A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5364

Moments later, Aurelius regained his formal poise. “Mr. Chance, you possess true talent. The entire Celestia must witness it so their hearts will follow.”

After that, Aurelius instructed Yuliana, “Yuliana, escort Mr. Chance to the martial arts arena. Have Commander Drake of Imperial Guard arrange a friendly bout; let Mr. Chance taste our steel.”

Yuliana nodded. “This way, Mr. Chance. Celestia's Imperial Guard ranks among level six's finest, and the martial arts arena gathers our most elite cultivators.”

Jared followed; he had wanted a clearer measure of Celestia's strength.

True partnership required parity. If every cultivator resembled Westley—all show and no substance—the alliance would crumble.

They left the palace and walked west, toward the martial arts arena in Celestia City.

Along the way, celestial cultivators noted Yuliana's deference and remembered how Jared had severed Westley's arm at the academy. Where once they sneered, reverence then colored their gazes.

The martial arts arena exceeded Jared's imaginings. Paved with midnight mithril, its floor shimmered with array runes circuits. Dozens of pillars with divine markings ringed the border, each crowned by a floating crystal orb meant to record every victory and defeat.

Hundreds of Imperial Guards trained within—silver armor clashing under a web of golden spiritual energy. Their battle cries thundered so loudly the sky itself seemed to vibrate.

“See the man drilling those cultivators at the center? That is Commander Rylan Drake, head of Imperial Guard,” Yuliana said under her breath, as though even the air might carry her words back to him. “His veins carry both Draconian and celestial blood. He stands at the razor edge of Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight. He has unparalleled mastery of his spear. That prowess ranks him tenth on Celestia's martial roll.”

“Draconian?” Jared lifted his gaze. Rylan Drake rose a full head above the tallest guardsman—eight feet of coiled muscle. Teal hair, bound tight at the nape, rippled like living flame each time the man turned.

Around them, practice faltered. Imperial Guards turned, saw Jared's low cultivation level, and snickered. Their chatter skittered across the yard like dry leaves.

“Commander Drake is right—one strike and the whelp is down!”

“Probably slipped through some back door just to stand here.”

“I could crush ten of him with one hand.”

Jared's face remained a calm slate. Words weigh nothing here. Only power seals mouths.