A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5397

Atorn spared the green-robed man the briefest glance, offered no reply, and vanished.

Swish!

Before anyone's eyes could follow, the green-robed man was cleaved clean in two, blood and viscera spilling across the ground like toppled buckets of paint.

A hush rippled outward. Every spectator's shoulders tightened, faces paling as the stench of blood announced the fight was no longer an exhibition but an execution.

Atorn was in the Earthly Immortal Realm Level Nine. Power of that caliber could have crowned him head of a major sect even within level six.

Atorn stepped from the fading blood-mist, white robes unstained, expression flat. "Send someone who can actually fight," he said, "stop wasting my time with trash."

"I will fight you," a new voice called. A figure plummeted from the vaulted sky, landing in a gust that tossed dust into spinning halos around his boots.

"He's Niall Fuarthan, ranked fifth on the Martial Rankings!" people whispered among the crowd.

The Martial Rankings only included human and beast race cultivators. Demons were neither counted nor invited.

Even in the celestial realm, Demonic Cultivators were looked down upon.

Niall bowed and said, "Please enlighten me."

"The Martial Rankings? It's trash!"

Atorn's calm tone echoed through the crowd, humiliating the cultivators in level six.

Niall's eyes chilled. Spiritual force roared from him at Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight, whipping the stones. His Wintry Sword hummed, its blade frosting over until it looked carved from ice.

"Enough chatter! Let our strength tell the truth!" Niall shouted.

He sprang forward, toe barely kissing stone, body launching like a loosed arrow. The sword's arc cut a white, frozen scar through the air, driving straight for Atorn's heart.

Even Aurelius, watching from the side, nodded and exclaimed, "That sword strike is fast!"

Clang! The blade met the claw. A torrent of force numbed Niall's arm and drove him three staggering steps before he could steady his footing.

"First Form—Frozen Land!"

The sword whirled. Hundreds of sword shadows fanned out, each turning into ice crystals, and swept toward Atorn. In the blink of an eye, a thick sheet of blue-white ice covered the ground, the air itself turning brittle, ready to shatter.

Atorn snorted. One savage sweep of his spear unleashed a tidal wave of demonic aura. The aura collided with the ice crystals and shattered them into glittering dust.

"Petty skills!" He sprang high, spear descending like a thunderbolt. Demonic aura at the tip contorted into a snarling ghostly face that shrieked so sharply it rattled stone.

"Second Form—Avalanche!" Niall hurled his sword skyward. Dazzling white light burst from the steel, birthing countless snowflakes of sword energy that slammed into the ghost face.

Explosions echoed one after another. The energy swept dust from the ground.

The cultivators stared at the duel, holding their breath.

The sect leader of Rose Cloud Sect clenched both fists so hard his knuckles blanched. "Niall is burning the last of his strength, yet Atorn still moves with ease. His power is overwhelming!"