Unholy Player Chapter 502 How to Train Your Slave

While Adyr pondered how to maximize the utility of these lands, which had expanded enough to accommodate an entire city, there was one individual who did not share his enthusiasm.

"Why does this cursed place never stop shifting and expanding?" Cannibal hissed, feeling trapped within the Gritstalks. Now standing nearly 2 meters tall, the thick stalks surrounded him like a botanical fortress; he stared at the sky until a sense of profound dread pooled in his eyes.

Clutched in his arms was a filthy, stained pillow. It was a tattered thing, yet he held it as if it were his final anchor for emotional stability.

Each time the terrain transformed, Cannibal was forced to undergo a fresh cycle of adaptation. He had to reconcile with new inhabitants, the changing atmosphere, and the mounting fieldwork constantly thrust upon him. It seemed as though the land itself was perpetually rewriting his daily life without any notice.

Even though his prison was growing and technically offering more living space, the expansion only fueled his despair. The prospect of escape felt increasingly distant as the island's borders continued to stretch toward the horizon. The edge of the world kept retreating, always remaining out of reach, as if it were mocking his plight.

Furthermore, a new fragrance had begun to permeate the air. It was sweet and curiously alluring, thick enough to settle deep within his lungs. However, rather than providing solace, it only heightened his sense of hopelessness.

With every breath, the aroma seemed to further domesticate him, dragging him into a state of profound lethargy. His limbs felt unnaturally heavy, and the final embers of his will to flee slowly died out within his soul.

"I am turning into more of a slave with every passing day," Cannibal whispered, terrified by the certainty of that thought. He had lost all ability to track time; without a natural day-and-night cycle, he had no idea how many days had elapsed since his arrival.

He gazed up at the crimson sky, watching his future dissolve before him.

Suddenly, a calm and familiar voice drifted from behind him.

"Are you pleased to see your home grow bigger now?"

A chill raced down Cannibal’s spine. He jerked his head around to see a translucent energy body floating above the Gritstalks. Weightless and silent, it observed him with a face devoid of features.

Adyr had not engaged him in much conversation lately. He appeared only sporadically to issue new directives or inspect the progress of the work, never allowing their interactions to become genuine dialogue.

Despite this, Cannibal felt a strange sense of relief at the sight of him. In this isolated and treacherous world, Adyr was the only familiar presence—the only "person" who ever returned.

In the beginning, the sight of Adyr’s energy body inspired only fury and a desire to kill. But as time wore on and the silence grew heavy, he had gradually become attached to this spectral form. He found himself waiting daily for a chance to speak, hoping for a brief exchange to dull the ache of his loneliness.

"Ah yes, thank you for all the opportunities you've provided me." He pressed his forehead into the dirt in a respectful kowtow, performing the gesture as if it were a sacred ritual.

The words were a complete fabrication, the polar opposite of Cannibal's true emotions. Yet, they flowed from his lips with such sincerity and realism that they sounded like genuine gratitude.

Observing this display of respect, Adyr nodded with satisfaction.

He could sense Cannibal’s mental state deteriorating day by day. Under the relentless psychological weight of his environment, the mutant's character was steadily being reshaped. Isolation, repetitive labor, and calculated rewards were grinding his resistance away.

Adyr was certain that with a little more time, the mutant would develop a profound Stockholm syndrome. He was rapidly approaching the point where he could be considered a loyal and trustworthy slave.

"So how is the situation? Is everything going well?" Adyr inquired. His voice struck a careful balance, neither too overbearing nor too friendly, maintaining the precise equilibrium of a master-slave relationship.

Cannibal grasped the intent behind the question immediately. Keeping his head lowered to avoid that featureless gaze, he began his report.

"Everything's going fine. The Gritstalks are ready for harvest, I'll start soon. The birds have been busy too, leaving buckets of droppings. Their numbers look higher than the last time I counted. There's enough to fertilize the flower fields already, and I've been keeping the extras, like you ordered. It's up to 10.5 buckets."

Cannibal delivered the information like a tenant farmer reporting to a landlord, even presenting the surplus as if he were paying a tax.

As he listened, Adyr's gaze shifted toward several buckets filled with a viscous, gray liquid.

Though modest, it was a viable resource. These buckets could likely be traded on the market for 100 to 200 crystals. While the sum was small, it represented a solid foundation.

The Gritstalk harvest would likely yield another 200 to 300 crystals. Again, it wasn't enough to satisfy Adyr’s escalating requirements, but it was acceptable for this early stage of development.

The most significant profit, however, came from the chirping birds perched like living jewels among the branches of the Mother Tree. Their small forms flitted between the limbs, filling the atmosphere with constant song. Adyr noted that their population had increased by at least 20%, an impressive rate of reproduction.

In total, calculating his current monthly revenue from the fields and investments, selling everything would net him roughly 800 to 1,000 crystals. While far from sufficient for his long-term goals, it was a respectable start for a novice. For a first attempt at management, it could be viewed as rapid progress.

After a brief silence, Adyr murmured, "Looks like it's time to get more manpower to increase production rates." The necessity was clear, especially seeing the bird droppings that had dried on the ground because they had gone uncollected for too long.

Cannibal had reached the limit of what one person could manage. If he were pushed any further while trying to balance every chore, he would eventually collapse from exhaustion. To expand the fields, Adyr required more labor.

Upon hearing those words, Cannibal felt as though he had heard the most beautiful news of his life. He raised his head, eyes shimmering with a flicker of hope behind his distorted features.

To Adyr, this meant more slaves for his Sanctuary. To Cannibal, it meant the arrival of friends.

It meant having actual people to talk to, rather than relying on a filthy, tattered pillow to keep him company during the lonely nights.

Noticing the expectant expression, Adyr gave a soft chuckle. Suddenly, a small pouch materialized in his hand, appearing solid despite the ethereal nature of his form.

He tossed it toward the mutant. "This is your reward for your hard work. Keep doing well, and you'll get more later."

With that, the energy body dissipated into nothingness. It vanished without a sound, leaving the lone mutant among the vast fields.

Energized by the rare conversation and the promise of future companions and rewards, Cannibal felt a surge of vitality. He began to crawl through the Gritstalks toward the pouch on the ground, pushing aside the stalks that brushed against his face with newfound vigor.