A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6793

Damian slowly braced himself against the ground and struggled to his feet. His legs felt weak and would not stop trembling. Every meridian ached and throbbed, more than half of his origin divine power was gone, and his injuries were severe.

Even so, he gritted his teeth, straightened his back, and preserved the final remnant of an island lord's dignity.

He mechanically brushed the thick dust and stone fragments from his golden robe. The stiff, measured motions came from long habit. Even reduced to utter defeat and humiliation, he could not cast aside the self-possession engraved into his bones.

When he finished, Damian walked slowly to the broken white-jade fountain and crouched beside it. With a trembling hand, he scooped up clear water flowing from the fractured stone.

Its chill soaked into his palm and dispelled some of the fever and haze within him. Moonlight slipped through a break in the clouds and scattered silver glimmers across the clear surface.

The water trickled between his fingers, fell to the ground, and broke into droplets that silently disappeared into the muddy ruins.

Damian watched the fleeting droplets in a long daze.

After controlling the Void Sea for 10,000 years, he had grown accustomed to devising strategies and deciding victories from afar. He expected everything to remain in his grasp and every person and faction to move in response to his calculations.

Jared's appearance had destroyed that confidence and control in a single day.

The entire world seemed to remain within Damian's hands except for one man and one force that stood utterly beyond his reach. The contrast shook his conviction in his own path to the brink of collapse.

Endless rage, humiliation, defiance, and lingering fear boiled together inside him before settling into icy resolve.

He slowly rose and turned toward Mr. Linden. The fatigue and despair faded from his voice, leaving it calm, cold, and emotionless. "Mr. Linden, you have followed me for more than 7,000 years. There is something I have never told you."

Mr. Linden stiffened, then hurriedly collected himself and forced his weakened body upright. Vigilance and uncertainty flashed through his eyes as he bowed. "Please tell me, Island Lord. I am listening."

"When I rescued you after you became stranded in the Void Sea, you claimed to be an unaffiliated wandering cultivator with no school or faction, alone in the world and struggling to survive from place to place.

"I knew even then that it wasn't true. You deliberately concealed your cultivation, disguised your techniques, and suppressed your aura to pass yourself off as an ordinary wandering cultivator, but you could not hide the foundation rooted in your bones.

"The paths your spiritual energy takes through your meridians, the retreating footwork you use instinctively in battle, your natural response to high-level techniques, and the rhythm hidden in the depths of your soul all belong exclusively to celestial cultivators from Dubhe Continent.

"Those instincts are engraved into bloodline and soul and inherited through generations. No disguise or suppression can erase them completely."

Damian stared into Mr. Linden's eyes. "You were never a wandering cultivator. You belong to the Silvermoon family of Dubhe Continent. Am I wrong?"

Mr. Linden went rigid. His thin body trembled as shock, panic, vigilance, and finally relief passed rapidly through his hawklike eyes.

He was silent for a long time while the night wind tossed his gray robe and disordered hair. At last, he lowered his head and admitted the truth in a grave voice.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify