A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5281

A colossal, gold dragon illusory shadow—no more than a blazing echo forged from raw sword intent—erupted out of Jared's strike. It loosed a thunderous bellow that seemed to rattle the heavens, then hurled itself headlong into Jayson's spatial rift of sword shadows.

Boom!

The impact that followed dwarfed every clash that had come before. For one breathless instant, fury, heat, and roaring light fused into a single, deafening detonation.

The arena bucked like a ship in a storm. Pillars of light from the surrounding Spiritual Barricade Array guttered, dulled, then cracked apart in a spiderweb of glowing fissures.

A murderous shock wave burst outward. Even with the Spiritual Barricade Array caging most of the force, the watching cultivators felt their blood churn. Many staggered back several dozen paces, faces blanching as they fought to steady their breathing.

When the rolling dust at last drifted away, the arena resolved into grim focus—every shard of wreckage limned in the faint, ghostly glow of dying spiritual light.

Jayson had fallen to one knee. His once-proud Sky Havoc Sword lay scattered around him in pitiful, glittering fragments. Blood slicked his clothes, and his aura flickered like a candle whipped by the wind.

Across his chest gaped a wound so deep the bone itself glimmered beneath torn flesh—an unmistakable mark left by Jared's Dragon Soarer.

Moments earlier, during that earth-shattering collision, Jayson had misjudged a single line of intent—and that solitary mistake had spelled his defeat.

Silence spilled over the scene, heavy as a burial shroud.

Not one spectator dared breathe a word. They simply stared, eyes wide, each face carved with disbelief.

After all, Jared—Wandering Immortal Realm Level Eight—had just toppled someone in Level Six of the Earthly Immortal Realm.

However narrow the margin, a victory was still a victory.

Jared leaned on the Dragonslayer Sword, his complexion ghost-pale, his chest heaving from the exertion. Yet his eyes—keen as a hunting hawk—never wavered from the beaten man before him.

He had relied solely on sword techniques—no talismans, no secret techniques. For that, he silently thanked Corin, whose teachings had turned raw talent into razor certainty.

Jayson watched Jared advance, inch by unforgiving inch. Terror warred with smoldering resentment in his gaze.

He understood with aching clarity that he no longer possessed even the strength to lift a blade.

“I... I concede!” he rasped, forcing the words past the iron taste of blood.

That final cry emptied the last scrap of power from his lungs.

He wished for nothing but breath and time—time enough to nurse vengeance in the dark.

Jared halted, studying the broken swordsman the way one might regard a loser. Something unreadable flickered across his eyes.

He lifted his Dragonslayer Sword, intent for a heartbeat on finishing what he had begun. Then, with visible effort, he allowed his murderous intent to fade.

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