Unholy Player-Chapter 104: Bonus Merit [BONUS]

"Fifty percent discount, huh?" Adyr thought to himself.

With the merit he’d just earned, his total had reached 710, and there were still points pending from the live samples he had submitted earlier.

The thought triggered an idea. He suddenly remembered the market he had visited with Malrik and began calculating whether he could turn a profit from it.

"Okay, if the hype’s died down, I’m heading to the playroom. Need to catch a Spark," Victor said, stretching before turning to leave.

"No. I need you for a while," Adyr said, stopping him.

"Why?" Victor asked, clearly surprised.

"I need to speak to your father. Set up a meeting," Adyr replied flatly, not bothering to explain.

Victor paused, then a look of understanding crossed his face. "Okay. Follow me," he said, and the two of them left the training floor, leaving the researchers behind to dissect what remained of the chaos.

—

"I heard your mother came back safe," Victor said as they walked through the long corridor.

He had known about Marielle’s return for some time now, but knowing what she’d been through, he had chosen to stay quiet. He hadn’t shown joy or sorrow—just silence, which he had thought was the most respectful response.

But now, after hearing Adyr ask to meet with his father, he understood the reason.

"Yes," Adyr answered from behind.

Victor stopped abruptly and looked him in the eye. "Do you want revenge? Do you want to fight them?"

Victor usually acted like a fool, but this was one of those rare moments when he didn’t. He had already connected the dots and understood that Adyr’s overwhelming display of power back in the training room hadn’t just been for show.

And he knew his friend. Beyond Adyr’s cold intelligence, he was fearless—even reckless. Reckless enough to throw himself in front of a gunman at the age of eight, calmly negotiating with kidnappers to release Victor.

The memory still haunted him.

Despite being surrounded by bodyguards his entire life, Victor had once been snatched in broad daylight by a well-organized group. Days passed, and just when he had begun to lose hope of being rescued, a child appeared before him like a ghost.

A child who hadn’t just freed him from captivity but had stood in front of an armed terrorist and, without flinching, talked the man down. No panic. No fear. Just quiet control.

He still remembered that conversation between Adyr and the gunman. It was the moment he realized Adyr wasn’t normal.

It was then he understood that a person could be killed, not with a weapon, but with words alone.

He remembered clearly how the man had started trembling after hearing Adyr speak. How his hands shook, how his eyes filled with something close to panic. And he remembered how, not long after, that same man had helped them escape, moving like his own life depended on it.

Now, that same realization returned. If this were about revenge, Adyr wouldn’t hesitate. He would see it through to the end. Victor had no doubt.

"I do," Adyr said, not denying it.

Victor stared at him for a long moment, then asked, "Is there anything else I can do to help? Besides setting up a meeting with my father. I should say, I’m also very strong. Maybe not as strong as you, but stronger than the power ranking shows. That 135 doesn’t tell the full story."

Adyr chuckled. "I’ll be fine."

Victor sighed. "Alright. I’ll ask again after I catch a Spark. Until then, think about it."

It was obvious why Adyr had declined the offer. With Victor’s current strength, joining him on such a mission would do more harm than good, and Victor knew it, too. That’s why he needed to get stronger. At the very least, he had to obtain a Spark with a useful ability.

"Fine with me," Adyr replied, and the two continued down the corridor in silence.

After walking for a while, they reached another elevator embedded into the floor, but two suited security officers stepped forward to block their way.

"Mr. Victor, sorry, but Mr. Bates is currently busy. He can’t receive anyone right now," one of them said.

"Busy? Too busy to see his own flesh and blood?" Victor snapped. It wasn’t his first time arguing with this pair.

"Sorry, but this time is different. You know what’s been going on lately," the guard replied firmly.

They didn’t spell it out, but Adyr could guess. It was about the Cannibal wiping out the entire STF unit—and about Marielle and others returning home with one arm missing.

Victor acted immediately. "Of course I know. Why do you think I’m here? I have important updates related to that incident. I need to deliver them to my father, now."

Seeing the flicker of hesitation in the guards’ faces, he pressed harder. "What? This is sensitive, high-priority information. Are you ready to take responsibility if it doesn’t reach him in time? Or are you knowingly blocking critical intel?"

He stared at them with a sharp, accusing look.

The guards, clearly taken aback, exchanged a nervous glance. They both knew how much trouble Victor could stir up when he wanted to—and they had no doubt he would.

"Okay, Mr. Victor, you can go up. But please wait in the lounge. Your father is currently in an important meeting."

Victor grinned. "Of course. Don’t worry, now push the button."

Reluctantly, one of them tapped the elevator controls, and the door slid open. Adyr and Victor stepped in and began their ascent.

Once the door closed, one guard looked at the other and muttered, "Let the ones upstairs deal with it. Not worth the trouble."

The other gave a quiet exhale and nodded.

If there was anything more dangerous than a spoiled rich kid, it was a spoiled rich mutant kid who also happened to be the son of the city’s defense minister.

—

As the elevator doors opened, Adyr and Victor stepped into a wide, sunlit lounge. Tall windows filled the space with clean daylight, casting long, pale reflections across the polished floor. The air inside was cool, conditioned, and silent. This was clearly a waiting area for visitors, though its pristine calm felt at odds with what lingered beneath it.

To the side, several figures sat in silence, spread across plush, high-end chairs arranged in a neat arc. They wore STF tactical uniforms—fully equipped from shoulder to boot. Long rifles rested beside them, pistols holstered at the hip, grenades clipped into harness slots. Not a patch of fabric or gear was out of place. Nothing ceremonial. Everything functional.

Each of them carried the hardened look of someone who had seen countless battles, and in their eyes, the cold, detached focus of seasoned killers.

Adyr’s eyes swept over them. Fresh mud clung to their boots. Dust still lingered in the folds of their vests. Scuff marks covered their rifle grips, and the barrels hadn’t been cleaned. The scent of sweat and gun oil still clung faintly to their gear. They had just come back from a mission—and not a routine one.

The tension in their posture, the stiffness in their jaws, the hollowness in their eyes... it told a story. A recent one.

He knew that posture. That silence. That weight behind the eyes.

They’d lost people.

As he studied them, their gazes lifted and locked onto him in return—sharp, professional, deliberate. No words were exchanged. Just instinct sizing up instinct.

Interesting, Adyr thought, faintly entertained, then looked away and continued forward.