A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6063

Golden columns climbed into vaulted darkness, every inch of the main hall polished to a mirrored gleam. Colored flames guttered in bronze braziers, gilded beams throwing back broken shards of light.

The Grand Venerable stood at the hall's center, robes still, chin lifted. Around him, the highest officers of Divine Punishment Hall lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, spines locked straight, eyes lowered.

Silence weighed on the air like an unseen hand, slowing each breath, flattening every heartbeat until tension shimmered as plainly as the gold leaf under their feet.

A single point of brightness claimed the room. In the exact middle of the floor a circular array glowed silver, runes winding like rivers of quicksilver across carved stone.

Every gaze locked on that light, pupils reflecting its shimmer as though the pattern itself had threaded hooks through their eyes.

The threaded runes belonged to no craft of level thirteen. Each tangled stroke breathed a chill, foreign wind—the open doorway that reached toward the distant Fourteenth Firmament.

Today the Grand Venerable wore no battle mail. A dark-gold robe draped his frame, the cloth whispering with every shallow breath.

The pride that usually sharpened his stare had folded into a reverence bordering on humility.

Eight core Elders bent behind him, heads bowed so far their crests brushed the floor. Even their breathing came in clipped, rationed sips, as though fear itself counted every inhalation.

A low hum rolled across the marble, soft at first, then swelling until it set teeth vibrating and lantern chains quivering.

Silver circuits flared brighter. Space rippled around the array, expanding rings shining like water after a stone's drop.

Inside those ripples two blurred silhouettes surfaced. Lines of light tightened, flesh condensed, until two clear human forms occupied the glowing disc.

The glare receded. A single man and a single woman remained, still haloed by the last drifting strands of silver.

The man appeared around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Sharp brows framed star-bright eyes, and his features carried the flawless calm of a sculpted idol.

He wore a silver-white robe. Faint golden clouds curled along the cuffs and collar, while an ancient long sword hung silent at his waist.

The blade rested in its scabbard, yet a keen sword intent leaked out, pricking skin and forcing every watcher a step straighter.

Most striking, a pale gold vertical mark sat squarely between his brows—the unmistakable crest of celestial royalty.

The woman seemed even younger, barely into her twenties. Beauty clung to her like perfume, skin white as new snow under moonlight.

A light-violet gauze dress wrapped her frame. Tiny star-stones glittered along the hem, scattering motes of color with every subtle movement.

Silver hair poured to her waist, caught by a crescent-shaped jade pin that snared the hall's torchlight.

She carried an unapproachable coolness, like a high full moon hanging beyond mortal reach.

Power rolled off the pair—distinct, oppressive, unmistakably Top Level High Immortal Realm Level Seven.

More unsettling, that power felt purer than anything level thirteen cultivators could manage, as though their roots drilled far deeper than mortal reach.

The Grand Venerable hurried three steps forward and folded at the waist until his sleeves brushed polished stone.

"Guardian Marshal of Divine Punishment Hall, thirty-seventh generation, welcomes the envoys of the Celestial Palace of the Fourteenth Firmament."

Eight Elders echoed in perfect unison. "Welcome, envoys!" Their voices rang against the domed ceiling like striking bells.

Lucian's indifferent gaze glided over the kneeling line. He offered a brief nod.

"You must be the Grand Venerable. I am Lucian; this is my Junior Disciple Lyria. By our Master's order we come to temper ourselves and inspect the celestials' branch halls."

The words left him calm, yet each syllable dropped from a height, the way a lord flicks commands toward servants.

Lyria never spared the Grand Venerable a glance. She eyed the pillars and banners, a faint crease cutting her brow.

"Level thirteen's aura really is thin. Even Divine Punishment Hall feels shabby. Senior Disciple, must we stay three months?"

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify