A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6431

At the same moment, inside Freevale, night had settled completely.

"The world lay dark, drained of light.

The evening wind cut cold enough to bite bone."

It carried the smell of blood from the Wastelands and blew through every corner of the vale.

The air hung low over Freevale, heavy enough to press the breath out of a man.

"Jared came through the mouth of the vale with people on both sides holding him up as carefully as they could.

He moved one step at a time, each step dragged out of a body that barely obeyed him."

"Pain had him from head to toe.

Every inch he shifted pulled at the wounds spread across his body."

"The strain drew his brows tight.

Cold sweat kept seeping from his temples, bead after bead."

"His injuries had sunk to the worst point.

A broad mass of clotted blood had pooled inside his chest, blocking his meridians."

"His breathing came short and rough.

Every inhale felt as if countless ice needles were driving through his lungs and organs."

The pain cut too deep to endure cleanly.

"The bones in his left arm had snapped and shifted out of place.

The arm hung useless at his side, with no strength left in it at all."

The slightest sway sent bone-deep pain drilling straight through him.

"Dried blood had hardened at the corner of his mouth.

His face had gone white as paper, and his lips held no color at all."

"Blood and grime covered him.

His clothes had been torn nearly beyond recognition, leaving him in a state no one could mistake for anything but brutal ruin."

Even with the pain buried in his bones and his strength wrung out to the last thread, Jared kept his teeth clenched and forced himself on.

He would not let anyone carry him or fully bear his weight as they helped him forward.

"That was Jared.

He had too much steel in him, and he stood as the backbone of Freevale, the hope every pair of eyes had fastened onto."

"Even if his body had been battered to pieces, he could not fall.

He could not show even the smallest crack."

Step by step, he moved ahead, slow and steady.

"His footprints landed heavy.

Blood followed each step as he crossed the flagstone road of Freevale."

Every step carried endless exhaustion and a shadow of trouble no one could shake.

Gwendolyn walked quietly at his side.

"Blood had soaked through most of her long white dress.

The hem had been shredded."

"Loose strands of hair clung to her pale cheeks.

Her face had been worn down to a frail, drained stillness."

Her vital blood and energy had declined to the very limit.

The retributive backlash force from forcing the Frost-Deity final sword art into motion had never stopped.

It gnawed at the spirit every moment and consumed her nascence without pause.

"Her meridians stung and numbed all through her body.

Her spiritual power had run dry, too scattered to gather again."

Yet her eyes remained clear and fixed, without the slightest dimming or retreat.

She planted the Frostbrand at a slant against the ground and used it like a cane to support her weakened body.

The sword tip scraped over the earth, leaving behind one thin, long, unbroken shallow mark.

That mark spoke without sound of how savage and grueling the battle had been.

Back at the mouth of the vale, Rowan still stood there waiting in silence, never having moved so much as a step away.

He had waited from daylight into deep night, from the first morning light all the way to moonlight.

"His legs had long since gone numb from standing.

Stiffness and soreness had swollen through them."

His cane had been planted deep into the soil, pressing out a sunken pit beneath it.

The deep pit around his cane said enough about how long Rowan had waited, and how sharply he had been holding on.

His gaze stayed nailed to the road beyond the valley, the road they had to come back on, his eyes refusing to leave it for even a blink.

His heart seemed to hang somewhere above his chest. He could not sit still, and he could not make himself stand easy either.

Every passing moment threatened to bring back bad news, or worse, broken corpses.

"Then, with his own eyes, he saw Jared, Gwendolyn, and the others appear on the road back.

He saw them come in covered in blood, battered and ragged from head to toe.

The string that had been pulled tight in him for days finally gave way."

Everything that had been pressed down inside him for days rose at once and turned into scalding tears.

They spilled from his eyes before he could stop them, running again and again down the deep folds of his aged face.

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