A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6065

A flicker of complexity surfaced in Lucian's gaze.

"The Fourteenth Firmament is far from calm," he murmured. "Factions jockey, and even the Celestial Palace feels the strain. Master sent us below to temper our blades—and perhaps to prepare for storms above."

Lyria kept quiet for a breath. The torch-light caught a small tilt of her chin, then her lips curved, bright and sudden.

"Who cares?" Her voice flew out light as silver.

"With Senior Disciple beside me, nothing can scare me. Let's join hands and pay Jared a visit. I want to see what mysteries that so-called chaotic force really holds."

Lucian watched the burst of sunlight on her face and, for a moment, the edge in his eyes softened.

"You," he said, half fond, half helpless. "Always so willful. Fine. We'll treat the trip as sightseeing. Level thirteen may be barren, but the scenery has its charm."

Their gazes met; the corners of two mouths lifted at the same instant.

In that smile lay the ease of travelers planning a picnic, not warriors marching toward a field where lives would be weighed.

Inside Godsbane Hall in Epea.

Jared stood on the stone dais before the main doors.

Below him, the hundred-thousand Beastfolk Army filled the courtyard, fur and scales packed shoulder to shoulder.

The sight pumped hot pride through his chest, yet a stony weight pressed beneath it.

Over the past three days, word had raced across Epea.

Tribe after tribe answered the call, and now one hundred thousand warriors knelt beneath his banner.

Among them stood more than fifty fighters at High Immortal Realm Level Six or higher.

Still, the numbers fell short. A hollow space stayed open inside his mind, whispering that this gathering would not be enough when the heavens struck back.

Luther stepped up, cloak brushing the flags at their boots.

He kept his voice low. "Mr. Chance, fresh news from the Eastern Region. Celestial forces everywhere are massing."

"Local powers smell freedom and want our help. Lord Jadeinfinity wishes to join you, but he needs time to unite the east."

Jared gave a single nod. "Tell those sects their task is simple: break the celestial yoke and hold their own ground. They needn't march here. I alone will erase the celestials."

Ever since his advance into the High Immortal Realm, confidence had swollen inside him like a flood pushing at levees.

Grand Venerable, divine titles—none of it counted for a copper in his eyes anymore.

Madam Nightfox stood nearby, tail of her cloak twisting in nervous fingers.

"Mr. Chance, the celestials have taken a brutal loss.

They will strike back harder than ever."

Jared's gaze slid east.

Gray light flickered behind his pupils.

"I know.

That's why we strengthen Epea's walls now and sharpen our own edge."

He turned, voice cutting across the terrace.

"Pass the order.

Any cultivator at High Immortal Realm Level Five or above is to gather in Godsbane Hall.

I will teach you a joint array."

Murmurs sparked; eyes flared with sudden hunger.

Jared inclined his head.

"The array is called the Chaos Convergence Array, born from insights into the Chaos Grand Path.

Imperfect, yes, but once mastered it will fuse our powers far beyond normal limits."

Excitement rippled outward like wind through tall grass; no one stood still.

An array drawn from the Chaos Grand Path—what depths might that hold?

Anticipation tasted like metal on every tongue.

For the next three days, drills hammered day and night inside the hall.

Footsteps, shouted counts, and swirling light never ceased.

Jared wove threads of chaotic force through every diagram.

He did not hand that force over, but the array channeled an echo of its might, letting their strengths resonate.

Outside, the Beastfolk Army did not idle.

Under Luther and Morvane, trenches opened, palisades rose, and sigil traps littered a hundred-mile ring.

Godsbane Hall grew its own iron shell.

By dusk of the third day, the first shape of success appeared.

One-hundred-and-eight Level Five cultivators locked shoulders in formation.

The moment the Chaos Convergence Array flared, a massive gray vortex flowered above the hall.

It rotated slowly, breathing an ancient, boundless scent, as though it could swallow seasons and steel alike.

Their banners blotted sunlight, turning the dome of heaven a harsh, blinding gold.

At the host's spear-point, hundreds of floating warships formed a rigid wall.

Every deck bristled with armored celestial guards.

Golden chains stretched between hulls, weaving a Worldlock Net that spanned hundreds of miles across the sky.

Yet the breath-stealing part was the power spiking upward from the formation.

Ten separate spikes.

Ten full auras at High Immortal Realm Level Seven.

At their head hovered a figure in a dark-gold robe, face stern, none other than the Celestial Grand Venerable.

He stood in midair, his strength as deep as an ocean trench—unmistakably High Immortal Realm Level Eight.

A gust of pressure rolled across the sky as the Grand Venerable leveled out above the battlefield.

To the left of the robed despot—and to the right as well—hovered ten more celestial venerables drawn from every corner of level thirteen.

Each radiated the dense, steady force of a High Immortal Realm Level Seven master.

Under ordinary skies each of those names would have stayed home, ruling their own slice of the heavens.

Yet now, impossibly, every single one had converged on Epea, crowding the air with overlapping auras.

But what truly snagged Jared's eye lay a few steps behind the Grand Venerable.

A pair of figures—one male, one female—floated there, their poise so precise it sliced through the chaos like a blade of light.

The man wore a silver robe and rested one hand on a long sword; at the center of his brow, a radiant God-king sigil pulsed.

Beside him, the woman's violet dress flared against her silver hair, her face so flawless it reminded Jared of a moon hanging over the ninth heaven.

Realization flickered through the watching ranks—those two were Lucian and Lyria, Envoys dispatched from the Fourteenth Firmament itself.

Their cultivation signatures stalled right at the top of High Immortal Realm Level Seven.

Even so, the precision in those currents left the strongest veterans of level thirteen feeling crude by comparison.

In particular, Lucian stood motionless like a divine blade still sheathed.

Sword intent seeped off him and climbed skyward, warping the air in shallow ripples.

Numbers stacked themselves in Jared's mind: 300 thousand troops, ten Level-Seven-and-above masters, and two Envoys from the Fourteenth Firmament.

A force like that could steamroll any territory across level thirteen without breaking stride—and every witness knew it.