A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5705

Those trapped inside—whether Human Immortal or even Heavenly Immortal—felt space thicken, their lifeforce stumble, and swordlight gnaw at every angle.

"Time Deceleration!"

Obeying his thought, the flow within the domain slowed to a viscous crawl.

To Jared, each foe moved like a puppet with slackened strings, their flaws yawning wide before his eyes.

"Die!"

The Dragonslayer Sword swept in hungry arcs, more scythe than sword. With every swing, blood fountained, and one—or several—mid-Heavenly Immortal commanders collapsed headless onto the fractured earth.

His sword intent fastened onto its targets like an iron vise. Under that invisible pressure almost no one alive could hope to survive a single stroke.

A Sunfire Sect elder—Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Two—broke from the ranks, brandishing a blazing treasure wheel. Flames howled around him as he roared, "Whelp, meet your death!"

Jared did not bother to turn. With a casual flick in reverse grip, his blade leapt forward. The tip outran the elder's own momentum, slipped clean through the wall of fire, and kissed the man's brow.

A wet pop followed.

Life drained from the elder's eyes in an instant. His body locked mid-air, then toppled like a charred marionette, thudding to the stained earth below.

"Grand Elder!"

Sunfire disciples screamed, throats shredded by panic, as their mentor crumpled out of the sky.

From the rear shadows, several killers from Blackwater Grotto blurred forward, daggers aimed for Jared's unguarded spine.

It might as well have been a child's ambush. Under the slow-drip tyranny of the Time Law encircling him, their rush crawled like slugs across syrup.

"Spatial twist," he whispered.

Space around them imploded without warning—air folding, light bending, reality wringing itself into a knot. They never even screamed. The newborn singularity crushed bone, flesh, and intent alike, leaving only a paste that spattered the dirt.

Jared tore onward like a tiger loosed among lambs. Wherever he stepped, men reeled, mounts crashed, and corpses carpeted the ravine.

Yet brute strength was only half his terror. Through the tower heart buried in his soul, he felt every Draconian on the field and steered their formation with surgeon's precision.

"Left flank—Black Dragon Guard, hold the line! Right wing—Wind-borne clan, surge ahead and shred their rear! Thunder drakes, concentrate every bolt on that array master in yellow robes!"

The orders came crisp, rapid, and absolute. Under that unified will, the Draconian army moved like a single war engine, grinding the numerically superior coalition into panicked retreat.

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