Chapter 106: Evolving The Profound Spirit

Adam’s panel slid into existence before his eyes as the technique continued its work.

The cyclone still screamed across the battlement, invisible blades harvesting monsters in steady waves. Each kill sent a faint ding through his panel.

╭───────────╮

〖Name: Adam〗

〖Rank: Profound Apprentice〗

〖Cultivation Talent: G〗

〖Special Talent: Equip ❖ Connect〗

〖Affinity: Wind ❖ Death〗

〖SLOT〗

↳ SOUL (5): Rapid E ❖ Poison F ❖

Cultivation D ❖ Freeze F ❖

Mind Control E

↳ BODY (6): Empty

╰───────────╯

Star Power: 19+

Existence: 921

Martial Spirit: Profound — 1 Star

Adam’s gaze lingered on the numbers, tracking the steady rise in Existence as monsters were erased by a technique he wasn’t even directly controlling.

Behind him, the profound spirit leaned forward. Adam felt its heavy stare as he glanced back.

The armored apparition was staring at the panel too, skull flames flickering as if… curious.

Adam blinked.

“Do you even know how to read?”

The martial spirit tilted its head slowly, the green fire dimming and flaring again, as if the words themselves meant nothing. The motion was awkward. Almost confused.

Like he’d spoken in a foreign language.

Adam exhaled through his nose and shook his head.

Figures.

He turned back to the panel. The answer was obvious. The spirit’s intelligence was lacking, as expected, given it had only just manifested. Worse, it was only one star. Barely more than instinct wrapped in power.

“I’ll need to raise your tier,” Adam muttered. “Then maybe we can actually talk.”

For now, the battlefield kept feeding him.

Existence ticked upward again as another cluster of monsters vanished into red mist. Adam could feel it, progress stacking faster than expected, the cyclone doing exactly what he’d designed it to do.

It may be sooner than I thought.

His attention then sharpened as he re-read the lower section of the panel.

Star Power had increased.

And beneath it…

A new line.

Adam’s lips curved slightly as understanding clicked into place.

“Profound…” he said quietly.

The green flames behind him flared.

“One star.”

Adam stayed quiet.

For a long moment, the only sound reaching him was the endless hiss of monsters being cut apart, the wet snap of flesh meeting invisible wind blades as the cyclone continued its work across the battlement. The battlefield screamed, but at the center of it all, there was a strange calm.

His martial spirit stood behind him, like a sentinel watching over its Lord.

To be honest, Adam would’ve preferred to go out there himself. To feel resistance through his arms, to adjust with every strike, to know each kill was directly his. But efficiency mattered more than satisfaction. The technique covered ground he couldn’t, an area-of-effect, ranged execution that erased enemies before they could even reach him.

He exhaled softly.

“It’s no wonder we humans have lasted this long.”

The thought pulled his mind down an old path.

Every monster possessed special talents,innate abilities that didn’t need structure, logic, or preparation. They simply activated. That alone made them undeniable threats.

In the early days, during the first formation of the Alliance, humans had been losing. Badly. Even after learning how to wield essence, it hadn’t been enough. Power without method had only delayed extinction.

Then martial techniques were created.

And everything changed.

The playing field leveled, not because humans were stronger, but because they became smarter. Martial techniques turned essence into refined weapons, capable of rivaling special talents through precision and scale.

Adam’s gaze shifted slightly, sensing the presence behind him again.

And none of it would exist without martial spirits.

They were the reason techniques could be used at all.

Adam frowned faintly.

“No matter how I try…” he muttered, focusing inward, “…I can’t feel how the technique works.”

Nothing answered him.

No flow. No pathway. No resonance.

And he understood why.

The cyclone wasn’t his.

It was his martial spirit’s.

All Adam provided was essence, the fuel fed into a system he couldn’t directly touch. The execution, the refinement, the killing intent, those belonged entirely to the spirit behind him.

Because unlike special talents, martial techniques required a medium.

Special talents needed nothing.

They simply manifested.

Martial techniques were different.

They demanded a specialized essence pathway, one the human body did not possess.

Humans couldn’t form that medium.

So they created one.

Martial spirits.

Adam glanced back at the towering, green-flamed warrior looming behind him.

The wind blades screamed again in the distance, and Adam stood at the center of it all.

Adam’s Existence ticked upward again.

1170.

Every monster shredded by the cyclone fed it, streams of essence returning to him in steady pulses. It could’ve been higher. Some of the wind blades only crippled instead of killing, pinning monsters in place long enough for the heirs and acolytes to rush in and finish them off.

Still.

It was More than enough.

Adam turned his head slightly, eyes flicking to the presence looming behind him. The profound spirit stood there like a silent executioner, green flames steady, armor radiating restrained pressure.

He looked back to the panel and smirked faintly.

“Looks like you’re about to become a big boy.”

He didn’t hesitate.

1050 Existence spent.

The moment the cost cleared, reality lurched.

Behind Adam, the martial spirit convulsed as if struck by an unseen force. The green flames around its skull flared violently, expanding outward before collapsing back in on themselves. The black armor groaned, plates thickening, edges sharpening, etched grooves glowing faintly as compressed wind screamed through them.

The evolution was instantaneous.

One star shattered.

Two followed.

By the time the pressure stabilized, the presence behind Adam was no longer the same.

Three-star profound…

The air itself felt heavier.

Out on the battlement, the effects rippled immediately. With entire swathes of monsters erased and many more maimed by wind blades, the heirs and acolytes found themselves advancing instead of retreating. What had been desperate clashes moments ago turned into controlled executions.

Then…

Something shifted.

The wind changed.

Vanessa, locked in combat mid-swing, felt it first. Her strike faltered as a chill crawled up her spine, instincts screaming. She turned sharply toward the cyclone.

At the same time, Abigail, stationed beside the petrified Dickson, eyes scanning the battlefield, froze.

Her gaze snapped toward Adam’s position.

The vortex was still there.

Still killing.

But its rotation had tightened, the wind screaming at a lower, deeper pitch. Green motes of flame began threading through the cyclone itself, weaving death into every current.

The pressure kept climbing.

Abigail’s breath caught.

“It’s changing.”

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