A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5839

Far from war-torn lands, deep inside a hidden valley where spirit-mist draped emerald cliffs, silence reigned.

Jared sat cross-legged beside a luminous spring, faint ripples casting silver rings across the water. A veil of soft chaotic radiance circled him, and beneath that light coiled a slumbering dragon's aura—subtle yet sovereign.

High above, the rainbow celestial clouds summoned by his breakthrough had already scattered. The valley, once shaken by celestial phenomena, now lay calm, though within his body the storm had only begun.

The Heavenly Immortal Realm was not a mere increase of strength; it was an elevation of existence itself. Life-essence refined to near divinity, senses tuned to the whisper of cosmic law.

Within his elixir field, a sea of chaotic immortal force expanded endlessly. At its heart, the Chaotic Fire Lotus intertwined with a filament of draconic energy, weaving a core of power both unbreakable and inexhaustible.

Beneath the silent drizzle of starlight, the change had been absolute. Jared's spirit and flesh had marched together through the crucible of a breakthrough, every cell and every stray thought purified, compressed, then reborn. His spiritual sense now could scour thousands of miles, and the body that contained it felt as unyielding as any high-grade defensive artifact—metal and miracle interlaced.

For a heartbeat, he floated inside that newborn stillness, mapping every hidden filament of Heavenly Law that now answered to him.

Then, a tremor, thin yet insistent, shivered across the valley floor.

Somewhere beyond the cliffs, the concealment wards he had tossed up in passing began to ripple, not with malice but with a cautious, measured probing—as though someone were knocking on a door they were terrified to break. A summons murmured beneath the vibration.

Jared frowned, waking up from his meditation. His golden slit pupils flashed into existence, then folded back into ordinary gray as he let his mind surge outward like a tide.

What he found waiting at the entrance stole a rare flicker of surprise from him.

Standing just inside the moon-bleached mist was a figure he had never expected to see on the Tenth Heaven: the Vermilion Demon Lord.

The man's dark-red robe, all embroidered storm-cloud sigils, hung looser than Jared remembered. Exhaustion and an ancient sorrow pressed around his eyes, and yet he made no attempt to force the barrier. Instead he bled tiny threads of demonic essence against the array—testing, pleading, anything but hostile.

"Sir?" Jared's voice slipped through the formation like wind through reeds, puzzled and calm. "What brings you to level ten?"

He lifted a palm, dispersed the seal at the mouth of the gorge, and a clear path yawned open.

Relief sparked in the Demon Lord's eyes. He hurried down the stone corridor, saw Jared seated by the spring, and quickened again, boots scraping rock in his haste.

"Jared, it is you!"

Emotion cracked the man's usually steady baritone; gratitude, exhaustion, and something like hope bled together. "I have searched these endless skies for days, chasing only the faint scent of your dragon's power and the scars of an old battle. At last, I found this valley."

Jared rose, gestured toward a flat slab of green stone, and pressed a cup of spirit-spring tea into the Demon Lord's hands. Steam drifted between them, gentle and bright.

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