Unholy Player-Chapter 147: Unknown

"What the fuck?"

Adyr couldn’t stop the words from slipping out.

For a moment, he questioned whether this was all unfolding in his mind or if reality itself had truly fractured.

Then, from his right, came a sound.

It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t even a scream in the ordinary sense. It was the collective shriek of agony from countless beings—millions, no, trillions—compressed into a single, soul-rending echo. Like the gates of hell had been thrown open and every cursed thing inside was clawing, screaming, writhing, pleading for release. A chorus of torment that bypassed the ears and crawled straight into the bones.

Even someone like Adyr, who had heard worse in both lives, felt his spine stiffen.

And then came the counterpoint.

From his left, another sound bloomed into existence.

Music.

Beautiful, soothing, and impossibly layered. Adyr couldn’t place a single instrument, yet the melody was clear and perfect, effortless. It was the laughter of children, warm and bright, woven seamlessly with the low, contented murmurs of adults speaking in hushed tones. Voices sang—men and women alike—reciting verses, exchanging songs and poetry in a harmony that was too flawless to be rehearsed. It wasn’t noise; it was unity. A symphony of joy, woven together with such precision that each voice completed the next without ever clashing.

A perfect contrast to the wailing void on his right.

Adyr stood between them, eyes closed.

And despite the chaos unfolding to his right and the unsettling peace lingering to his left, he appeared utterly undisturbed—almost serene—as if he had found something rare at the heart of that terrifying contrast: a still point, a fragile sense of balance, a fleeting moment of harmony.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t run. Instead, his chest rose with a slow, steady breath. For the first time in a long while, he felt... whole. Not human. Not a predator. Just complete.

But then, just as he began to surrender to that surreal sense of equilibrium, everything snapped back.

The sounds vanished.

The breeze returned.

The grass bent once again under its weight. The flowers danced. And the world resumed as if nothing had happened.

The still faces around him moved again—King Vale, the lords, the swaying trees, even Colossith’s deep, ambient tremors resumed.

And then came Malrik’s voice.

"I’ve never heard of such a myth," he said, lifting a single brow. His tone was skeptical, but measured. "What exactly did you hear?"

Adyr’s eyes narrowed.

That was the same expression, the same voice, the exact same words Malrik had spoken just seconds before the world had frozen.

"I just said it," Adyr replied, carefully.

Malrik tilted his head. "Huh? Said what?"

He wasn’t pretending. He hadn’t heard it.

Adyr frowned slightly and tried again.

He opened his mouth and calmly spoke the name once more.

"Primora."

The world froze again. And the sounds returned.

The howling from the right. The melody is from the left. But this time, it didn’t end there.

This time, the earth itself seemed to tremble.

No, not just the earth. Everything. The ground beneath his feet, the air around him, even the void above seemed to resonate with a vibration so deep, so absolute, it made Colossith’s devastating frequency feel like a passing breeze. This wasn’t just energy—it was something divine. Reality quivered beneath it.

Adyr steadied himself, his senses sharpened.

And that’s when he felt it. A presence.

Something was watching him.

He turned instinctively, scanning the frozen scene. Everything remained exactly as it had been—lifeless, suspended in mid-motion. And yet, he could feel it: eyes watching him from beyond the physical realm. They weren’t hostile or predatory. They felt mournful—aching, almost... yearning.

The sensation was subtle but undeniable. Whoever—whatever—was watching, it wasn’t angry.

It was sad.

Adyr for a moment considered using all his available energy to register a talent, level it up, and increase his [Sense] stat with the gained points, but a rising instinct stopped him.

A whisper, not from outside but from within—a primal warning that pulsed through his nerves.

As if saying If you look deeper now, you won’t come back.

It wasn’t a threat. It was the truth.

He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

His current strength, whatever progress he had made, simply wasn’t enough. If he forced this now, he wouldn’t unlock a secret—he would lose himself to it.

Adyr took a slow breath and let the instinct guide him.

He stepped back, letting the moment pass, letting the presence fade into the quiet between seconds.

And once again, the harmony returned. Not just between sound and silence, but between restraint and hunger—between what he could do, and what he chose not to do.

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And with that, the world began to move again.

"I’ve never heard of such a myth," Malrik said, lifting a single brow. His tone was skeptical, but measured. "What exactly did you hear?"

"Nothing," Adyr said with a forced smile. "Just some rumor I heard from drunk people, and I got curious if maybe it could be true. A foolish curiosity."

He didn’t try to say the word again. It felt useless now. Whatever answers he had hoped for, he sensed they would only come at a cost he wasn’t ready to pay.

He had felt those eyes on him the second time he spoke it, and he was certain that if he ever dared to try again, especially by raising his [Sense] stat to pierce through and understand more, his entire being would crumble under the weight of what he found.

"Well, it’s not strange for people to talk about things like that. Just ignore it," Malrik said, his voice steady and serious. "Everyone questions their existence at some point, wonders why they were created, or what it all means. But as a practitioner, that kind of thinking won’t help you. Your path is clear. Wandering off will only bring harm."

"I understand. Thank you," Adyr replied, nodding calmly.

"Okay, now back to the main topic," Malrik said, returning to his earlier tone. "To reach Rank 2, the first requirement is registering a level-3 talent. For someone like you, that shouldn’t be too difficult. You just need to focus on one of your current talents, work on it, and refine it until it meets the standard to be level 3."

Adyr smiled faintly. Malrik was right. He already had a level-3 Observer talent acknowledged by the system—he’d simply been holding off on registering it due to insufficient energy reserves.

Becoming stronger in this world required more than just brute force—it demanded a kind of brilliance. Just to get the system to recognize his Observer talent at level 3, Adyr had to push his [Sense] stat to 10.

Malrik continued, "The other requirement is having a maximum energy capacity of at least 200. I assume you’ve already reached that."

He had. With nine registered level-2 talents and the additional +100 max energy granted by the Dawn Raven, Adyr’s total capacity stood at 219—more than enough to meet the requirement.

"That’s all you need to know," Malrik concluded with finality.

"Thank you, brother," Adyr said sincerely. He was ready to leave.

After a few more brief words and casual exchanges, Adyr unfolded his wings, the feathers shifting with a metallic glint under the sun, and lifted into the air. He ascended smoothly, cutting through the wind, and turned toward the market district.

From below, Malrik and the others watched him in silence.

"I believe in you, little brother," Malrik murmured with a quiet, genuine smile. "Next time I see you, we’ll be standing on equal ground."

His voice carried no doubt—only certainty. Malrik wasn’t hoping. He was convinced. Adyr would return as a Rank 2 practitioner.

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