A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6347

While Jared remained in seclusion, the Tribunal Venerable arrived at Skywolf Tribe with five upper-realm celestial warriors.

Up in the sky, five silver streaks ripped across the air like meteors, trailing long tails of white fire before crashing down onto the ruins of the camp at Skywolf Tribe.

The silver-haired man looked around, and his brow pulled tight.

His spear turned lightly in his hand, the silver glow at its tip flashing with a hard, cutting chill in the falling dusk.

"It's empty?"

The Tribunal Venerable's face turned ugly.

His injuries still hadn't fully closed, and the wound in his chest kept throbbing under the surface.

He stepped forward and looked at the tents that had been taken down, the wooden barricades that had been shoved over, and the bloodstains that had already dried. Something in him sank.

His steps wavered. The battle three days ago had drained too much of his spiritual power, and even now, he still hadn't recovered.

"They... they ran."

The captain narrowed his eyes. "Ran?"

"Y-yes." The Tribunal Venerable's voice shook, and cold sweat broke across his forehead. "They may have gotten word and moved out ahead of time."

The captain said nothing for a moment. Then a sneer tugged at his mouth.

It was a cold smile, cold enough to make the air around them seem to drop. "You dragged this out for so long just to bring us to an empty camp?"

Sweat beaded harder on the Tribunal Venerable's forehead. He bent at once and said, "Senior, please calm your anger. They have to still be in the Fifteenth Firmament. I know where they might have gone..."

"Then lead the way," the captain said. "Don't waste any more of our time."

The Tribunal Venerable nodded in a rush and led the five companions toward Shadow Hall.

Shadow Hall was empty too.

Inside the underground palace beneath Shade Abyss, not a soul remained.

The hidden chambers had been stripped clean. The wards were shut down. Even the stone doors had been left hanging open.

The black throne stood by itself in the empty great hall, as if it were mocking them.

The ore set into the vaulted ceiling was still glowing. That dim blue light spilled over deserted corridors and made the whole place look even stranger.

The Tribunal Venerable's face turned even worse.

"They... they even abandoned Shadow Hall."

The captain had reached the end of his patience.

"Where else?"

"Moonshade Realm... There might still be people in Moonshade Realm."

The Tribunal Venerable led the five silver-armored cultivators once more, flying deep into the Nether Mountain Range, straight for Moonshade Realm.

The ancient city was empty.

No one stood in the streets. No one remained in the stone halls. Even the sigils on the city walls had gone dim.

Only the wind moved through the ruins, letting out low, broken cries that sounded like weeping.

At the city gate, a black banner was still planted in the ground. The crest of Moonshade Realm was embroidered across it, and the cloth snapped in the wind as if it were saying: " We're gone, but we'll come back.

The captain's face darkened completely.

"Tribunal Venerable, are you playing us for fools?"

Not one of them showed a single wound. Even their clothes were perfectly smooth, without so much as a wrinkle. The powerhouses from the Sixteenth Firmament really were on a different level from anything the Lower Realm could match.

The color drained from Windclear's face.

He had lived for thousands of years. He had seen storms big enough to overturn worlds. Even so, his legs still gave a faint shake where he stood.

"3 thousand troops... and five from the upper realm..." His voice wavered, but he dragged in a deep breath and forced himself steady.

He turned and shouted to the cultivators upon the city walls, "Everyone, prepare for battle!"

Hadrian stood at the very front of the city walls with his war axe clenched tight. His injuries still hadn't fully healed, and his left arm was still hanging in a sling around his neck, but his eyes burned bright.

Behind him stood more than 200 beast-race warriors, and every one of them carried the same fight in their eyes.

Lydia stood at his side, the wraithblade turning lightly in her hand.

Her left shoulder still throbbed now and then, but she did not give a single step.

Behind her stood more than 100 Ghost Clan warriors. Their armor was old, their weapons uneven, but every back was held straight.

Malachy stood upon the city walls, black chaotic demonic aura roiling around him.

There was no retreat in his eyes, only battle intent that had been pressed down for far too long.

Behind him stood more than 300 Demonic Cultivators, every one of them already in the True Immortal Realm.

Alaric held a position behind the city gate with the Ghost Clan warriors from Moonshade Realm.

His body still shook, but his back stayed ramrod straight.

Behind him stood the old, the weak, the women, and the children. They could not fight, but none of them were willing to hide in the rear.