A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6485

The man had not deliberately released any pressure. Even so, that condensed, pure, bone-deep killing aura around him could not be fully hidden.

It was murderous intent left behind after countless life-and-death battles, after thousands upon thousands of lives had fallen under his hand. Cold, violent, and vicious, it made anyone who came near tighten on instinct and think twice before speaking to him.

"This man was named Silas Daggerfell. He specialized in assassination and close-quarters killing, and his methods of attack were ruthless and final.

He was one of Osric’s capable death-sworn retainers."

The woman on the right stood in absolute contrast to Silas.

She was small and slender, barely five feet tall. Her bearing was light, gentle, and composed.

"Her skin was pale and fine, like top-grade white mutton-fat jade. Her brows and eyes were clean and soft, the corners of her eyes lifting slightly.

A pair of almond eyes shone clear and bright, warm as water, without the slightest trace of ferocity."

"A pure white flowing-cloud dress covered her, its hem wide and airy. When she walked, it would drift like clouds brushing through wind.

Hidden patterns of white lotuses were embroidered across the skirt, each stitch fine and close. The design was elegant and set apart from the world, adding a cooler thread of celestial energy to her presence."

She lightly held the white-jade fly-whisk in her hand. Its handle had been carved from thousand-year warm jade, smooth and lustrous, the kind that grew warm to the touch.

The fly-whisk’s strands were snow-white, fine, flexible, and smooth. A faint pale spiritual light lingered over the surface, warm and gentle, marking it as another auxiliary arcane implement of no low grade.

The aura around the woman was deep, soft, and mellow. Her spiritual power stayed warm and restrained, carrying no aggression at all, leaving people lowering their guard before they meant to, with a pull toward closeness rising on its own.

"This woman was named Luna Whitethorn. She was skilled in the formation, the ward, defense, and healing, and she excelled at support and counterbalance.

Her strength was just as impossible to underestimate."

The two of them noticed the sound of the door opening and lifted their eyes toward Master Wellspring at the same time.

Both gazes landed on him, flat and distant. There was not half a measure of respect in them, and not the smallest sign of warmth.

There were no greetings, no polite formalities, no courtesy for courtesy’s sake. There was only business, clean and cold, with distance held firmly in place.

The situation was clear to Master Wellspring.

These two had never chosen to travel with him willingly. Osric’s orders held them here, forcing them to accompany him into the secret realm.

"In their eyes, he was nothing more than a target to escort and keep under watch. His status did not matter. Personal ties did not matter.

Naturally, they would not spare him any extra attitude."

Master Wellspring did not take the initiative to speak. Without letting anything show, he raised his eyes and studied them both.

His spirit sense spread out quietly, probing the aura around them with careful restraint. Their physical traits, the fluctuations of their spiritual power, and the nature of their auras were all etched into his mind.

"That pure spirit sense swept over the two of them and caught their cultivation with perfect clarity. Silas and Luna were both Golden Immortal Level One, their auras steady and condensed, their foundations solid without the slightest trace of hollowness.

They were top-tier cultivators in the truest sense."

"Silas’s spiritual power ran dark and cold.

The aura around him came off violent and razor-sharp, with killing malice coiled tight through it. Everything about him pointed toward close-range ambush, assassination, and breaking through defenses, and his methods of attack carried a hard, ruthless edge."

"Luna’s spiritual power was the opposite.

It was warm, rich, soft, and lingering, its fluctuations smooth and restrained. Her path leaned toward defense, formations, and healing, with both offensive and defensive support woven into her skill set."

"One of them struck, the other supported.

One was hard, the other gentle. Together, they fit with an almost seamless coordination, exactly matching what Osric had told Master Wellspring before, without the slightest discrepancy."

After that brief, silent standoff, Silas was the first to cut through the stillness.

"His thin lips parted slightly.

His voice came out hard, flat, and level, without the slightest rise or fall, like beads of ice striking frozen stone, carrying a chill that seemed to cut to the bone."

“Go.”

"That single word fell, and he offered nothing more.

He had no intention of waiting. He turned at once and strode straight outside the Blackstone Tower."

"His steps were steady and quick.

His black-clad back sank into the pale morning fog, clean in its departure and distant to the last inch."

"Luna pressed her lips together faintly and gave Master Wellspring a small nod.

The gesture was light and soft, and she still said nothing."

"Her pale fingers held the fly-whisk lightly as it hung at her side.

Then she followed after Silas and walked forward at an unhurried pace. The hem of her pure white dress swept through the thin mist along the ground without taking on a single speck of dust."

"Master Wellspring remained where he was for a moment, watching the two backs move one after the other.

Against his chest, the jade vial lay close. From within it, he could clearly sense a faint thread of warmth from the spirit."

"He slowly breathed out the stale air trapped in his chest.

The warning tension and restless churn under his ribs were forced back down. The complicated look in his eyes disappeared, and he stepped forward to follow them."

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