A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6641

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When Jared and the others returned to Clearwind Village, day had already broken.

Golden sunlight covered the earth, lighting the distant mountains and the nearby wasteland. Everything seemed quiet. Peaceful.

Then Jared stopped.

His nose moved slightly.

Something was wrong with the air.

Blood.

Thick, dried blood, mixed with burned rot and ash, drifting in the morning wind.

Rowan stopped as well.

His face went white.

"Mr. Chance... that smell..."

Jared did not answer.

He suddenly sped toward Clearwind Village.

Rowan and the nine cultivators followed close behind. A terrible premonition rose in every heart.

When the village came into sight, all of them froze.

It was gone.

The ancient tree at the entrance had been burned into charcoal. Its heavy trunk lay across the ground, crushing several blackened corpses beneath it.

What remained of the houses still gave off thin smoke. Ash drifted through the morning air like black snow.

Dark-red blood covered the ground. It had already dried into a black film over every inch of soil.

Bodies lay everywhere.

In the square.

On the streets.

Inside the ruins.

Some were burned black. Some had lost their heads. Some had been cut open.

The deaths were too terrible to look at.

Blood and burning filled the air until breathing itself felt sickening.

Rowan's whole body shook.

Then he let out a sound that tore through the ruins.

"No!"

He rushed into the village and began digging through the bodies like a madman.

His wife.

His child.

His parents.

His neighbors.

All of them were on the ground.

All of them were cold.

He lifted a woman's body.

It was his wife, Lila.

Her clothes were torn apart. Wounds covered her body. Her eyes were still open, full of terror and unwillingness.

"Lila! Lila, wake up! Open your eyes and look at me!"

Rowan held her and broke down. Tears poured from his eyes and fell onto her pale face.

The nine cultivators went mad as well.

They scattered through the ruins, searching for their families.

Some found their parents.

Some found brothers and sisters.

Some found their children.

Cries, shouts, and grief-filled roars echoed through the wreckage like a funeral song.

Jared stood at the village entrance and looked at the scene before him.

His black eyes showed no emotion.

But his fingers trembled.

He remembered those villagers.

The white-haired old chief.

Rowan, who had guided them through demon hound territory.

The villagers who had looked at him with awe and worship.

They had treated him as a savior.

A hero.

Their hope.

Now they were dead.

Killed by greed.

Killed by cruelty.

Jared stopped and looked back at her.

"Stay here."

His tone was quiet, but it did not allow refusal. "Rowan and the others are not stable right now. Watch them. Do not let them rush out and die."

Gwendolyn bit her lip.

At last, she nodded.

"Be careful."

"I know."

Jared turned away again.

His gray robe snapped in the morning wind. His black hair streamed behind him.

He walked farther and farther through the sunlight until his figure disappeared at the edge of the horizon.

Rowan remained kneeling in the ruins, holding his wife's body as tears kept falling.

Gwendolyn stood beside him and looked toward the direction where Jared had gone. Her eyes were full of worry.

She did not follow.

She knew Jared was right.

Rowan and the others were drowning in grief. Someone had to keep them from acting recklessly.

If no one stopped them, they would run to their deaths.

"Captain Rowan."

Gwendolyn's voice was soft but firm. "Bury the villagers. Let them rest."

Rowan raised his head. His eyes were full of tears.

"All right..."

He stood, wiped his face, and led the nine cultivators to gather the bodies.

One.

Then another.

Then another.

Every corpse tore them open again.

Every familiar face made them weep.

Still, they did not stop.

They knew the chief was watching.

The dead villagers were watching.

They could not fail the dead.