A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5325

She remembered his breath on her brow, tinged with faint celestial energy fragrance—more soothing than any pill or elixir in the world.

“Mr. Chance...” Gathering courage, Lyra tipped her chin up until her eyes met the smile hiding in his. “What does Earthly Immortal Realm feel like to you?”

“It feels like this.” He raised his hand toward a boulder half a dozen paces away and closed his fingers in the air. The iolite, waist-high, shattered without a sound into neat, even slabs.

“I used to look at a mountain and see only a single mass. Now I can read the veins inside every rock.” Jared's fingertips brushed her cheek. “Just as I can sense the flutter in your spiritual energy right now. Thinking about the tower again, aren't you?”

Heat flooded Lyra's face. She yanked her hand free, stepped back, and gave him a mock-glare. “You're teasing me again, Mr. Chance!”

But her protest held no real bite; it drifted over him like spring wind rippling across a lake, leaving only soft rings of warmth.

She turned toward the sect, walking slower than before—deliberately leaving half a step for him to catch up.

Jared watched her hurried little retreat, shoulders shaking with a low laugh. He lengthened his stride until he was beside her, gravel crunching beneath their boots in companionable rhythm.

Lyra halted, rummaged in her item pouch, and offered a tiny brocade sachet. “Here. Dried Unity Flower. Keep it on you. Old texts say the flower helps cultivators fight with a single united mind.”

She had stitched the sachet with threads drawn from her own primordial spirit yarn. At one corner, she hid a minute sword-shaped motif—the quiet badge of every disciple of Sword Sect.

Jared accepted the embroidered sachet. It weighed no more than a petal, yet its delicate warmth spread through his fingers as if Lyra had pressed a living heartbeat into his palm.

He raised it to his nose. Cool mountain-bloom mingled with the faint trace of her skin, a scent steadier than any warding magical item he had ever had.

He tucked the sachet behind the inner fold of his robe, letting it rest against his chest. “I'll hold on to this,” he said, voice low. “When I'm back from Darkwind Gorge, I'll teach you a new sword technique—one I grasped during my last breakthrough. It should fit the flow of your spiritual energy perfectly.”

Jared lingered, the still-warm vial resting in his palm. He watched until her silhouette vanished among the cloisters, then slipped the vial into his item pouch with exaggerated care and a quiet smile.

A gust threaded the gate, carrying distant sparring shouts from the practice yard. Jared inhaled the wind, squared his shoulders, and strode toward Sword Sect.

Lyra reached her dormitory walkway, legs trembling. The simple act of walking felt wrong; every step drew a small wince she could not completely hide.

“Ms. Snowdon, are you hurt?” a younger disciple asked, alarm widening his eyes at her unsteady gait.

He hurried to her side, concern outweighing protocol in a single breath.

Lyra's face flushed crimson. Words tangled in her throat. She shot a pleading glance toward Jared, hoping he would help.