Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 31: Reactions

Clinton stood off to the side, intending to observe the sparring match from start to finish. He was keen to witness the Tenth Sun’s performance firsthand, while remaining prepared to intervene at a moment’s notice to prevent either Asher or Kale from sustaining life-threatening injuries.

He had never once believed Asher stood a chance. Clinton understood the nature of genius, he had witnessed monsters in human form, and had even been the one to train them.

After all, every Sun and Moon of the Wargrave family passed through this very First training ground, beginning at the age of fifteen and typically concluding by seventeen.

But this situation was different, two years of refined experience against none. Kale was no ordinary trainee; he was a slum-born orphan who had been tempered by hardship, forced to fight and steal from an early age just to survive. His battle instincts were forged in desperation, not drills.

Without hesitation, he gave the signal.

”Begin.”

Clinton observed Asher intently, tracking every movement with the intention of offering corrections later. He analyzed his footwork, the fluidity of his rapier, and the rhythm of his stance, but found nothing amiss. The Tenth Sun moved with a precision that left little room for critique.

There was a distinct light in Asher’s eyes, a quiet, calculating gleam. Clinton recognized the strategy: observe first, adapt later. But as the bout progressed, something shifted.

This wasn’t mere observation. Asher wasn’t simply learning; he was absorbing Kale in his entirety, his patterns, his movement, his very self, until the boy before him was no longer an opponent, but an open book laid bare.

Clinton watched in stunned silence as the Tenth Sun raised his rapier to block, before Kale had even launched his attack.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

This was supposed to be a novice, someone who had only awakened four days ago. A boy who had never once wielded a weapon. By all logic, he should have faltered. He should have taken hits. He should have been overwhelmed, outmatched, outpaced.

He was supposed to struggle.

He was supposed to survive, not compete.

He was supposed to try and keep up

He was supposed to....

Clinton had been briefed by Virek, Elowen, and Harold about Asher’s remarkable feats during previous training sessions. Yet, he had never taken the time to witness them for himself.

Whether occupied with instructing the other trainees or honing his own skills, he simply hadn’t prioritized it. Still, he had believed their reports, if only because of the astonishing swordplay Asher had demonstrated on his very first day.

Now, as he watched the boy in motion, that belief solidified into awe.

Asher flipped forward, sidestepped once, ducked, parried, blocked, and defended, all with seamless precision. Not a single movement was wasted, as though he had been doing it since the day he was born.

But Clinton saw more than just skill, he saw elements within Asher’s movements. Echoes of familiar techniques. Echoes of himself.

Over the past three days in the First Training Ground, Asher hadn’t simply swung his sword mindlessly during weapon drills. No, he had watched, absorbed, and internalized. And now, in the heat of battle, he was applying.

Clinton’s eyes narrowed as realization struck.

He had been so captivated by the elegance of Asher’s rapier movement that he’d overlooked the impossible: Asher wasn’t supposed to move at this speed.

He wasn’t supposed to be able to react this quickly.

By every measure, strength, speed, reflex, he should have been outclassed. And yet, even as Kale ramped up the intensity of his attacks, Asher matched him step for step, stroke for stroke.

’What has the Wargrave bloodline brought into the world?’ Clinton couldn’t help but wonder.

’It seems even the limitations of a third awakening can’t restrain the Wargrave Bloodline,’ he thought, just as Asher abruptly shifted from defense to offense.

His rapier moved with startling clarity, clean, efficient, and unhesitating. Then came a sudden mid-motion shift in attack, not a feint, but a deliberate recalibration.

Clinton’s eyes widened.

He had executed that very maneuver just days ago against a trainee. Yet here it was again, replicated flawlessly, not mimicked, but mastered. Asher had taken the movement, dissected it, and then seamlessly adapted it mid-combat, adjusting his strike in real time to counter his opponent’s defense.

’Such battle intuition’ Clinton mused, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

He had heard of individuals capable of evolving mid-combat, those rare fighters who improved with every life threatening battle. The Primarch himself was said to be one of them, people who baffled stronger opponents by adapting faster than they could overwhelm.

But Asher... Asher was something else entirely.

His battle intuition didn’t just rival theirs, it surpassed it by a staggering margin. Even among those gifted with instinctual adaptation, few, if any, could execute what Asher was displaying now.

Then it happened.

Asher struck first.

A thin crimson line opened across Kale’s skin.

Another flash of movement, and blood bloomed from Kale’s thigh.

And then, silence.

The rapier stopped at Kale’s neck, just a breath away from slicing clean through.

The training ground fell into a frozen stillness, as if even the world itself paused to ask whether it could truly give rise to such a genius. Reality bent, and yet no one dared to accept it.

Every trainee had only joined the Wargrave family within the last month. None had yet qualified for the monster subjugation. All were still in preparation. And yes, they were talented, each of them chosen for potential, for promise.

But this?

This?

Three days. That was all it had taken. Three days for Asher to defy every standard, to upend every assumption, to surpass what any of them thought possible.

Clinton snapped out of his daze, the sharp sound of his boots striking the floor breaking the stillness that had gripped the training ground.

”Congratulations on your first victory, Tenth Sun,” he said with a measured smile as he approached.

Asher’s violet eyes shifted from Kale to meet Clinton’s gaze, calm and sharp.

”It’s thanks to your teachings, Instructor,” Asher replied, a faint smile touching his lips.

Clinton’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

’Teachings?’ he echoed in his mind, almost incredulous. ’I haven’t taught you a single thing.’

He had intended to guide Asher over the past three days. That was the plan. But each time he observed, he found nothing to correct, nothing out of place. And now, to be credited for something he hadn’t done?

He truly didn’t know what to say, he was left speechless.

Kale stood off to the side, stunned, bewildered. His entire sense of pride, the foundation of his identity, lay in ruins before the being known as Asher Wargrave.

He had always taken pride in being the strongest among the newcomers, those who had been here for less than a month. His talent had never been in question. Clinton himself had praised him on multiple occasions.

From the slums to this very moment, Kale had clung to the strength he’d cultivated with his own hands. He’d wielded a dagger long before his awakening, surviving on sheer instinct and grit.

But now, he understood all too clearly what had transpired.

He hadn’t just faced a prodigy.

He had helped a monster take his first step.

He exhaled softly, pushing aside the remnants of shock and turbulent emotion. Though he had nurtured a measure of pride and confidence in his strength, Kale was not naive enough to believe he stood at the pinnacle of talent in this world.

He was well aware that monsters roamed this planet, some even within the very family he served.

What he hadn’t expected was to encounter one so soon, let alone spar with one.

”Good match, Kale. Thank you for this,” Asher’s calm voice broke through the lingering silence.

Kale turned, his black eyes locking onto Asher, who approached with a faint smile and an outstretched hand. After a moment’s pause, Kale took it and offered a small nod.

”Thank you, Tenth Sun. It seems I’ll need to train harder if I hope to keep up with you.”

Asher didn’t reply. He simply nodded once, turned on his heel, and made his way to a quiet corner. There, he sat down, eyes closed, lost in his thoughts. This had become a ritual of sorts for him, a moment of stillness after every new milestone.

Minutes passed. Soon after, the day’s training came to an end.