Martial Era: Starting With The Strongest Talent-Chapter 213: Who Is Behind The Mask

Adam held the reporter’s gaze, catching the hesitation still lingering behind his eyes. The logic had landed, but belief hadn’t fully followed. So he’s not convinced, Adam noted calmly, watching the doubt refuse to die.

For a brief second, another thought surfaced. What happened to the speculation about me? Two years ago, Adam had erased himself, faking his death, cutting all ties, and stepping into the identity of John Doe without leaving a trace.

The real John Doe had never lived long enough to matter. Remedy had ended him before his name could spread, leaving behind only a shadow Adam could wear. But none of that mattered right now. The crowd had moved on.

If John Doe wasn’t the Saint’s disciple... then where was he?

That question spread through the reporters like silent fire, growing stronger with every passing second. They weren’t satisfied with answers. They wanted proof, something they could see.

Adam didn’t react.

Because this moment had already been planned.

Right on cue, the massive doors of the manor creaked open behind them, the sound cutting clean through the tense silence. Every camera snapped toward the entrance in unison, flashes already starting before the figure even stepped out.

Then, he appeared.

John Doe walked forward calmly, his presence steady and unhurried as if the attention meant nothing to him. The cameras erupted instantly, rapid clicks overlapping as lenses focused, zoomed, and captured every detail they could.

Yet even as they filmed him, doubt still lingered.

Adam’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the figure. ...What a perfect replica, he thought, studying every movement and subtle expression. Because it wasn’t John Doe.

It was one of Rem’s supreme spirits.

Even Adam, who knew the truth, couldn’t distinguish it. The imitation was flawless, down to the smallest detail. If he hadn’t prepared this himself, he might have believed it too.

The spirit walked forward and stopped beside Felicia Scott and Ivy, giving a small, natural nod. The two returned it without pause, their reactions completely convincing to anyone watching.

Remedy stepped forward slightly, adjusting the mic on the podium as the noise settled just enough for her voice to cut through. She didn’t rush. She didn’t hesitate. Her composure held the crowd in place.

"John has been a very important member of our team," she said clearly, her tone steady and authoritative. "And despite his lower talent compared to the rest, there are still things he can do that none of us can."

The reporters shifted, eyes flicking between her and the man standing at the back.

"That," Remedy continued, "is the reason for his absence over the past two years."

The explanation landed differently this time.

Because now, they had proof.

Cameras zoomed in again, capturing John Doe from every angle, comparing him subconsciously to the Saint’s disciple they had just questioned. The difference was undeniable, presence, aura, weight. They weren’t the same.

Not even close.

The doubt that had lingered before began to collapse.

Slowly, one by one, the reporters accepted it. The logic Adam had presented, combined with the physical evidence now standing before them, left no room for argument. The theory broke apart completely.

The Saint Disciple was not John Doe.

And John Doe... was right there.

But as that conclusion settled, something else rose in its place.

A deeper question.

If he was not the Saint’s disciple...

Then who was the one behind the mask?

****

The question lingered even as the press conference continued, but its edge had dulled. A few more reporters pushed forward, asking safer questions now, testing boundaries instead of breaking them. Adam answered only what was necessary.

When the final question faded, the atmosphere loosened at once. The tension that had gripped the crowd broke apart, replaced by hurried movement as reporters packed up equipment and rushed to deliver their stories.

Then Adam moved.

His body dissolved into a controlled surge of wind, vanishing from sight in an instant. The reporters froze for half a second, then erupted again.

Cameras turned, voices rose, and speculation reignited, but this time, it was different. The doubt from before had shifted into something else entirely. The team returned one after another as the exterior was cleared efficiently. Cleaning drones swept across the grounds, removing any trace of the event, restoring the area to its usual pristine state within minutes.

Remedy stood still for a moment after entering, her expression finally loosening now that the performance was over. With a quiet exhale, she dismissed the supreme spirit maintaining John Doe’s form.

The figure flickered, then disappeared completely.

What had looked effortless outside came at a cost. That technique wasn’t something she could use freely. It was a secret method, one she had only unlocked after reaching Master rank, and even then, it drained her more than she liked to admit.

She dropped onto the couch without holding back.

A faint gust stirred the air.

Adam reappeared beside her the next second, the wind folding neatly into itself as if obeying a strict command. The control was absolute.

Remedy glanced at him, a faint smirk forming despite her fatigue.

"The Saint really went all out giving you that technique," she said, her voice carrying both curiosity and quiet approval. Adam raised a hand and removed the bone mask, revealing his face again.

"I was just lucky to get it," he replied simply.

Remedy’s expression shifted slightly, understanding passing through her eyes. She didn’t question it further. But behind them, the others didn’t share that same clarity.

Felicia frowned, clearly confused.

"Lucky?" she repeated, her tone sharp with disbelief.

Adam glanced at her, then gave a short explanation without dragging it out. He the way the ability had been obtained through chance rather than selection.

That was enough.

Felicia, Scott, and Ivy all froze.

Their expressions shifted almost instantly, shock replacing whatever assumptions they had carried before about . The idea didn’t sit right with them. It clashed with everything they believed about power at that level.

A Saint... gambling?

The image in their minds cracked.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Their understanding of how someone like that operated had just changed, and they didn’t know what to do with it yet.