Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 160 - : DORMANT TALENTS

Greg's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What exactly are you, DEATH? How can you do all these things?" he asked, genuinely curious now.

[I can't tell you, Master. Forgive me. But in time, all will make sense.]

At that moment, a crisp system prompt appeared before Greg.

[Your EX-rank talent 100% Dodge Rate has entered a dormant state.]

[Your EX-rank talent 100% Hit Rate has entered a dormant state.]

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Greg smiled, a thrill running through him.

For the first time in a long while, he felt truly alive.

"Alright, I've placed two handicaps on myself. Should I add more to even the field? Should I do away with my sword too?" Greg asked Ygrit with a half-smirk, his tone light, almost playful.

Ygrit, however, remained silent, stewing in anger and confusion.

"Do not look down on me, human!" Ygrit roared, charging at Greg with insane speed. His figure blurred, the ground cracking under his step. He swung the enormous sword like it weighed nothing, his muscles bulging with effort.

Greg dodged with minimal movement to the right, avoiding the blade by mere centimeters, then returned a strike of his own. Ygrit narrowly avoided being hit by retreating rapidly.

Ygrit was stunned.

He had expected another mysterious injury—but it didn't come.

Finally realizing what the human meant by "handicap," Ygrit's pride burned hotter than ever.

"You arrogant human... I swear, I will kill you for looking down on me," he said coldly, his entire body trembling with suppressed rage. In all his centuries alive, Prince Ygrit had never felt such disgrace.

Like a beast driven mad, Ygrit charged again, abandoning technique for pure aggression. Strike after strike rained down, yet Greg danced through the blows, dodging with an effortless grace that infuriated him. Occasionally, Greg returned sharp, precise counterattacks, landing shallow cuts that stung Ygrit's pride more than his flesh.

"Why?! Why?!" Ygrit screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of his frustration. His strikes grew more wild, less controlled, but no matter how furiously he attacked, Greg moved like water—fluid, untouchable, and utterly calm.

He was a prince. He had honed his skills over centuries. Yet he was losing to someone likely one-twentieth his age—or even younger.

Greg, on the other hand, was exhilarated.

The adrenaline sharpened his senses, the heat of combat igniting something primal within him.

"I should do this more often," Greg muttered under his breath, maintaining sharp focus as he swayed around Ygrit's desperate blows.

Finally, Ygrit stumbled back, panting heavily, his sword dragging along the ground.

Desperation twisted his features.

"Don't just stand there—attack him!" Ygrit barked at his entourage of demon soldiers, abandoning any notion of pride or fairness.

Greg's eyes cooled instantly, the small thrill of battle dying in his chest.

"How disappointing," he said, his voice like a blade of ice. "Despite the several handicaps I placed on myself, you still had to cheat.

Well... what should I expect from demons?"

He sighed and spoke calmly.

"DEATH, reactivate the talents."

[Yes, my lord,] DEATH responded immediately.

But instead of the familiar return of strength, a new, chilling series of system prompts appeared.

[Your EX-rank talent 100% Dodge Rate refuses to leave its dormant state!!]

[Your EX-rank talent 100% Hit Rate refuses to leave its dormant state!!]

[Trying to correct the anomaly!!]

[Your EX-rank talents have awakened sentience and refuse to obey the system's command!!]

[Warning!! You are unable to use your talents for the time being!!]

Greg stared at the prompts, feeling his stomach churn with a sickening realization.

He had messed up—badly.

A surge of cold regret slammed into him. It was the kind of deep, gnawing regret that comes from a foolish mistake you can't immediately undo.

"It's your fault," Greg said, his voice quiet but filled with venom. He stared at Ygrit, and for the first time in a long while, true hatred blazed in his eyes.

A hatred so deep and primal it made even the air around him feel heavy.

[Your bloodline, Sin of Wrath, is roaring—demanding that you destroy the enemies before you!]

The voice echoed within him, and Greg felt a rush of power flood his body. His veins burned with it, his muscles surged with strength, and the world took on a crimson tint.

His strength spiked sharply, but his mind began to cloud over, rage drowning out all logic.

Without hesitation, Greg rushed toward the incoming army of demons.

A brutal massacre began.

There was no elegance to his movements now—only raw, devastating destruction. Each swing of his blade tore through demon flesh like paper. Screams filled the air, but Greg heard none of them.

[The bloodline, Sin of Wrath, relishes your actions.]

[The bloodline, Sin of Wrath, wishes to take control of your body!]

[The bloodline, Sin of Wrath, seeks to consume you entirely in anger!]

The system prompts kept flashing, growing more urgent, but Greg no longer cared.

He was consumed by slaughter, the red moonlight above intensifying, wrapping around his body like a bloody shroud.

His aura grew more terrifying by the second.

From the sidelines, Ygrit watched in horror, frozen.

For the first time in his long, merciless life, the prince who once bathed in blood was now experiencing true fear.

Fear of someone whose wrath made even demons tremble.