Jared chance novel Chapter 6372

Vale's pupils tightened.

He had cultivated flame for thousands of years, and he had never seen anything like this.

His flame hadn't been extinguished.

It had been eaten.

The feeling was as if his flame had run into a higher order of flame and been completely suppressed, devoured, and assimilated.

"Your fire..." Vale's voice shook. "What kind of fire is that?"

Jared lowered his hand. "Chaos-flame."

Vale's face changed.

He didn't strike again.

Instead, he stepped back two paces, then bowed deeply to Jared. "This old man was blind to greatness. Mr. Chance, I've offended you."

The great hall went completely silent.

A True Immortal Realm Level Five, a Level Six, and a Level Seven.

Three experts, each stronger than the last, and not one of them could last a single move in front of Jared.

And from beginning to end, Jared had never once taken the initiative to attack.

He had only stood there and let them come at him.

Strength like that had already gone beyond anything ordinary rules could measure.

Nathaniel's expression turned complicated.

He knew his master wouldn't lie to him, but seeing it with his own eyes still left the whole scene unreal.

A young man at True Immortal Realm Level Two had stood there without moving and let a True Immortal Realm Level Seven cultivator attack with everything he had.

Not even the corner of Jared's clothes had torn.

If word of this got out, the whole Sixteenth Firmament would be shaken.

"Anyone else want to try?" Jared asked, sweeping his gaze around the room.

No one said a word.

Rowe kept his head down.

His face had gone bright red.

The lanky man pulled out his folding fan, then shoved it back again.

He did it over and over.

The middle-aged woman folded her arms and pretended to study the map upon the wall.

Vale had already backed up beyond the doorway.

With his hands clasped behind him, he stood there looking up at the sky.

Nathaniel drew in a deep breath and walked up in front of Jared.

"I'll do it."

Everyone in the great hall lifted their heads at the same time and looked at Nathaniel.

Rowe opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then shut it again.

The lanky man's folding fan slipped from his hand and smacked onto the floor.

The middle-aged woman's hand settled back onto the hilt of her blade.

Vale stuck his head back in from outside the doorway.

His eyes were so wide they looked like bronze handbells.

Nathaniel stood at the peak of True Immortal Realm Level Eight.

He was Freevale's strongest fighter, the most powerful person in the entire Resistance.

What he cultivated was the solar art.

Pure force. Pure dominance. Every punch and every kick carried enough power to wreck heaven and earth.

He rarely took the field himself.

There was no one in Freevale who could withstand three moves from him.

"Chieftain, you're going in yourself?" Rowe blurted out.

Nathaniel ignored him.

He looked at Jared, his gaze steady. "Jared, I won't hold back."

Jared nodded. "No need to."

Nathaniel said nothing else.

He raised his right hand, and a mass of golden radiance gathered in his palm.

That golden radiance wasn't the celestials' holy radiance. This was something purer than that, harsher than that. It carried the weight of a blazing sun and the violence of thunder.

The temperature in the great hall jumped by several degrees in an instant.

The map on the table started to smoke, and dust shook loose from the wall in soft, steady streams.

Rowe, the lanky man, the middle-aged woman, Vale—everyone in the great hall held their breath.

None of them had ever seen Nathaniel this serious.

Whenever Nathaniel had made a move before, it had always been casual. One wave, and the other side was done.

But this time, he was gathering power. He was facing Jared like he was facing a real opponent.

The golden radiance grew brighter and brighter, until it turned sharp enough to sting the eyes.

The entire great hall was washed in gold.

Nathaniel struck with his palm.

The golden palm print blasted straight for Jared's chest, fast as lightning.

Where it passed, the air tore open and let out a shrill, grating scream.

The surface of that palm print crawled with countless sigils.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify