A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6089

Grace clasped her fists and bent at the waist.

"Many thanks, Benefactors."

She straightened, palms still together, and offered a tentative smile.

"May I ask the honored names of my rescuers?"

"Jared," he said, giving the single word with no embellishment.

He lifted one hand toward his silent companion.

"Luther."

Grace nodded.

Her gaze slid from Jared to Luther and back again, questions pooling behind her lashes, but she kept them to herself.

Jared caught the stalled breath she tried to hide.

"Miss Grace, moments ago you said the Palace wanted you alive for a ritual. Do you know why they chose you?"

Shadow crossed her features.

Silence dragged until Jared almost spoke again.

Finally she lowered her eyes. "Because I discovered their secret."

"What secret?" Jared's voice stayed even, but it carried the weight of a blade.

"The celestials have been raising Sacred Mountains all across the Fourteenth Firmament," she said, hatred sharpening every syllable.

Her eyes burned. "I belonged to the Blue Phoenix Sect. Three years ago a celestial squad stormed our peak, claiming Blue Phoenix Mountain for a sub-altar."

"When the Sect Master refused, they butchered all three hundred seventy-eight disciples.

They drained every drop of blood essence and soul, feeding it to a twisted statue with eight arms and a serpent tail."

Her voice trembled, but no tears fell.

"I had been away training. When I returned, corpses littered the mountain, and the Sect Master's withered husk hung beside the idol."

Jared said nothing, letting the wind that whistled through the sparse pines fill the space she no longer could.

Luther's knuckles whitened around the hilt at his belt.

Ghost-Clan rage surged through his veins, begging for release.

Grace drew a shaky breath and went on, "I've spent the last three years running from their hunters while digging for answers."

"I learned the Palace has raised at least nine Sacred Mountains across the Firmament. Each peak is anchored by the corpse of a Ghost Clan powerhouse, refined the same way into a ghost corpse."

"Nine?" Luther blurted, disbelief cracking the word in half.

The destruction of his people had not ended with death; even in silence their bodies were being twisted into weapons.

The thought made him shake.

A faint tremor ran from Luther's shoulders to his boots; the Ghost Clan had suffered enough.

"Yes." Grace's teeth clicked together as she forced the word out.

"Hall Master Dominic wants more than Lord Mournwright."

"He plans to turn eight other ancient Ghost Clan champions into corpses as well."

"When all nine rise, the Ninefold Nether Infernal Array will let him crush the Basilica, the Palace—maybe even seize the whole celestial race."

Jared's pupils narrowed to pinpoints.

Dominic's ambition ran deeper than Jared had guessed.

The Divine King—the Golden Immortal who ruled the celestials—stood leagues above Dominic in rank.

Yet the man still dared to reach for that throne.

No wonder he needed so many ghost corpses.

The scale of the scheme finally made sense.

"Have you spoken of this to anyone else?" Jared asked.

Grace shook her head.

"I kept silent. No one would believe me. If you hadn't saved me today, I would have died dragging the hunters into oblivion."

Her eyes pleaded.

"Benefactor, I know you oppose the Palace and carry a Golden Dragon Bloodline and chaotic force.

I don't ask you to avenge the Blue Phoenix Sect—only that, when you strike at them, you smash those altars.

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