Chapter 147: Wake Him Up!

Chapter 147: Wake Him Up!

Acrid Nation—Ocean Roar City—Reek International Group of Laboratories (RIGL)

In a brightly lit room deep within the sprawling maze of the RIGL compound, flickering lights struggled against surges of power, sporadically plunging the space into near darkness. The hum of machinery and the faint buzzing of electricity filled the air, creating an atmosphere both clinical and ominous.

In the middle of the room, Adrian East was hoisted In a slightly standing position with his legs apart, resting against a wooden contraption that held him up, slumped, and bound tightly by thick dog collar restraints on his wrists, ankles, and neck. His face was calm, almost serene, as if he had drifted far beyond the turmoil of his physical entrapment.

Before him stood Rhemon Sanchez, the formidable figure known as Lord Rhemon among his agents. His gaze was intense, predatory, and assessing as he took in Adrian's unconscious form.

Behind him, a group of scientists in pristine lab coats murmured to one another, their voices low but animated, carrying a tone of both reverence and apprehension. A few feet back, clusters of armed agents stood at attention, some of them shifting uneasily as they whispered among themselves about what they had witnessed on the battlefield.

One of the six survivors of the recent battle, his voice barely above a whisper, recounted his encounter with Adrian to a group of agents who hadn't been at the scene. "You should've seen it... the way he summoned the power of the sun. He was a freak of nature... he pulsed with energy, like a star in human form. I felt my skin scorching just being near him; he burned through us like we were paper. I was sure I was going to die out there..."

The agents gathered around him listened, faces pale as they absorbed the vivid imagery. One of them even muttered a quick prayer under his breath, casting a wary glance at Adrian.

But not everyone was as shaken. A level 3 agent, known for his disdain of those he deemed weaker, scoffed at their fear. "Hah! You're overreacting. You're just weaklings—cannon fodder. He's not that powerful; you're just too weak, too pathetic to handle him."

The other agents, mostly level 5 and 6, bristled at his words, their resentment simmering beneath expressions of forced compliance. None dared challenge him openly, though many exchanged frustrated looks.

According to Rhemon's twisted hierarchy, the ranking works inversely: the lower the number, the higher the rank. A level 2 outranks a level 3, while a level 3 holds power over a level 4, and so on. This perverse system keeps everyone scrambling to climb upward, reinforcing a brutal culture where only the strongest—and most ruthless—survive.

In a place where strength ruled, the weak learned early on to hold their tongues and accept degradation, swallowing their frustration alongside the bile that rose with it.

'Why would he talk to us like that? Aren't we doing our best?' They thought bitterly. 'If we hadn't failed the power selection criteria, we'd be ranked level 3 or higher ourselves, imbued with abilities just like him. Why does he have to be such an arrogant jerk?—Asshole!'

Yet, not one of them dared to voice their frustration aloud.

The level 3 agent, noticing their glares, smirked with mock pity. "What? You want to test that anger out on me?" He cracked his knuckles, his fists flickering with his elemental energy, daring any of them to rise against him. Yet, they backed down, each taking a small step away, unwilling to provoke his wrath.

Rhemon, observing the interaction with a faint, cruel smile, finally spoke, his voice dripping with a quiet authority that silenced the room. "In this world, the weak have no choice but to swallow every insult, every injustice, and every dismissal thrown their way. Strength is not just power, but control—control over how others see and treat you. But don't despair," he continued, his voice softening as he turned his gaze back to Adrian, "because even the weak have a place... if they have the wit to recognize it."

As he watched Adrian's still form, Rhemon's eyes glinted with a dark fascination. In that moment, everyone present could feel the tension in the room thickening, the knowledge that, for all their might, they were merely players in a game that only the truly powerful could control.

After observing in silence for a while, Rhemon's patience began to fray. His eyes narrowed, and with a sharp, almost languid gesture, he raised his hand.

Three doctors, sensing his growing irritation, sprang forward, as eager to please as schoolchildren rushing to obey a strict teacher.

"Wake him up," Rhemon commanded, folding his hands behind his back in a stance of cold authority. One of the doctors, gathering his nerve, stepped forward cautiously. "'Sir, his

system is still saturated with heavy amount of salt, we barely had time to stop its destructive effect. We need time for the new formula to fully cleanse his blood, or he might suffer severe, unintended consequences..."

The doctor's words barely left his mouth before Rhemon's gaze darkened, and he lifted a single finger in silent reprimand. A droplet of shimmering liquid-moon dew, drawn from Rhemon's inner reserves-materialized on his fingertip.

It glowed with an otherworldly light, like a fragment of the moon itself. With a flick, the droplet launched at the doctor at supersonic speed. It struck him with deadly precision.

In an instant, the doctor's body crumpled into a spray of blood and pulverized flesh, obliterated as if he'd been touched by a force beyond human comprehension. As if to say, "I really don't give a shit..."

The sight left a horrific impression on the other agents in the room, particularly the lower-ranked level 5 and 6 agents who, though accustomed to brutality, had never witnessed power wielded with such cold precision. The remaining doctors stood frozen, the grisly remains of their colleague a stark warning.

With out a word of wielded with such cold precision. The remaining doctors stood frozen, the grisly remains of their colleague a stark warning.

Without a word of protest, they rushed toward Adrian, pulling out a freshly compounded vial of smelling salts. One doctor held it under Adrian's nose, releasing a pungent, sharp burst of ammonia vapor. Adrian jolted awake, his eyes flying open as a surge of pain coursed through his body, every nerve screaming.

The shock forced him to full consciousness, but he could barely draw a breath against the throbbing agony. For a moment, he locked eyes with Rhemon, the reality of his torment fully dawning on him.