A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6430

"Both sides wounded?"

"Alaric's mouth twitched once, beyond his control.

A low laugh scraped out of him, deep and cold enough to settle into the bones."

"I allocated three thousand elite celestial men-at-arms to you."

"You had plenty of provisions and first-rate weapons."

"On top of that, you two peak True Immortal Realm Level Nine war champions were there holding the line."

"You were defending the Northern Abyss Dreadhold, a prison built on dangerous terrain and packed with wards."

"And in the end, you come back and tell me it was merely both sides wounded?"

"The question dropped into the hall.

A crushing pressure swept across everyone present."

Marshal Stone and Marshal Grey hurriedly pressed their foreheads flat against the cold flagstone.

"Neither of them dared take a full breath.

Neither dared lift his head to meet Alaric's gaze.

Neither dared offer even half a word in defense."

"The facts stood right there in front of them.

They had suffered a disastrous defeat, and the prison had fallen. There was no escaping the blame."

Any excuse would have sounded thin enough to break in the air.

"Alaric slowly rose.

The hem of his ornate golden robe dragged across the floor as he moved."

The fabric scraped over the flagstone, giving off a dry, cold rustle.

Every step landed like a heavy hammer against the chests of everyone in the hall.

The pressure turned suffocating, sharp enough to bite.

"He walked at an unhurried pace until he stood before the two of them.

From above, he looked down at their battered bodies with cold eyes."

His gaze was sharp as an ice blade, stabbing straight into the depths of both men.

"His chest rose and fell hard.

Inside it, everything banked there for days surged at once—the fire, the forced swallowing-down, the bitter grind of defeat."

It pressed so hard against reason that he nearly cut them down on the spot.

"The Three Dreadholds had fallen one after another.

One after another, Jared had broken through them by force."

Under Alaric's command, Marshal Gold and Marshal Vale had died in battle one after the other, cutting deep into his core fighting strength.

Every scout sent beyond the walls and every clandestine agent buried in the dark lost contact and died. The flow of intelligence snapped, leaving a blind gap where reports should have been.

And now the last two foremost war champions had dragged themselves back in ruin, both gravely wounded, while the bulwark of the Northern Marches lay completely shattered.

Step by step, Alaric had given ground. Loss after loss had been carved out of him.

He had not only failed to wipe out the rebels of Freevale; he had allowed Jared to grow stronger with every battle.

Jared’s forces kept swelling, pressing closer and closer to the heartland of the Celestial Alliance, close enough now to threaten the very foundation beneath the High Sovereign.

A defeat like this left his prestige in the dirt and his authority visibly damaged.

How was he supposed to keep the cultivators of the several divisions under his hand? How was he supposed to keep the rule of the Celestial Alliance from loosening at the seams?

Alaric drew in a cold breath and forced his teeth together, grinding down the murderous violence churning beneath his ribs.

Reason dragged itself back into place.

No matter how high that inner fire climbed, this was not the moment to cut down principal war champions on impulse.

The great enemy stood before them, and this was exactly when useful men had to be kept in play. Cutting off his own arms would cost more than it paid.

The killing intent sank back into the dark, set aside for a later reckoning.

“Strategist.” Alaric forced the edge out of his voice until it turned cold and level again.

From the shadowed side of the hall, Zaccai stepped out quickly, his body already bowed.

He wore a blue-green scholar’s robe, his expression grave and solemn. He bent in salute and waited with full respect for the command.

“High Sovereign.”

“Send the order across the entire domain,” Alaric said coldly.

“Every territory under the Celestial Alliance will enter the highest wartime state of readiness at once.”

“This applies to every patrol scout, garrison cultivator, and border-patrol company currently outside.”

“No matter how far they are, no matter what post they hold, they are to withdraw at full speed immediately and fall back to the inner high hall.”

“Not a moment’s delay will be tolerated.”

“Activate every defensive ward, killing array-sigil, and saintlight bulwark across the entire territory at full power.”

“Layer them over one another and lock down every entrance and exit.”

“Without a handwritten order from me, no one enters or leaves the Alliance’s territories on their own authority.”

“No one is to march out and fight without authorization. Anyone who disobeys will be executed on the spot, and the punishment will extend to their entire clan.”

“Your servant obeys. I will transmit the order across the domain and see it carried out at once.” Zaccai bowed and accepted the command.

“One more thing.” Alaric’s gaze returned to the two men still kneeling on the floor.

“Take the two of them away and send them into the private healing realm.”

“Use high-grade divine pills and nascence elixir. Spare nothing in treating their wounds.”

“Once their injuries are fully healed, they return at once to the defensive line of the North and hold the border fortress.”

“They will redeem their failures through service. No mistakes. No shirking.”

Marshal Stone and Marshal Grey both froze for a beat, the order striking them from an angle they had not been ready for.

They had been certain that after such a crushing defeat and the loss of the prison, severe punishment was waiting.

At best, their cultivation would have been crippled. At worst, they would have been cut down on the spot to uphold military law.

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