With godlike talent from the start, how did he become invincible?

Chapter 647 The Projection Arrives

Gao Qing's health bar dropped to zero.

He looked down at the dagger stuck in his chest, then looked up at Ash's back—the fleeing team members had already disappeared into the mist.

He smiled.

Then it turned into a beam of white light.

......

Valley.

The fog had thinned somewhat. The pale blue fragments left behind after the mid-level guard disintegrated were still scattered on the ground, like shattered glass, shimmering faintly on the gray-green grass.

The fragments are slowly disappearing—in a few minutes, they will completely melt into the mist, as if they had never existed.

The ten remaining members of Ash defeated the intermediate guard.

The battle lasted less than two minutes.

The low-health mid-level guard had absolutely no chance to fight back—ten people focused their fire, and skills rained down on him like a storm.

Its body disintegrated, shattered, and then completely dissipated in a process as fast as an execution.

The assassin who captured the Spirit of the Mist is called Cold Blade, and he is the temporary leader of this squad.

His talent is the A-grade [Shadow Hand] - each attack has a certain chance to steal an item from the target.

This talent isn't very useful when fighting monsters, since monster loot is distributed by the system, but it's disgusting when fighting players—it has a chance to steal items directly from other players' inventory.

However, this talent wasn't used when fighting the guards earlier.

The guards had no backpacks to steal.

Hanren put the pale blue intermediate-level Mist Spirit into his backpack and dusted off his hands.

"Alright, let's go. Let's meet up with the captain."

He looked up and glanced in the direction Ash and the others had gone through the mist.

From that direction, the sounds of fighting could be faintly heard—the clanging of metal, the explosion of skills, and people shouting.

The sound wasn't loud; through the fog and the distance, it sounded like it was coming through a layer of cotton.

But Hanren could tell that it was the sound of crushing.

It was not a battle of equal strength, but a one-sided massacre.

"The captain's team should be almost done by now," one of the team members said, sounding relaxed.

He leaned against a tree, shoved his weapon back into its sheath, and stretched his shoulders. "Those trash from the 9527 continent probably won't last more than a few minutes."

"It's not an estimate, it's a certainty."

Another person chimed in, squatting down to review the damage statistics from the previous battle. "It took us less than two minutes to take down this mid-level guard. The captain's side had twenty men chasing thirty level 37 enemies; they could wipe them all out in five minutes at most."

"It's a pity we didn't make it." The third person sighed, his tone filled with regret. "I also wanted to get more kills. I only had three eliminations on my side, which is too few."

"What's the rush? This is only the first day." Han Ren glanced at them. "There will be plenty of opportunities later."

The remaining nine people tidied up their equipment, checked the number of Mist Spirits in their backpacks to make sure nothing was missing, and then prepared to leave.

Hanren walked at the very front.

He was used to walking in front.

It wasn't because he was the captain, but because his talent required him to be the first to make contact with the enemy—the trigger probability of [Shadow Hand] is related to distance; the closer you are, the higher the trigger probability.

So he always rushes to the front and is always the first to reach the target.

He had only taken two steps when he suddenly stopped.

There was movement in the fog.

It wasn't the kind of noise you hear when the wind rustles the grass, but rather the sound of someone stepping on the grass.

The footsteps were light but steady, neither hurried nor slow, like someone taking a stroll rather than rushing or fighting.

Han Ren narrowed his eyes.

The nine people behind him also heard it.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their gazes in unison towards the direction from which the sound came—southeast, at the edge of the valley.

The fog churned slightly.

Then, a person emerged from the mist.

This person has no identification, and their profession and rank are unknown.

His equipment looked very ordinary—no glowing, no special effects, no fancy enchantments.

It's made of the most basic materials, with a dull gray color, and it's not much different from the equipment of most low-level players.

His pace was neither hurried nor slow, as if he were taking a leisurely stroll.

But Hanren's intuition was frantically warning him.

He's been playing games for so long and has seen all sorts of players.

He had seen nouveau riche with flashy equipment but average strength, and he had also seen big shots who were as low-key as NPCs but could kill instantly with a single move.

He learned one thing—in this game, the truly dangerous people are often the least noticeable.

This person looks so unremarkable.

It's so unremarkable it's abnormal.

"Who goes there?" Han Ren asked, his voice neither loud nor soft, but wary.

The person did not answer.

He continued walking forward.

One step, two steps, three steps. Each step is the same distance, the rhythm is the same, as if measured with a ruler.

Hanren's right hand quietly reached for the short sword at his waist.

The nine men behind him also went into battle mode.

The warrior gripped his shield tightly, the mage gathered magic at his fingertips, the hunter nocked his arrow, and the assassin crouched slightly, ready to go into stealth at any moment.

Ten people, ten different fighting stances, all aimed at the person slowly approaching.

But the person seemed not to see them at all, looking straight ahead and continuing to walk.

—Or rather, he saw it, but didn't care at all.

Han Ren stared at that person for a few seconds, his inner alarm bells ringing louder and louder.

He has seen many kinds of players.

There are those reckless brutes who yell and charge at you the moment you meet them, those treacherous villains who lurk in the shadows and shoot arrows from the cold, and those players who run away as soon as they see someone and can't win.

But I've never seen anything like this before—a person facing ten enemies, walking over as if taking a stroll.

He's either a fool or a master.

Han Ren didn't believe that a fool could survive to reach the heart of the Misty Continent.

Although this area is not considered a high-risk zone, there are low-level Mist Guardians everywhere, and an idiot would have been killed by monsters long ago.

Therefore, he concluded that this person was a master.

But he is a three-eyed person.

The Three-Eyed Clan has killed countless players from the 9527 continent in the Misty Continent.

Those from mainland China (9527) have an average level of 36.

Besides, even if someone is truly an expert, how skilled could they be?

The group of ten had an average level of 44 or 45, worked well together, and were well-equipped.

Even if they encounter a level 50 player, they have a fighting chance.

Thinking this way, Han Ren felt a little more at ease.

He took two steps forward, blocking the man's path, raised his chin slightly, and said in a condescending tone, "Another one coming to die."

One of his teammates behind him laughed. He was a hunter, holding a longbow with the bowstring already half drawn.