Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 580

For five straight days, no one came to trouble Martin Gray.

In truth, it wasn’t surprising. Most of the people who once held grudges against him were long gone, claimed by age or time. Back in his youth, Martin’s nickname had been the Brat, but it had never meant he was a mass killer. He’d been a provocateur, a trickster who enjoyed humiliating people more than harming them.

The catastrophe at the Trinity Sect had followed him like a shadow, but even there, the blood on his hands was indirect. For those still alive who remembered him, decades of living had dulled old resentments. Very few were petty enough to cross half the country just to settle a youthful insult.

Yet the valley only grew more crowded.

People weren’t coming for Martin anymore. They were coming for Rowan Mercer.

The story of nine golden dragons descending from the sky had spread faster than reason. Many younger ability-users had no idea who Martin Gray was, nor what the Trinity Sect had once been. But Nason Island, the floating stronghold, and the man who ruled it had become legend in the span of days.

By the fifth day, nearly everyone who had competed in the last Grand Assembly had arrived. The slopes on both sides of the valley were packed shoulder to shoulder. This was the largest gathering the ability world had seen in decades, far eclipsing even the Assembly itself.

On the sixth day, someone finally stepped forward.

An elderly man approached Martin and stood before him in silence. Years ago, Martin had ruined the man’s wedding out of sheer mischief, turning what should have been a joyous day into lasting humiliation.

The man asked Martin to kneel and polish his shoes.

Martin complied without hesitation.

Before he could finish, the man kicked him away and burst out laughing. It had never been meant seriously.

"I called everyone who still had a reason to hate you," the old man said. "Most are dead. The rest said it wasn’t worth the trouble. So it’s just me."

Only then did Martin understand.

For decades, he had been punishing himself for sins the world had already forgotten.

When the seventh day came, the sun hovered low over the valley, casting long shadows across the crowd.

Lucan Kade stood.

He walked to Martin’s side, and the noise died instantly.

This was the climax. The end.

Lucan confirmed one last time that no one else intended to challenge Martin. Then, without ceremony, he struck.

The fight was brutal.

Neither man held back. Lucan relied solely on his perfected physical discipline, while Martin pushed himself to his absolute limit. Blow followed blow, the clash echoing through the valley as the two battered each other without pause.

Watching from a distance, Rowan Mercer narrowed his eyes.

"Martin Gray really is a prodigy," he murmured.

Lucan’s strength was expected. He’d been trained by one of the greatest masters of his era and inherited a complete system refined over generations.

Martin, on the other hand, had learned a crude, unfashionable style from an unremarkable teacher. And yet, through sheer talent and obsession, he had elevated it to something that could stand toe to toe with Lucan.

Had Martin been accepted into the Trinity Sect back then, his name might have shaken the world.

The crowd watched in silence, knowing they were witnessing something rare.

An hour passed.

At Martin’s relentless provocation, Lucan finally let go of restraint and forced himself beyond his former limits. The transformation was immediate. His body hardened, movements sharpened, and his presence became overwhelming.

Lucan defeated Martin decisively.

Only then did Rowan understand. Martin had pushed Lucan not out of hatred, but to force him to cross that final threshold. It was repayment for an old debt.

Lucan showed no gratitude.

He beat Martin until his body collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. Only then did he signal for the ceremonial hammer that marked the ritual’s end.

"Martin Gray," Lucan said coldly, "I’ll give you one chance. Cut all ties with the Anarchists. Every one of them. Including the man who led them."

Lucan’s voice tightened. "Do that, and I’ll strike the final blow myself. You can even help rebuild the Trinity Sect."

Everyone knew the truth. The real architect of the sect’s destruction had been the Anarchists’ leader, the one who had vanished decades ago and might still be alive.

Letting Martin go meant letting go of his hatred.

Martin knelt, head bowed, blood dripping from his mouth.

"I came here to leave the Anarchists. That won’t change," he said. "But not him. He was the only one who ever tried to hold that group together. To us, he wasn’t a monster. He was our saint."

Lucan roared, fury breaking through his composure. "Your saint abandoned you and disappeared!"

Martin nodded slowly. "That’s why I’ll find him. If I survive today, I’ll serve him as a disciple until the end. This is my answer."

Lucan’s face darkened.

"So be it," he said. "Then die."

His fingers drove into Martin’s temple.

The body fell.

Silence crushed the valley.

No one had expected Lucan to truly kill him. The man known for an unblemished life had crossed the final line.

"Deserved... deserved..." Lucan muttered, staring at the corpse, his mind clearly fraying.

"Grandfather!"

Mae Jenson screamed and surged forward, only to be stopped by Rowan’s hand.

"It’s fine," Rowan said calmly. "This one can still be undone."

He vanished and reappeared beside Martin’s body, placing his palm against the shattered skull.

Lucan lashed out blindly, striking at Rowan in a fit of rage.

"Don’t touch him!"

Rowan flicked his wrist.

Lucan Kade, newly empowered and feared across the valley, was sent flying more than a mile away, crashing through trees and stone.

Rowan didn’t even look after him.

"Put on a show for others if you want," he said flatly. "Try it with me, and I’ll put you down."

The valley stood frozen, breath held.

And the dead were about to rise.

...

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