A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5365

Yuliana's expression darkened. She understood Rylan's pride—being tenth on the martial roll made him nearly untouchable and gave him the authority to look down on other cultivators with lower cultivation levels.

However, she also knew Jared's true depth.

“Commander Drake, King Aurelius' order is clear. If dueling Jared stains your pride, send one of your men instead,” she said, voice cold enough to frost steel.

Rylan's jaw flexed. A compromise surfaced. He lifted a hand and barked across the martial arts arena, “Martin—front and center!”

The named captain of Imperial Guard—a mountain of sinew with a scarred face—dropped to one knee. “I'm here, Commander Drake!”

Martin Stone, Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven, was famed for raw ferocity; Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight cultivators sometimes avoided his path.

“You have a task,” Rylan said, pointing his spear at Jared as though indicating a training dummy. “Exchange a few friendly moves with our guest. Take care—light blows only. After all, he's at Earthly Immortal Realm Level One. Should anything happen, King Aurelius' wrath will fall on you, not me.”

“Understood!” Martin rose. Scorn flickered in his eyes, the kind reserved for insects beneath boots. He rolled his wrists; bones cracked like snapping pine.

“Best surrender now, brat,” he growled, lips peeling into a wolfish grin. “It'll spare you the shame of eating dirt in front of everyone.”

Jared offered the briefest flick of his eyes toward Martin, a look so mild it bordered on boredom, then strolled to the center of the martial arts arena. He then turned and extended one open palm toward his opponent, inviting the first move.

“You're acting foolish!” Martin roared, each word tumbling from his throat like gravel.

He shot forward, a blur of tawny muscle and rage, fists clenched so hard his knuckles whitened. Golden spiritual energy exploded across his forearms, shaping into claw-like projections that sliced the air with a predator's whistle.

That opening punch came down like a battering ram aimed straight at Jared's sternum, the kind of strike that would crumple lesser fighters. Martin thought he didn't need to use his full strength against an Earthly Immortal Realm Level One.

The surrounding members of Imperial Guard forgot to breathe; they were certain the blow would shatter bone, if not life itself.

Jared drifted between those lethal flashes like smoke slipping through latticework—never hurried, never touched. Now and then, he flicked out a fist or lifted a lazy foot, each tap landing precisely where Martin's defenses split for an instant.

Thud!

Crack!

“Argh!” The arena filled with the percussion of torment. Within moments, Martin's torso and limbs were scrawled with darkening bruises; the long sword spun away, clanging uselessly across the stones.

Jared caught Martin's wrist mid-swing. A gentle twist—one almost tender—produced a sharp cracking sound. Bone yielded, and Martin's forearm bent at an angle nature never intended.

“I... yield...”

Breath ragged, strength gone, Martin collapsed, staring up at Jared with eyes wide enough to drown in fear.