Unholy Player-Chapter 172: Sword Practice (Part 4)

Arriving at Player Headquarters, Adyr didn’t waste time going to his room. Also, with no business in the playroom anymore, he went straight to the talent training room.

Not using the gamepod for two straight days had probably already attracted attention, especially for someone like Adyr, who was always in the spotlight, but so far, nobody had questioned him. At least not directly.

If someone did, he could simply tell them he didn’t need the gamepod anymore. That wouldn’t put him at a disadvantage. On the contrary, letting them assume he had died in the other world would cause him serious problems, and he’d risk losing all Player Headquarters privileges.

For now, nobody had raised the issue, so he wasn’t going to bother explaining anything.

When he reached the talent training room, the place was mostly quiet, though a few players were still practicing.

Adyr scanned the area and noticed one particular group—Dalin Ravencourt and her followers.

Her red hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, and she wore black, loose-fitting clothes that still somehow looked stylish. She was calmly working on her aim with a semi-automatic rifle, accompanied by Cole Vance and a few others.

This was only the second time Adyr had seen this group, and he could already tell they had formed a tight-knit circle.

Player Headquarters generally opposed closed-off cliques among players, but since there was little they could do to prevent them, it was common to see this sort of thing.

Especially in the other world, where knowledge was power, strategic alliances like these often meant the difference between life and death. Even Adyr had relied on insider information from Eren to complete his second evolution.

He ignored them and headed for the melee weapon training section.

That was when Cole Vance noticed him. "What’s this loser doing here?" He muttered, his expression sour. Their last encounter hadn’t ended the way he’d hoped.

"Who?" Dalin lowered her rifle and turned, spotting Adyr as he moved deeper into the training area.

Dalin watched Adyr’s back with interest for a long moment before she finally spoke. "Do any of you know his nickname on the power rankings?"

Ever since their last encounter, she’d been doubting what Cole had told them about Adyr. Something about him felt off—as if he weren’t the loser Cole claimed. Even someone who’d survived this long in the other world couldn’t be ordinary.

Especially after that brief exchange they’d had, Dalin had sensed there was more to Adyr than met the eye.

She came from one of the most prominent families across the twelve shelter cities. Growing up surrounded by strong figures—people who wielded physical strength, political clout, wealth, and influence—had sharpened her instincts.

By now, she could tell when someone was weak or strong just by observing them.

And Adyr was different. The power she sensed in him wasn’t like anything she’d felt before. It wasn’t flashy or obvious, but it was there. Whatever it was, it set him apart—and it definitely didn’t belong to a loser.

"Who knows? He’s probably at the bottom of the list anyway," Cole muttered, his tone laced with irritation. Dalin’s obvious interest in Adyr was starting to get under his skin.

But Dalin paid him no mind. "Let’s go," she said, her crimson eyes alight as she handed her rifle to a nearby instructor and turned on her heel.

Together, they followed Adyr toward one of the glass-walled training chambers.

This level of Player Headquarters had two kinds of talent rooms—closed simulation chambers for private sessions and public halls where everyone could watch. Simulations were off-limits to anyone but researchers, but the public rooms were built precisely for this spectacle. Players trained under open scrutiny here for two reasons: to cultivate competitive drive and to build resilience under pressure.

Of course, anyone could pay merits to train privately, but Adyr had chosen the public room. Clearly, he had nothing to hide—or maybe he simply didn’t care who was watching.

Through the glass, Dalin studied him as he stepped into a broad, cavernous space easily large enough to fit 5 trucks side by side. Smooth gray stone walls surrounded a floor of polished black, like volcanic glass. Off to one side, a long glass display case held an assortment of melee weapons—nunchaku, short knives, whips, gauntlets, and more—all gleaming under bright overhead light.

Adyr was calmly surveying the room when a deep voice broke the silence.

"Mr. Adyr?"

A big man—well over 180 centimeters, built like a bodybuilder—approached at an easy pace. A white researcher’s coat with a training division insignia stretched across his broad chest.

Adyr recognized him immediately. It was Corven, the one who had supervised his strength test when he’d first registered his power ranking.

"Mr. Corven," Adyr greeted with a faint smile, extending his hand. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

Corven accepted the handshake with an apologetic chuckle and glanced toward the glass panel. "To be honest, I’m here because we noticed you coming," he admitted, scratching his head.

Beyond the glass, Dalin and her crew weren’t the only onlookers. A group of researchers had also gathered, clipboards and recorders in hand, as if they were here to document some long-anticipated spectacle.

"What the hell’s going on?" Cole muttered, his gaze flicking uneasily across the crowd.

Dalin looked equally surprised, but interest sharpened her features rather than tensing. "I knew he wasn’t just anyone," she murmured.

And that was only the beginning.

Moments later, the sound of disciplined boots approached. Ten black-uniformed STF operatives appeared, moving in perfect formation. Every one of them carried the weight of experience—their eyes sharp, their bodies tense with readiness, their aura radiating lethal control.

And at their head was a man who needed no introduction.

Rhys Graves, commander of the STF’s elite First Assault Unit, walked at their front as if this were his usual ground. Even surrounded by his team, his presence stood out with a calm, assured bearing that never wavered.

The entire room held its breath as they stopped before the glass, every gaze fixed on Adyr. It was clear to everyone present that this was more than just another morning at Player Headquarters.

"Grab some snacks and wait here," Rhys Graves said casually to his team, then left them behind the glass and stepped into the training room alone.

"Boy, it’s not easy to catch you when you’re not busy. Did you know that?" He asked as he approached at an easy pace, a knowing smirk on his face. freewebnøvel_com

Adyr returned the smirk, gaze shifting to the STF team watching from behind the glass. Their expressions were all sharp and threatening, but his own remained unreadable as he answered, "Mr. Rhys." Then, with a quiet chuckle, "You’re not here to arrest me or something, are you?"

Rhys paused at that, then burst into laughter.

"Arrest you? Boy, if I ever planned to take you in, I’d come with an army at my back. I’m not reckless enough to corner someone who wiped Cannibal and his entire headquarters off the map."

He spoke the words as if they were nothing, but everyone listening froze in place.

The researchers. The STF operatives. Even Dalin and her crew. None of them had known the real story, and their wide-eyed shock filled the glass-walled corridor.

Rhys noticed the sudden, chilling silence and gave a careless shrug. "Oops," he drawled without much concern. "Looks like I let that slip."

Then he turned back to Adyr, eyes sharp with interest as he finally got to the point.

"I’m here to trade a few moves with you, boy. What do you say? Care to show my kids a glimpse of what a third-generation mutant can do?"

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