Unholy Player-Chapter 186: Memories from past

"Well... I was planning to hold a feast," King Vale muttered, standing motionless as he watched Adyr and Vesha disappear through the mansion doors.

What Vesha had done was simple—but calculated.

She knew Adyr well enough by now to understand his nature. What he tolerated. What he avoided.

She remembered how, in a village he’d once saved from wolves, he had literally escaped through a back window just to avoid a celebration held in his honor.

So this time, she had acted preemptively.

Realizing a formal welcome would only irritate him, she stepped forward before anyone else could, offered him a quiet exit under the excuse of hunger, and shielded him from the noise and the meaningless social chatter he clearly had no interest in.

Of course, once Adyr said he was hungry, no one dared stop him—or even considered doing so. To try would’ve been selfish.

And so, the crowd could only watch in silence... and wait.

—

"Thanks. You saved me back there." Adyr’s voice was low, but clear as he addressed Vesha, walking just ahead. Good deeds, he thought, deserved acknowledgment.

"I know you’re not the type who likes being thanked," Vesha replied, glancing back at him over her shoulder with a purr in her voice, accepting the rare compliment without pausing her steps.

Then she turned forward again, tilted her head slightly, and added in a softer tone, "But it’s still no good if you don’t take even a simple thank you."

She stopped, turned fully around, and met his eyes. Her ice-blue gaze shone with sincerity.

"For myself—and for the entire Kingdom of Velari—thank you."

She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she flashed a playful smile, turned again, and kept walking down the corridor with light, unbothered steps.

But Adyr didn’t move.

The fake smile had vanished. Even his usual unreadable expression had slipped away. What replaced it was rare—a moment of genuine surprise.

He watched her slender figure move ahead, his eyes catching on her golden hair, glowing in the soft light spilling through the hall’s arched windows. And just then, a voice echoed in his mind.

Thank you, brother.

A sharp pang bloomed in his chest. Not the kind born from trauma—he had long grown used to those.

No, this was different.

It took him a moment to recognize it, simply because it happened so rarely. It wasn’t pain from a wound. It was the ache of a memory.

A good one.

One he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

He stood there, unmoving, staring after her—until a faint, unconscious smile crept onto his lips. But the heaviness in his chest remained, lodged like a stone.

In Vesha’s smile, in her voice, in the way she walked, he had seen the ghost of someone he had lost long ago.

"So this is how it will go," Adyr muttered under his breath.

"Sorry? Did you say something?" Vesha had turned back, surprised to find him lagging behind.

Adyr held the soft smile on his face. "Nothing. Just remembered something I need to take care of."

"I see," she said with a smile of her own, then turned away again, continuing without question.

She didn’t realize it at that moment, but that simple act—a smile, a thank you—had already set something in motion. An act that would soon alter the course of her life... and shatter the dark fate quietly waiting in the shadows.

—

After returning to his room, two fully loaded food trolleys were brought in by the Draven maids. He devoured every plate in silence, savoring the satisfaction that came with each bite.

His appetite had grown noticeably since his stats increased again. He found it difficult to comprehend how his body continued to burn through so many calories with such ease, one meal after another, all consumed without even feeling bloated.

Once finished, he took a brief shower—more to refresh his senses than out of necessity—then opened a storage rift to retrieve his new gear from Twilight Land.

The changes were immediate, even under the sterile light of the room’s wall-mounted mirror.

His new tactical suit looked nothing like the previous one. Just a glance was enough to tell—it was several levels above in both quality and craftsmanship.

The fabric clung to his form with tailored ease, reinforced with matte-black armor plating across the chest, shoulders, and joints.

These hard shell sections resembled a natural extension of his body, almost like a segmented exoskeleton. The boots, issued as part of the uniform, completed the set with their low-profile yet rugged design. The entire ensemble gave off a focused aesthetic: built for fluid movement, engineered for durability, and above all, lethal efficiency.

On his waist, a utility belt was strapped with twenty compact throwing knives, arranged with surgical order. Hanging beside them was a long, coiled rope—an unassuming detail, but one that hinted at layered preparedness.

When he stood in front of the mirror, the two swords mounted in a diagonal cross across his back were impossible to miss. One had a cruciform crossguard in matte steel, catching light in subtle gleams. The other was more ominous—its grip absorbed light entirely, and its sheath was so uniform it resembled a solid shadow rather than a scabbard.

Turning around, he inspected the final piece.

Above the crossed scabbards lay a heater-style shield, its contours fanning outward toward the shoulders in a design reminiscent of bat wings. It extended just far enough to give full cover without limiting mobility. An extra armored spine beneath it traced down along his back like an exoskeletal shell, giving the illusion of a body without vulnerabilities.

The image in the mirror was clear: everything had changed. And now, he looked exactly as he should—like a predator built for a different kind of battlefield.

"Now let’s try the new feature of the uniform," Adyr murmured.

With a series of sharp, unsettling sounds, two bone structures suddenly pierced through the back of his uniform, tearing outward from beneath the skin and extending to both sides.

Those specific sections of the tactical suit had been engineered for this purpose. The material there was deliberately less reinforced, allowing the wing bones to break through without resistance.

The placement of the crossed sword scabbards and the bat-wing-shaped shield had also been carefully designed. Nothing obstructed the skeletal extensions as they unfolded rapidly, expanding into full wings within seconds. Each bone was soon sheathed in pristine white feathers.

In the open space of his room, Adyr slowly extended and folded the wings a few times, testing the movement. There was no drag, no interference from the equipment on his back. Satisfied, he retracted them.

The feathers dissolved first, disintegrating into fine dust before vanishing entirely. The flesh along the bones tightened and sealed, fusing like living armor. Then the bones themselves withdrew, sliding swiftly back into his shoulders through faint, old scar lines.

All that remained were two subtle tears in the back of his uniform, barely visible now as faded, and two faint scar marks on the skin beneath.

But even those didn’t last long.

The fabric of the suit twitched—thread by thread—as if every fiber had a mind of its own. Like tiny worms, the strands writhed and twisted, finding their place and reconnecting with uncanny synchrony. In seconds, the rips sealed completely, restoring the suit to its original form. As if nothing had ever pierced it.

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