CHAPTER 245: ONCE AGAIN?

Not long after the call ended, a deep, mechanical roar echoed from outside, powerful enough to rattle the windows of the house.

Adyr and the others turned to the window. A large hoverjet was descending slowly onto the main street, maneuvering with precision between the rows of tightly packed houses. It hovered just above the ground, aligning itself with the front door of their building as its side hatch began to open with a hiss of pressure.

"They could’ve just sent a regular car," Niva muttered, her wide eyes following the rumbling engines as the vehicle settled into place.

Adyr gave a faint chuckle at her comment. "Do you want to come? I think there’s enough room for everyone."

Boy and Zelda lit up at the offer, visibly excited, but Marielle and Neris exchanged a glance and quietly shook their heads. Neither of them seemed comfortable with the idea, and Adyr didn’t press them.

As he stepped outside, the low hum of the hoverjet’s engines filled the air. The noise had drawn attention—residents from nearby homes had come out onto their porches, some still in sleepwear, watching the jet with confusion and curiosity.

Ignoring their stares, Adyr moved with steady purpose. He crossed the street without hesitation, boots crunching against the pavement, and climbed into the open side of the hoverjet without a word.

"I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or concerned that you decided to show up," Rhys Graves said, sitting with one leg crossed over the other. His expression was far from welcoming.

"You don’t sound relieved," Adyr replied, the hatch closing behind him as he took slow, heavy steps forward and sat across from him.

"How I feel doesn’t really matter," Rhys sighed. "I just hope this doesn’t turn into a problem."

There was hope in his words, but the way his eyes lingered on Adyr made it clear—it wasn’t a warning, just a silent plea cloaked in formality.

He was clearly referring to that fear-inducing Presence of Adyr—the one that triggered panic, even heart attacks—as he added, "If you lose control," he said, "none of us can stop you. Not me, not anyone. The only one who can is you."

It was the most honest thing Rhys had ever said to him. But then, he didn’t have much of a choice—because it was also the truth.

Adyr’s power had reached a level where, if he ever decided to go rogue, nothing would remain of the city but ash and corpses. In the face of that, the only smart move was to keep him close—and on your side.

"Relax. I’ll behave," Adyr said with a dry smirk, easing the tension just enough.

Rhys’s bluntness didn’t bother him—in fact, he appreciated it. Despite his position and discipline, Rhys wasn’t like the typical scheming bureaucrats. He was straightforward. And unlike his unpredictable fighting style, the man himself was entirely predictable.

"By the way, I need something from you," Adyr said, settling back into his seat.

"Glad to hear there’s still something I can do for you," Rhys replied sarcastically. "What is it?"

"I want access to all verified criminals who are currently imprisoned, wanted, or have warrants issued against them. Names and photos are enough."

He paused, then added flatly, "From all 12 cities."

Rhys froze for a moment, visibly thrown by the request. "What are you planning?"

Adyr’s face was calm, expression unreadable—but there was a subtle glint behind his eyes that betrayed a hidden grin.

"It’s nothing that’ll get you in trouble," he said, lifting his hands in a harmless gesture. "I promise."

Rhys narrowed his eyes, staring at him for a long moment before sighing. "If this blows up in my face and my superiors come knocking, I’m telling them you threatened me."

He didn’t wait for a reply—he simply pulled out his phone, made a few quick calls, and began processing the request.

Adyr just smiled, leaned back again, and enjoyed the rest of the short flight in silence.

—

As the hoverjet approached the vast city square, Adyr peered down through the window.

Thousands had gathered below, filling the expansive plaza. Unusually, the dense clouds that normally shrouded the morning sky had parted just enough to let the soft sunlight filter through, casting a muted glow over the scene.

Dominating one side of the square was a colossal screen, its surface alive with shifting images, and directly in front of it, a raised stage.

On the stage sat an elderly man in a wheelchair. His short hair was pure white, his long beard trailing past his knees, and his pale eyes had long since lost their color.

Every line on his face told a story of centuries, well over two hundred years. He was the City Manager of Shelter City 9, a figure both revered and loved.

Flanked by two silent guards, the old man spoke directly into the cameras. Thousands of drones hovered overhead, their lenses fixed on him, broadcasting his every word live to viewers not just across the city but around the world.

His voice, though frail, carried the weight of authority, echoing through the square and into the countless homes tuned in to the global transmission.

"City Manager’s about to finish his speech. Your time to make an appearance will come soon," Rhys said, holding out a tablet.

Adyr took it as he scanned. The screen displayed thousands of faces and names—a database containing every profile he had just requested.

"Thank you." Without lifting his head, he began scrolling rapidly, committing the information to memory.

Previously, absorbing so much data so fast would have been difficult. But now, with his vastly enhanced stats, his brain and memory worked with near-perfect efficiency. Within minutes, he mentally stored thousands of profiles in a single room of his memory palace, accessible like a computer folder whenever he needed to review them.

When he finished, he handed the tablet back and asked, "Should I make a dramatic entrance, or keep it simple?"

Rhys paused, then grinned. "Well, if you’re planning to descend like a death angel with your wings, that’d be impressive—but just that alone could give hundreds of people heart attacks."

Adyr chuckled along. "Then tell the pilot to open the hatch."

"Boy, didn’t you hear what I said?" Rhys frowned but, seeing the stubborn look on Adyr’s face, reluctantly ordered, "Open the hatch."

"Yes, sir," the pilot’s voice echoed from the cockpit, followed by the mechanical whir of the hoverjet’s door sliding open.

Adyr glanced down one last time.

They hovered high above—just beneath the heavy clouds that dulled the morning light—while the vast city square below swarmed with a sea of people, packed shoulder to shoulder, stretching as far as the eye could see.

This time, instead of using the Sonic Burst skill to slow his descent as he had when rushing to save Shelter City 8, Adyr calmly unfurled his wings, the feathers catching the faint sunlight. With effortless grace, he folded into a streamlined dive, cutting through the air toward the crowd below, wings slicing silently through the stillness.

Behind him, Rhys’s gaze lingered, a familiar unease tightening in his chest. A flicker of déjà vu crossed his features as he muttered, "Why do I feel like this is going to end in chaos?"