A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5791

"They have simple hearts and long-buried anger. Stir it, show them the illusion of irresistible support, and they will gamble everything. Once civil war splits their halls, Paxton will be too busy saving his throne to face us. We either reap the spoils or storm the sect while they bleed. If Jared Chance returns, he'll find only ruin waiting for him."

Sheldon let the idea sink in. A heartbeat later, a twisted smile carved across his face—sharp, delighted, merciless.

"Brilliant. Turn his own blade against him—yes, that is the taste I want. Gather elders and disciples skilled at concealment and persuasion. Load them with treasures and promises. Send them into the Myriad Beast Mountains tonight. Let Paxton have a taste of his own medicine. Make sure Jared never gets to return!"

"At once, sir!" the elder cried, bowing before streaking away to arrange the covert mission.

Thus, while the Infinite Soul Demon Sect retreated beneath the stars, a new conspiracy unfurled—silent as mist, lethal as poison.

Within the Myriad Beast Sect, peace briefly returned after Jared's departure, like a quiet breath drawn before the dagger falls.

Word swept through the sect like a cleansing wind—The Infinite Soul Demon Sect had pulled back its forces. Hallways once echoing with foot-dragging now rang with purposeful steps, and disciples clasped one another's forearms in fierce, incredulous relief. Paxton and the other elders whispered Jared's name with something close to awe, their earlier gratitude sharpening into a rock-solid reliance on the man who had delivered them from the brink.

Yet beneath that sun-lit calm, a riptide gathered unseen, as though the mountains themselves were holding their breath for the storm to follow.

On the ragged fringe of the Myriad Beast Mountains sprawled a bleak allotment set aside for the hybrid-beast tribe—a patch of scrub hills and dust where crooked huts leaned together like beggars in the wind. No soaring stone halls here, no cultivation pools that shimmered with spirit light.

The folk who lived there were shaped by conflict and alchemy—half beast, half human, all wary eyes. Some wore the faces of men above claws that rasped against the earth. Others walked fully upon talons, their muzzles lifting to scent a sky that had never welcomed them. In every gaze flickered the same dull glaze: the stupor of generations told they were lesser—marbled, too tainted for the sect's proud bloodlines—yet buried beneath that torpor smoldered an ember of defiance.

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