Unholy Player-Chapter 173: Sword Practice (Part 5) [BONUS]

"Sure." Adyr laughed and accepted without a second thought.

While his other body continued training with Lucen, his main goal was to practice with his Earth body as well, doubling his overall effectiveness. That was the real reason he had come here.

The best way to improve was to spar with someone skilled, and a chance to do so with Rhys Graves was not something he would pass up.

Rhys was not only regarded as the top STF operative in his prime but had also trained hundreds of others. Right now, he was probably the best training partner Adyr could ask for.

Besides, Rhys’s self-developed twin-dagger fighting style perfectly matched the dual-sword talent Adyr was trying to master.

"Good," Rhys replied simply. Without another word, he pulled a pair of long, gleaming black blades from his belt. Unlike the other STF members, his uniform was stripped of any extra gear; those two knives were the only weapons he carried.

Adyr moved over to the glass racks and examined the training swords. There were countless types, but after a short search, he picked up two that felt balanced and comfortable in his hands.

Although they were meant for practice, these blades weren’t dulled—their edges were sharp. The black-leather-wrapped hilts fit perfectly in his palms, designed to prevent slipping. The length was neither too long nor too short, exactly what Adyr preferred.

Satisfied, he returned to the center of the room to face Rhys.

By then, Corven had already left the training floor, joining the others gathered behind the glass panel to watch the upcoming spar.

"Do you want to make the first move?" Rhys asked, his voice expressionless now.

He held his daggers loose at his sides, his body slightly hunched as usual. His eyes were faintly red but sharp and focused, looking almost drunk at a glance.

Adyr wasn’t fooled by Rhys’s loose stance. It was a posture honed by years of experience.

Without a word, Adyr accepted the offer.

He shifted his right-hand sword into a reverse grip, raising it across his chest in a menacing but protective posture that covered his upper body. His left-hand sword hung at his side, not looking threatening but poised to punish even the slightest opening.

He bent his knees, centering his weight. His gaze fixed straight ahead like a wild predator locking onto its target.

It was the same instinctive stance he’d taken ever since he first wielded dual swords—a pose he hadn’t abandoned, even after his long duels with Lucen.

He didn’t quite know why, but it felt right. It felt like this was how he was meant to fight.

For a long moment, they simply watched one another, reading every detail of each other’s posture, hunting for the smallest weakness.

Just as the spectators beyond the glass began to grow restless in the tense silence, Adyr finally moved.

He wasn’t blindingly fast, but he wasn’t slow either. Even though his stats already exceeded Rhys’s as a second-generation STF operative, Adyr held himself back. He wasn’t here to win by raw strength—his true goal was to hone his talent, so he carefully moderated his power and relied solely on technique.

Rhys noticed this too, but didn’t take it as an insult. He knew better than to underestimate someone who had beaten Cannibal into submission. Who could say how much stronger Adyr had grown since then?

As Rhys tracked the sword in Adyr’s right hand swinging toward his throat, he instinctively took a measured step back. The blade whispered past him, harmless but calculated—Rhys knew better than to believe that was the real threat.

His focus never left Adyr’s left-hand sword—the one that hung deceptively loose at his side, like it barely belonged in the fight. But Rhys had seen enough to know better. That blade was the predator waiting for its moment.

Anticipating the follow-up, Rhys raised one of his daggers in perfect time to catch the upward slash. Steel met steel with a sharp clang, sparks spraying between them as he parried the quick, vicious strike meant to slip past his guard.

For a heartbeat, Rhys thought that was the end of the chain. Confident he’d forced an opening, he twisted forward, his off-hand dagger reversed in his grip as he stabbed for what looked like a clean shot at Adyr’s chest.

But the right-hand sword—poised like a shield across Adyr’s body—was never part of the offense. It had been guarding him all along, creating the illusion of vulnerability. In a flash, Adyr’s blade swept across, intercepting the stab. The subtle scrape of metal against metal told Rhys he’d read it wrong.

And even as Rhys registered the block, Adyr’s left-hand sword, the "idle" one that had been lurking like a coiled serpent at his hip, had already reversed its path and was sweeping up toward his neck in a precise, deadly arc.

Rhys’s weight was already committed forward. The only choice was to launch himself back, heart pounding as the cold kiss of displaced air brushed his neck where the sword passed just shy of flesh.

He reset his feet outside Adyr’s reach and fell into his deceptively casual, unreadable stance once more, lips twitching into a short chuckle. "That was sneaky."

And it was. The rhythm of Adyr’s blades wasn’t random or clumsy. It felt to Rhys as if each weapon had its own mind—one a guardian, luring, baiting, creating false impressions of weakness; the other a killer, silent and opportunistic, waiting for the shield to open a path to the enemy’s throat.

For a fleeting second, Rhys felt like he wasn’t fighting one man. It felt like two adversaries moving in perfect, deadly concert.

"Sorry about that," Adyr said, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

The tactic had been sharpened over hundreds of exchanges with Lucen. Adyr had begun to give each sword its own identity in the flow of combat—one for protection, one for the kill. But even this wasn’t enough to defeat Lucen. Not yet.

Still, forcing Rhys Graves—a man like that—to retreat, even by a step, told Adyr his progress wasn’t so bad after all.

"Let’s keep going," Rhys said, his grin hardening into focus. "I’ve got plenty more to show you."

And this time, he shifted first, stepping in, eager to see how deep Adyr’s swordplay really went.

Adyr nodded, muscles tensing as he braced himself.

And as they surged into motion again, the gathered researchers, STF operatives, and players pressed closer to the glass, eyes fixed and breath held. Every face showed the same stunned disbelief, and one thought ran through all their minds in perfect unison.

What the fuck?

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