Unholy Player-Chapter 191: Theatre

Adyr didn’t leave the market area immediately. He lingered a while longer, weaving through the shifting crowd with a silent gaze, taking the chance to observe.

This was the perfect time to observe. To study the way potential rivals moved, how they talked, who they aligned with, what equipment they carried, and most importantly, how confident they looked when no one was watching.

Only once he’d seen enough, once he had mentally cataloged the strongest personalities and gathered a rough sense of who might prove troublesome later, did he finally take to the skies, setting a silent course back toward Draven Mansion.

As he approached the familiar rooftops of the city, one thing was immediately clear.

Colossith was gone.

The behemoth’s towering form—along with the faint hum and tremors that had once radiated from its very presence—had vanished. There was no trace of Liora, either. Nor of the Velari practitioners who had once patrolled the surrounding area like silent sentinels.

Adyr’s eyes narrowed, scanning the city below as he remained suspended in the cool night air.

Even at this hour, long after midnight, the city was still awake. Lights twinkled from balconies, windows, and streetlamps. People wandered through the wide boulevards and open courtyards, their voices echoing with laughter and idle conversation.

Taverns kept their doors wide open, their interiors glowing with orange warmth. The sounds of clinking glasses and cheerful toasts spilled out into the streets. In the public squares, crowds had gathered around street performers and musicians, their bodies swaying gently to the rhythm of whatever melodies floated through the air.

It was a festival. A spontaneous one, perhaps—but unmistakable in spirit.

The departure of Colossith had become a city-wide celebration.

Adyr hovered high above, cloaked in the shadows of the night sky, silent and unseen. From up here, no mortal eye could catch a glimpse of him. He lingered for a while, simply watching.

His gaze eventually settled on a small makeshift stage tucked in the corner of one such plaza. A modest crowd had gathered, their attention fixed on a group of performers enacting a dramatic scene.

Five actors dressed as humble villagers—clutching rakes, hoes, and shovels—stood facing off against another group draped in crude wolf pelts, their postures exaggerated to mimic snarling beasts.

The "wolves" clearly outnumbered them. And soon enough, they overpowered the villagers, knocking them to the ground with swipes of clawed hands and bared teeth. Then, slowly and deliberately, the pack began moving toward a group of children singing in the corner of the stage.

There was a tension in the air. Even from his height, Adyr could feel the crowd’s unease—their anxious stillness, the way their eyes stayed locked on the children. The wolves crept closer, and for a moment, it seemed inevitable.

Then, the mood shifted.

From the top of the stage, ropes descended, lowering a lone figure cloaked in shadow. A performer dressed in black, his hair tousled and dark as midnight, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He landed between the wolves and the children, twin blades in hand, his stance theatrical and bold.

The crowd erupted.

Even without hearing the lines, Adyr understood exactly what the scene was meant to convey—and he couldn’t help but smirk.

Especially when he noticed the ridiculous platform shoes strapped to the actor’s feet, clearly meant to make him look taller and more imposing. It was almost enough to make Adyr laugh aloud.

They’re trying to play me, huh? He watched a moment longer, amused.

Word of his deeds had already begun spreading across the kingdom. Among the citizens, his name was spoken like that of a hero.

Adyr had no objections to the fame. If anything, he had an appreciation for the arts—he was the type who could genuinely value songs, performances, and plays written in his name. The only thing that felt off was the fact that, across the entire kingdom, there wasn’t a single tall actor capable of portraying him.

The most ironic part? Adyr himself wasn’t particularly tall either. Even after his latest evolution, he had only reached around 1.75 meters—barely average by Earth’s standards, especially in a world where mutated humans had pushed the norm far beyond that.

"Whatever," Adyr muttered with a quiet chuckle, then beat his wings and set course for Draven Mansion.

As the estate’s vast, well-kept garden came into view, something felt off.

The garden, which was usually bustling with activity, now lay strangely empty, aside from a few guarding knights.

With Colossith gone, a certain level of disbandment might have been expected. But in a time when the entire kingdom was in a celebratory frenzy, it was odd for the Draven Household—so directly involved in the recent events—to remain this silent.

Gliding through the air, Adyr narrowed his eyes. [Sense] heightened his perception, sharpening the feeling that something was wrong.

There was tension in the air, a subtle tightness that wrapped around the mansion like a warning. Something was clearly amiss.

His original plan had been to slip unnoticed into the secluded garden near his quarters and enter his room without drawing attention. But given the circumstances, he adjusted. Slowing his descent, he landed calmly in the center of the garden.

"Lord Adyr."

The knights on guard immediately recognized him and stood at attention, saluting with practiced precision.

Something’s not right. Adyr studied their posture, their expressions.

Their faces bore the expected reverence and respect, but beneath it, he saw unease. A stiffness in their stance. A tension they couldn’t quite hide.

Adyr returned their salute with a simple nod, then gestured toward the mansion’s grand dining hall, its windows softly glowing with light.

"What’s going on inside?" He asked.

He could feel a presence radiating from that room—strong, distinct, and strangely familiar. But it didn’t resemble what he had sensed from Malrik or the others.

As he tried to narrow down who it might be, one of the knights finally spoke, taking him slightly by surprise.

"Lord Adyr. A guest from the Umbraen Kingdom is currently meeting with Lord Orven and Lady Vesha in the dining hall."

With that, the sensation clicked into place.

"Is it Kharom? Sevrak’s grandson?"

The knights hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.

"We’re sorry, sir. We haven’t been given a name," one of them replied.

They had likely identified the guest’s origin from appearance, but no one had clarified who he actually was. Judging by their expressions, they might not even know the guest was a practitioner.

"I see. Thank you," Adyr said, offering a faint smile before turning away and walking toward the mansion, unhurried and composed.

He was nearly certain it was Kharom—the same man he had encountered at the market not long ago. The only question was why he had come here, now, of all times.

He had one possibility in mind... but it was so unlikely, he didn’t even want to voice it.

Still, the feeling lingered—unease wrapped in curiosity. He wouldn’t know for sure until he saw it with his own eyes and heard it with his own ears.

And so, without breaking stride, he made his way to the dining hall.

For some time now, this mansion had served as his headquarters, the only place he slept, ate, and let his guard down. The sudden appearance of a stranger, possibly an enemy, within his territory stirred something dark. Irritation simmered beneath the surface, close to breaching into the bloodlust he had kept buried for far too long.

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A/N: Thanks for the power stones and golden tickets.

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