Martial Era: Starting With The Strongest Talent-Chapter 115: Battle In District Seven

The man’s essence flared violently.

It erupted outward like a stormfront, tearing through the upper floors of nearby buildings. Concrete disintegrated. Steel screamed. When the dust cleared, the shattered remains of apartments were laid bare, along with the corpses of several of Adam’s neighbors.

The man didn’t spare them a glance.

In the next instant, he vanished and appeared directly in front of Adam, fist drawn back, space itself compressing around the blow.

Adam didn’t stand there.

Rapid E. Freeze F. Both activated in tandem.

Cold surged outward, aiming to lock the man in place, while Rapid E carried Adam laterally, trying to slip past the killing arc.

The freeze shattered instantly.

The man tore through it like it wasn’t there.

Before Adam could complete the movement...

A fist slammed into his chest.

BOOM!

Adam was sent flying, crashing through a building behind him. The structure buckled as he punched through walls and concrete before skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust.

The man walked forward casually.

Adam coughed, blood pouring from his mouth as he pushed rubble off his body. His vision swam, but he forced himself upright.

He didn’t waver.

Adam stepped back into a battle stance, feet planted, shoulders squared.

The man entered the ruined building and looked at him with an amused smile.

"What tenacity," he said lightly. "Alright. I’ll give you one minute. If you can make me bleed, I’ll..."

Adam vanished.

He reappeared inches from the man’s face.

Behind him, his martial spirit erupted into existence, cold, vast, and merciless. Death clung to its form like a second skin as it manifested fully, taking the moment with absolute seriousness.

"Wind Carnage: Requiem."

The martial spirit expanded violently. A dark robe wrapped around its towering form, and a massive scythe materialized in its hands, mirrored perfectly by the one Adam now wielded, as they swung together.

The man’s eyes sharpened. He crossed his arms just as a colossal wind blade detonated against him, hurling him backward. He skidded across the ground, carving deep trenches with his boots before coming to a halt.

Their was silence, as the dust settled and the man straightened to reveal he was perfectly fine. Only a single tear marred his trench coat.

He lowered his arms and looked at Adam. "Is that all..."

His words cut off.

Dizziness slammed into him without warning.

Hypoxia.

The delayed aftereffect of the technique.

Adam didn’t hesitate.

He was already there.

The scythe arced in a smooth, ruthless motion, aimed cleanly at the man’s neck.

No wasted movement.

No mercy.

Only intent.

****

The manager had still been at the cemetery after Adam left.

At first, he’d been shocked by Adam’s sudden departure, but the feeling didn’t last. Adam was... Adam. If he vanished without explanation, it usually meant something urgent had come up.

So the manager adjusted his plans.

He decided to first assess the situation at the cemetery before heading out to meet him.

As the acolytes combed through the site, cataloguing damage and securing the area, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in the manager’s chest.

Mr. Adam must have been here to handle the situation.

The assumption felt solid. Almost comforting.

And the video footage recovered from the site only reinforced it.

They gathered around a portable monitor as the recording played. The visuals were shaky, distorted by residual energy, but unmistakable, Adam fighting Martha. The audio was gone, likely destroyed by the violence of the clash, but the images spoke for themselves.

Blades. Essence. Impact.

Then, Adam decapitated Martha.

A massive explosion followed, then the screen went black.

The manager frowned. "Play it back."

The acolyte complied, rewinding the footage.

This time, they watched more carefully.

The explosion bloomed again, but just before the feed cut, there was something else.

For a brief, unmistakable moment, Adam could be seen standing up after the explosion.

Then the video cut out.

Not from the blast.

Just... cut.

The manager’s brow furrowed. "What is going on?"

Before anyone could answer, hurried footsteps approached. Another acolyte rushed in, face pale, breathing uneven.

The manager turned. "What’s the problem?"

The acolyte didn’t hesitate.

"There’s a battle taking place in District Seven, sir. Our readings show the presence of a Profound Lord at the scene."

The manager’s eyes widened.

A Profound Lord.

Then another realization hit him, colder than the first.

"Isn’t that Mr. Adam’s district?"

Silence followed.

Then motion.

"Mobilize all available acolytes," the manager snapped. "Immediately."

Orders flew out. Units were activated. Messages were sent upstream to the higher-ups, requesting reinforcements without delay.

There was no time to waste.

The manager moved fast, boarding his vehicle as engines roared to life around him. Convoys peeled out onto the roads, sirens cutting through the city as they sped toward District Seven.

As the vehicle surged forward, the manager clenched his jaw.

What the hell is happening in my sector?

****

Adam’s scythe was inches from the man’s neck. Close enough that he could feel the displaced air.

Then...

Time seemed to slow, as a violet, eight-star profound spirit manifested behind the man, towering and inhuman, its shape vaguely demonic, horns curling back, wings of shadow unfurling, eyes like burning voids. Reality itself seemed to hesitate, as if the world were waiting for permission to continue.

The man spoke.

"Blackout."

Everything went dark and Adam’s vision was swallowed whole, his senses momentarily cut off as if the world itself had been unplugged.

Then...

Light returned.

Adam completed the swing and the scythe carved through empty space, but the man was gone.

Adam’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing sharply. He clicked his tongue.

He wasn’t sure he’d get another chance like that.

He straightened, senses flaring as he scanned the area. The street was chaotic, civilians screaming, fleeing in every direction, some tripping over debris, others frozen in panic.

But there was no sign of the man.

Then a voice echoed through the street, layered and distorted, as if coming from everywhere at once.

"Black Resonance."

Adam’s head snapped up.

Multiple dark spheres materialized in midair, dotting the street like malignant stars. As they formed, several civilians abruptly stopped moving, eyes glazing over, bodies going slack as fear locked them in place.

The spheres began to glow.

Adam’s gaze hardened.