A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5787

"Sheldon Soulsby," Jared continued, his voice rolling like distant thunder, "were you not already half-dead from your duel with Mr. Cloudridge, I would crack your skull open and raze that wretched den you call a sect. Gather your remaining lackeys and crawl back to the Blood-scar Plains. Tell Soul Devourer that Jared Chance has arrived on level ten and is hunting for him. Remind that b*stard to stand ready. I'm coming to tear his soul apart."

Jared's eyes narrowed, pupils flashing like twin shards of obsidian. A killing intent—colder and sharper than before—poured off him in waves. Soulsby felt as if he had tumbled into a frozen abyss, every muscle locking tight. "You'd do well," Jared added, voice now a low growl, "to make sure Soul Devourer abandons the Infinite Soul Demon Sect altogether. Next time we meet, it won't be my palm that greets him—it will be my sword, and that day, your entire sect will cease to exist."

Rage shook Sheldon's battered frame. Demonic essence battered the walls of his meridians, threatening to drive him into madness. He glared at Jared, hatred boiling so fiercely it almost took form—a phantom knife poised behind his eyes, begging to carve Jared to pieces.

"You insolent whelp," Sheldon spat, his voice raw. "You come hunting for the Lord himself? Do you even comprehend what realm he commands?"

"Realm?" Jared snorted, the sound thick with contempt. "Last time I met him on level nine, I left him scrambling like a whipped cur. He fled here to level ten only because he couldn't survive in there. And you fools still treat him like some grand treasure. Every time I see him, I thrash him—simple as that."

Only after the words had flown did Jared realize, with a faint inner wince, that his old habit of showboating had seized him again. If Soul Devourer actually drops in right now, I'm in for another beating.

But spoken threats could not be swallowed, and retreat was unthinkable.

Sheldon looked ready to explode, demonic essence sputtering around him like sparks in dry tinder, while Linden—standing a little off to the side—frowned sharply at the name Soul Devourer.

"Young friend," Linden asked, voice steady yet edged with unease, "by 'Soul Devourer,' do you mean the tyrant who ruled level nine ten thousand years ago—the one believed lost for a full millennium?"

"Exactly him," Jared replied with a crisp nod.

A breath hissed between Linden's teeth. Color drained from his face, leaving it ashen. He had expected many answers—never that.

"That fiend escaped the place of his confinement?" Linden whispered, almost to himself.

"You know him as well?" Jared asked, brows lifting. It struck him as odd; Linden hailed from level ten—how could he hold such detailed knowledge about a monster from the skies below?

Linden's eyes darkened with memories he clearly wished he could forget.

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