A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6093

Unlike earlier contestants, he neither took a deep breath nor gathered force.

He simply lifted his right hand and let two fingers rest against the stone.

Boom!

The pillar erupted in blinding white, light racing upward like a comet released.

One mark, two, three… it shot past the ninth notch without a hitch.

Every throat around Luther seized in silent awe.

Tenth mark.

The beam pierced the crown of the column and burst above it in a spray of shimmering rain.

For a heartbeat the square held no sound at all.

Then the dam broke—cheers crashed from every side.

"Full illumination!

The entire first column lit up!"

"Saints above, the whole pillar burned white!"

"So that's High Immortal Realm Level Nine!"

Dominic withdrew his hand, calm as if he had merely brushed dust from stone.

He strolled to the second column and extended the same casual touch.

The glow sped to the ninth mark, slowed, then halted half a notch short of the top.

A scholar clicked his tongue.

"Shame—just missed full brightness."

Another answered, "Nine and a half still dwarfs anything we've seen today.

Most folks stalled at six!"

Dominic's brow tightened by a hair, smoothing the next instant.

He said evenly, "Too much closed-door training lately—the flow's a bit sluggish.

Pardon the imperfection."

No one dared laugh.

Flattery tumbled over itself.

"Lord Wagner is too modest!

Nine and a half is a once-in-a-century feat!"

"Exactly, the second pillar measures celestial reserve—reaching nine and a half shows his energy center is already at Manifestor level!"

Unmoved by praise, Dominic walked on to the third column.

This one would weigh raw physical might.

Dominic's frame appeared long and lean; he lacked the hulking bulk of the body-specialists. A low murmur rolled through the crowd as cautious glances traded the same worry: a build like that might not push the third pillar far.

He loosened his cuff and rolled the moon-white sleeve to his elbow, exposing a forearm banded with lean muscle.

Without bothering to brace, he curled his fingers into a fist and tapped the stone column as though knocking on a neighbor's door.

Boom!

The impact landed with a hollow thud that rolled across the stage like a drum struck in an empty hall.

The shaft shivered; filaments of light snapped on—1, 2, 3. By the 7th bar the rise slowed, then locked at 7.5, the glow pulsing like a held breath.

Regretful murmurs spread, thin and soft as falling dust.

"7.5—half a bar short of the requisite eight…" someone sighed.

"A pity. Lord Wagner was never a pure body refiner," another agreed.

"Still, 7.5 shames those 3- and 4-bar showings we just witnessed," a third countered.

Dominic let his arm fall, face smooth, unreadable.

He studied the faint redness on his palm. "Too long without tempering the flesh," he murmured, "I'm out of practice."

The comment drifted down as casual as breeze, yet several cultivators flushed; even that "rusty" display lay leagues beyond their reach.

Only the fourth stone remained.

It judged the strength of one's bloodline.

Of the four trials, it was the most enigmatic.

For most cultivators blood carried no special spark; fewer than one in ten could even light the pillar.

Dominic planted his feet and let his lashes lower, breathing once, deep and even.

A heartbeat later his eyes opened; his right hand pressed flat to the granite.

A thin line of pale gold flickered at the base.

Like honey finding a path, the glow began its steady climb.

Marks lit—1, 2, 3, 4—at the 5th the hue deepened into a searing crimson-gold.

"What kind of bloodline is that?!" a startled voice broke out.

"Crimson-gold! That's at least high-grade Xuan!" another gasped.

She wore a pale jade gown that brushed the ground in flowing layers, the color so light it almost borrowed the sky.

Silver tassels hugged her waist, swaying softly and catching stray beams as if they had their own pulse.

A veil of the same hue covered her features, gossamer thin, shifting with the slightest breath she took.

Only her eyes remained uncovered, dark pools where distant autumn lakes seemed to rest beneath morning frost.

Those eyes met the light and something inside Luther buckled; reason felt slow, drawn into that quiet depth.

Around him, sighs slipped free before anyone realized they had breathed out.

Vivian dipped her chin, voice clear behind the veil, 'Lord Wagner, you have traveled far. Vivian thanks you on behalf of the House of Chance.'

Dominic folded his hands in return. 'Miss Chance is too courteous. I have long admired your peerless alchemy. Meeting you today is my great fortune.'

They stood several paces apart, snow-white robe facing cloud-green silk, the space between them glowing like a painted scroll come alive.

Luther swallowed, half believing an immortal couple had stepped out of some ancient legend to stage their reunion here.

The watchers forgot to cheer. Voices that had filled the yard a breath ago fell to reverent murmur, then faded altogether.

Only the rustle of silk and the distant hum of talismans remained.

Luther edged closer to Mr. Chance and lowered his voice. 'Mr. Chance, that Lord Wagner looks fierce. He cleared two-thirds on every pillar. Are we still going up there?'

Mr. Chance offered no answer. He kept his gaze fixed on the white-robed man standing with hands clasped behind his back.

Beside him, Luther held his breath, waiting for even the slightest nod.

Grace leaned in, speaking for their ears alone. 'Dominic, eldest son of House Wagner, Cloudhaven City.'

'He is one hundred twenty years old, High Immortal Realm Level Nine, middle-phase.'

'House Wagner and the Chance Family are the two great clans of Cloudhaven. Wagner rose only five hundred years ago.'

'He was called a prodigy from childhood— breathed in spirit at three, built his foundation at ten, reached the High Immortal Realm at fifty. No peer has ever defeated him.'

Grace paused, eyes shaded. 'Benefactor, this man… is trouble.'

Luther stared at Mr. Chance, nerves thrumming like taut strings.

Sweat beaded along his palms, yet Jared showed no sign of moving.

At last Mr. Chance shifted his attention away from the stage; calm still draped over his features, undisturbed as a sealed lake.

He spoke only two quiet words. 'Let's keep watching.'

On the platform, Dominic seemed to catch a distant ripple. His eyes swept the crowd, pausing for a heartbeat in Mr. Chance's direction.

Luther felt the air tighten when their gazes crossed that brief space.

Dominic's lips curved; the glance ended as quickly as it came. He turned back toward Vivian and resumed their measured exchange.