A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5420

Thastrum stood amid a tightening ring of demonic souls. The golden glow of his primordial spiritual energy—once a blazing beacon—now sputtered like a candle in a gale. Each punch he threw felt as if the very air had turned to lead, every motion dragging through invisible shackles that bled his strength.

Beside him, Half-Beast King Imorn wheezed and swayed. Deep gashes cut across the titan's fur-clad flesh, his pupils glassy with fatigue. Only a single, stubborn will kept the monarch upright—a vow not to fall until no breath remained to draw.

"We can't hold them any longer!" the beast race cultivator screamed, voice cracking under terror.

He hurled his battle-axe to the blood-soaked ground, spun, and bolted toward the rear lines, armor clattering like brittle tin.

His retreat lit a fuse of panic. The lone deserter became the match that ignited a wildfire of dread across the ranks.

One after another, cultivators broke formation. The battlefield transformed into a stampede of the desperate, each mind ruled not by honor but by the frantic need to live another moment.

"Hold your ground—d*mn it, hold! We still have a chance!" Rylan's throat strained raw as he bellowed, yet even he was tangled by a swarm of demonic souls, his spear strokes slower with every heartbeat.

Bound by the spectral tide, Rylan could only watch helplessly while men he had sworn to command scattered like birds before a storm.

The defense shattered. The Demonic Soul Army surged forward, black tide meeting broken levy. Screams split the smoke as more bodies fell, turning the earth into a slick crimson mire.

Aurelius stood amid the carnage, despair clawing at his chest. If this rout continued, everyone here would die, and level six itself would drown beneath the scourge of the demons.

The Ritual Manual... maybe that's the last light left to us.

Resolve hardened behind his eyes. From the folds of his tattered robe, he drew a small golden casket etched with intricate runes. A faint, sacred radiance seeped from its seams—the resting place of the Ritual Manual.

"Soul Devourer! Isn't this what you crave? Then come and claim it!" Aurelius lifted the casket high, his roar cutting clean through the bedlam.

The words rang like a bell. For an instant, the battlefield stilled, every gaze skewering the golden box in his grasp.

"Throw it here, mortal, or I tear the life from you now!" Soul Devourer hissed, greed flickering in those hollow, lightless sockets.

He raised the Dragonslayer Sword, and golden light exploded around him, a holy tide that made even the battle-hardened twins feel their hearts thump with primal dread.

"Block him!" the elder on Jared's left—Anepan—let the command crack from his lungs like a thunderclap. The order rattled across the broken hillside, snapping the Demonic Soul Army to attention.

Dual blades wheeled in Anepan and Spathe's hands, scissoring through the dusk. Silver arcs became a storm of sword energy, each strand screaming toward Jared. Jared met it head-on. Dragonslayer Sword spun so fast it blurred, a whirling wall of molten gold that shattered every incoming edge before they could kiss his skin. He fought with a single, brutal calculation. Aurelius needs minutes—nothing more. If I buy him those minutes, the others live. Determination welded itself to his muscles, and he refused to yield an inch.

"Run—now! While Soul Devourer is gone, get clear of this valley!" Infinides shouted, his voice rough as gravel yet somehow carrying like a temple bell.

He swept his horsetail whisk in a white arc. Spectral threads of light cracked outward, driving back the closest shadow wraiths and carving a narrow path to safety.

Leonel, Yuliana, Thastrum, and the other wounded cultivators jerked to attention at the shout. Blood soaking their robes, they still managed to shoulder one another and stagger down the slope. Each step tore fresh pain from their bodies, yet they pressed on, fleeing the crimson horizon where steel and darkness kept colliding. Behind them, the remainder of the frightened fighters broke ranks altogether, feet slapping rock and mud in blind panic as they raced to outpace the wraiths.

Without the Soul Devourer's will to guide them—and with Jared pinning Anepan and Spathe in place—the Demonic Soul Army faltered. The tide of souls rippled in confusion, shrieking but unsure whom to follow. Stebarin watched the mortal soldiers scatter. Regret flickered behind his dark lashes. The cloth bag at his hip bulged with captured souls, yet he knew it still weighed too light for the breakthrough he craved.