A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5751

The leader's focus had been locked on the battered beast clan captives; an attack from the flank never crossed his mind, let alone one of such terrifying power.

By the time he felt that marrow-deep killing intent and the razor wind of Jared's aura, doom had already arrived.

He flung the Ten-Thousand-Soul Banner before him, pumping demonic essence until the cloth seethed with layer upon layer of wailing phantoms.

It was paper against the tempest.

The only sound was a soft hiss, like silk torn by a blade.

The Prismatic Sword Aura sliced through the black fog, pierced the banner, and drilled cleanly between his brows.

His body froze. Horror and disbelief still hung on his face as his pupils clouded. Cracks spider-webbed out from the wound. An instant later, man, flesh, and soul disintegrated into gray dust that the wind scattered across the valley.

The ruined Myriad-Soul Banner clattered across the flagstones. A battered storage ring spun beside it, hitting stone with a thin metallic chime. Then—nothing. Not a breath. Not a heartbeat. Silence settled over the clearing like a burial shroud.

The vicious grins on the remaining four black-robed marauders froze in mid-curl. Terror flooded their eyes as the truth dawned—whatever had just appeared had erased their leader in the time it takes to inhale, and none of them even saw the strike land.

The tiger man and leopard woman stood rooted to the spot. Blood matted their fur and clothing, yet they stared wide-eyed at the newcomer: a tall figure in sea-blue robes, the Dragonslayer Sword dripping crimson along its edge. Jared let the single demonstration speak for him. The sword sang in his grip, a crisp, jubilant note that shaved the air.

"Time-Space Domain—open!"

Reality warped outward from Jared in a ten-yard sphere. Light bent, the ground rippled, and time itself thickened to a slow, syrupy crawl. Inside that invisible mire, the four black-clad attackers—each somewhere between levels two and four of the Heavenly Immortal Realm—moved like flies trapped in amber, their limbs and demonic essence grinding forward by painful degrees.

Jared's gaze sharpened. "Die."

The single word left his lips as cold as a winter blade.

The Dragonslayer Sword flashed—a reaper's scythe carving silver arcs through the warped air, each stroke preordained, inescapable.

"No!"

Power thrummed through Jared's veins, intoxicating in its clarity. Yet reason tapped him on the shoulder, reminding him that arrogance courts disaster. Easy, Chance. Show off too long, and you might embarrass yourself.

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