head turned first, eyes wide. King Ironhide followed, the raw question plain in both faces.

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