A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5421

"No matter," Stebarin muttered, his tone as calm as mist on a pond. "Plenty of harvests await me in the days ahead."

He cinched the bag shut, turned his back on the fleeing mortals, and glided after the wavering shadow host, shadowing Soul Devourer's path like a blood-scented breeze.

Jared's duel with the twin elders raged through another dozen brutal exchanges. Each clash drained more of the primordial fire from his veins. His arms burned, palms numbed, and perspiration rained from his brow. Even Dragonslayer Sword's gilded flare dimmed, as though the blade itself felt fatigue. A quick glance through the haze confirmed it—the last survivors were specks on the far ridge, finally beyond the army's reach. Relief eased the iron band around his chest.

"Time to vanish," he hissed, voice too low for anyone but the night to hear.

Feinting left, he whipped Dragonslayer Sword into a blinding downward stroke aimed at Anepan's brow. The elder raised both swords to parry. In that heartbeat, Jared pivoted, kicked off a fragment of boulder, and sprinted into the opposite treeline—away from friend and foe alike—until the forest swallowed every trace of gold light behind him.

Anepan and Spathe lunged to pursue, but Jared had loosed several lingering arcs of sword light. The golden crescents hung in the air like barred gates, forcing the elders to carve through them before they could give chase. By the time the radiant barriers faded, the woods offered only silence.

"Forget him. The Soul Devourer first," Spathe growled. The two elders traded a grim nod and vaulted after their master's fading aura.

Far ahead, the Soul Devourer thundered through the ravine astride a colossal lion, each hoof-fall exploding shale into dust. His feral glare tracked Aurelius, who lurched across scree with blood streaming down one torn shoulder. "Aurelius!" the demon roared, voice shaking birds from hidden nests. "Hand over the Ritual Manual, and I may spare you the agony of soul annihilation!" Aurelius tasted iron with every breath. Torn meridians shrieked each time his boots struck ground, and the world flickered at the edges of his sight. Still, he kept both arms wrapped around a small golden casket—the last sliver of hope for the level six—and swore he would die before letting it fall into darkness.

Aurelius poured what little spiritual force he had left into his legs. His boots barely skimmed the leaf-strewn ground as the forest blurred around him. Yet the chill of the black miasma behind him clung like frost to bone, and the killing intent rolling off it threatened to lock his very soul in ice.

"So you refuse the easy way? Then drink the penalty instead!"

Soul Devourer rose in his saddle and flicked one gauntleted hand. From the swirling ink of his demonic aura, a claw materialized—long, ebony, and razor-curved—screaming through the air toward Aurelius's unprotected back. A single breath later, the nape of the king's neck prickled with cold. He tried to roll away, but the claw was already upon him.

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