A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5277

“Understood,” Jayson said, nodding. Nevertheless, his shoulders remained arrogantly loose.

In the matches that followed, Jayson plowed through two more Earthly Immortal Realm Level Four opponents. His Sky Havoc Sword Art split the air like a lightning cleaver, earning him a seat among the final eight.

Across the brackets, Hendrix of the Seven-Star Sword Sect dazzled the crowd as well. His Seven Shooting Stars Sword Art blossomed into seven overlapping blades that turned overhead like the constellation itself, snaring every rival in a net of starlight and steel.

The quarter-final drew Jared against a disciple from the Glacial Sect—an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Five fighter whose Glacial Sword Art could freeze an opponent's spiritual energy with a single breath.

At the opening gong, the disciple swept his sword and unfurled a curtain of frost mist that swallowed the platform whole. Inside that shivering cloud, needle-thin icicles rained down on Jared in relentless sheets, each shard alive with killing chill.

To the watchers below, Jared's form slipped in and out of view like a man strolling through a garden. Wherever the Dragonslayer Sword flashed, ice spears splintered, and the frost mist recoiled as though ashamed to touch him, leaving a widening circle of clear air around the calm figure at its heart.

“Th-this... is that the legendary sword domain?” the opponent blurted, voice cracking like old wood.

Sword domain was said to belong solely to cultivators who had crossed into the Earthly Immortal stage—masters able to bathe reality itself in their sword intent and sculpt a battlefield as personal as breath.

Jared, however, still wore the mantle of a mere Wandering Immortal Realm Level Eight. By every rational measure, comprehending the sword domain should have been impossible.

A ragged cry split the swirling mist. When the icy veil dissolved, the Glacial Sect disciple stumbled backward, clutching a blood-slick chest. Crimson salted the snow at his boots, and the sword he prized lay sheared into two pathetic lengths.

Jared stood motionless at the center of the arena. His blade gleamed, unmarred, as though it had tasted no violence at all.

“I... I concede,” his opponent rasped, shame clouding his eyes. He pivoted and half-fell from the platform, defeat dripping from every step.

A hush engulfed the arena—a silence so complete it thundered louder than any cheer.

A Wandering Immortal Realm Level Eight cultivator, comprehending sword domain, had defeated an Earthly Immortal Realm Level Five—every mind found it absurd.

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