Unholy Player-Chapter 118: Too many talents [BONUS]

"What do you think you’re doing?"

The mutant stopped and turned toward the voice. In front of him stood a man, naked, missing one arm and one leg, holding a large kitchen knife and staring at him with a threatening glare.

His missing limbs were still bandaged, the wrappings stained with fresh blood. The wounds hadn’t healed. His body was clearly in bad shape, covered in bruises and cuts, but he was still standing, balanced on his single leg, unwavering. From his stance, his grip, and his presence, it was clear he had once been a soldier.

"Take me. Leave the child alone," the man said through clenched teeth, gripping the knife tightly.

"Oh? Are you sacrificing yourself? How touching," the mutant laughed loudly. "You’re one of those STF idiots, aren’t you? Are all of you this stupid?"

The resistance amused him. Especially the fact that the man was trying to threaten him with a knife.

Grinning, the mutant stepped closer. "Why don’t you stab me?"

He was taunting him.

The man didn’t waste the chance. With the last of his strength, using all the balance his remaining leg could offer, he lunged forward. If he was going to die, he’d do it trying—on his own terms.

But the mutant didn’t move. He didn’t block or dodge. He simply watched the blade come at him. And the moment its tip touched his gray skin, it stopped—stuck there, unmoving.

"Is that it? Aren’t you STF supposed to be stronger?" The mutant laughed again and grabbed the man’s arm.

Pain shot across the man’s face, but he didn’t cry out. He wasn’t going to beg for his life. He wouldn’t give this creature that pleasure.

The mutant’s amusement began to fade. He squeezed harder. But this one was different from the others. His body didn’t break so easily. The raw strength he applied was stopped by muscle and bone.

"At least you’ve got some durability," the mutant muttered, clearly irritated. He couldn’t break the arm in one move, and it annoyed him.

Meanwhile, the boy had woken up. He sat up from Neris’s lap, eyes wide in horror as he watched.

The room was silent. No one spoke. No one begged. Mercy didn’t exist here. The best any of them could hope for was to be chosen last—to live just a little longer.

After a few more failed attempts to break the man’s arm, the mutant finally got bored. With his free hand, he reached for the man’s throat and began to squeeze.

"Looks like you’ll be dessert. I bet STF meat tastes sweet."

He started tightening his grip, watching the life drain from the man’s eyes with twisted pleasure.

Then he froze.

A sharp pain struck him in the chest. "What..."

He looked down.

A long blade had pierced through his back and exited clean through his heart. Blood dripped from the tip, now visible in front of his own chest.

"Who are you..."

He released the STF man from his grip, his head beginning to turn slowly toward his attacker. But before the motion could finish—before his fading mind could even comprehend what it was seeing—he caught a final glimpse: a face framed by messy black hair and cold, dark eyes, staring straight at him.

"Cough... cough..." The STF man collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking as air rushed back into his lungs. He looked up, confused, and his eyes locked onto the one who saved him.

The first thing he noticed was the uniform.

"Are you from STF?" He asked, his voice trembling with hope.

All around the room, the prisoners slowly lifted their heads. They stared at the newcomer—the one who had just killed the monster that haunted their nights.

"No," Adyr said as he wiped his blade clean.

The answer made everyone pause.

But his next words cut through the silence and eased the tension like a knife through taut rope.

"I’m from PTF. Adyr. Nice to meet you." He smiled as he sheathed his blade across his back.

"PTF? The Player Task Force?" The man asked as he slowly sat upright on the cold floor. He had heard of the division before, but only vague rumors—something about third-generation mutants. Beyond that, he knew nothing of their capabilities.

Adyr answered with a silent nod, then spoke calmly. "I want all of you to stay still and act like I was never here."

Tension immediately rippled through the room. Everyone froze.

Only the STF soldier seemed to understand. He gave a faint nod and, without a word, dragged himself back to the corner where he had been, settling into position with disciplined silence.

"What do you mean? Aren’t you here to save us?" Neris asked, her voice low but strained as she clutched the Boy tightly in her arms.

Adyr glanced at them both and offered a brief smile.

"My job is to kill. Once I’ve killed every last one of them, you’ll be saved by default. So stay quiet, act like I don’t exist, and no matter what happens, do not make a sound."

Neris’s eyes widened, realization dawning. She, too, fell silent—just like the others. freewēbnoveℓ.com

All eyes watched him now.

They remained still as he approached the fallen mutant, lifted the limp body with clinical ease, and placed it onto the blood-stained prep table. With measured movements, he drew his blade and opened the creature’s face with a single slice, working with the precision of someone who had done this many times before. A faint purple crystal glinted beneath the flesh. He pulled it free, wiped it clean, and pocketed it without a word.

None of them could look away. A mix of horror, awe, and curiosity gripped them. The crystal glowed softly—unnatural, alien—and none of them could make sense of what it was or what it meant. Especially the STF operative. He wanted to ask. Badly. But he knew better. This was a mission now, and his task was silence. He clenched his jaw, suppressed his questions, and quietly retrieved the knife he had dropped earlier, hiding it behind his back in preparation for what might come next.

Meanwhile, Adyr continued his work.

He hoisted the mutant’s corpse again and pulled down one of the iron meat hooks that hung from the ceiling. With a short length of wire, he bound the jaw shut and secured the head in place. Then, using more of the wire wrapped around his belt, he fastened the arms to the table, locking the corpse into a posed position.

Finally, he dragged the body of the man whose neck had been broken earlier and placed it on the bloodstained surface in front of the restrained mutant.

The prisoners watched in stunned silence.

From where they sat, it now looked as if the dead mutant was still alive, standing behind the table, head lowered, hands in place, working on the body in front of him. The illusion was disturbingly convincing.

It was only then that even the slowest among them began to understand.

He was setting a bait.

When Adyr finished setting everything in place, he took one final look at his work. It was flawless. If the system had been fully operational here, it would have acknowledged his talent by now.

Until now, he had been constantly gaining talents in the game world, but he’d been ignoring every one of them. He didn’t have enough slots to register them, nor the energy to spare.

I wonder if there are superior talents I can get, Adyr thought.

So far, every talent he had acquired seemed like something a determined person could learn with enough effort and a bit of natural ability. They all required the same amount of energy to register, and their rewards followed a uniform structure. That gave him the impression that the system saw all talents as equally valuable.

But in a world this complex, could the system really be that simple?

The thought lasted only a second.

He dismissed all thoughts without letting his mind wander further and refocused on the task in front of him.