Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 110: Jealous

Malrik stood with the same serene smile he always wore. Neither dust nor sweat clung to his form, as his solar energy incinerated everything that dared approach him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he worked to steady his breathing.

In his right hand, his katana vibrated in what felt like satisfaction, as though it had long yearned for a battle of such magnitude, and indeed, it had. With a single fluid motion, Malrik sheathed the blade into its scabbard.

Most Wargraves didn’t even bother acquiring a scabbard for their weapons, much like Asher, who carried his rapier bare. But Malrik considered himself a true swordsman.

After awakening, he had specifically requested a scabbard and had never once carried his weapon without it, always secured at his waist, a symbol of discipline and pride.

”You seem extremely pleased, Solaris,” Malrik’s deep voice rumbled as his fingers lightly brushed the edge of the scabbard. At the mention of its name, the katana responded with a low hum, vibrating once more.

”Don’t expect another battle like this anytime soon,” Malrik said quietly, his tone carrying a strange mix of fondness and resignation. ”They are exceedingly rare, Solaris.”

His piercing blue eyes scanned the desolate surroundings, or at least, what remained of them. Thousands of kilometers had been reshaped into a warped, glass-like landscape. Sinkholes yawned open as if trying to devour the sky itself, and dust and ash swirled through the air, thick enough to choke any creature still clinging to life.

It was almost beyond belief that a human had caused such cataclysm. In fact, it was outright inconceivable. Yet Malrik had done it. At barely thirty years of age, he had ascended above the thresholds that the world had placed on power. He stood above limits, a sword-wielding titan under the watchful gaze of the sun.

The blazing sun overhead bore down on Malrik’s figure, but to him, it was not oppressive. Quite the opposite, it was invigorating. He could feel his Astra replenishing rapidly, and even his stamina returning at an incredible pace.

This wasn’t the doing of Solaris, his katana. No, this was something entirely personal. It was one of Malrik’s own unique abilities: under the direct light of the sun, he possessed near-limitless stamina, boundless Astra, and remarkable regeneration.

”It seems nothing remains of Orvak... the Sinvaira of Carnage,” Malrik murmured to himself, the ever-present smile still tugging at his lips.

His final technique had caught Orvak entirely off guard. The Sun Katana Technique: Solbrand Cataclysm appeared to be a simple katana swing on the surface, nothing unusual, nothing worth panicking over.

That deception was intentional.

Orvak had attempted to block it with his scythe’s snath, and he hadn’t even reinforced himself physically. He hadn’t seen the true danger.

But Solbrand Cataclysm was no ordinary swing. It was a technique that unleashed every ounce of solar energy Solaris had absorbed over time, days, months, maybe even years.

Orvak hadn’t merely died. He had been utterly annihilated, erased by the very essence of the sun. No blood, no bones, no sinew or ligament remained. He no longer existed. In all of Crymora, there was not a trace of him.

Malrik’s smile deepened. He had killed a Sinvaira. No one in recorded history had ever achieved such a feat. Most who encountered a Sinvaira never even lifted a blade, the creature would vanish before anything could happen.

Had anyone borne witness to the battle, their limbs would have collapsed beneath them. They would’ve fallen to their knees in awe, or in terror. The scale of power on display could have obliterated an entire empire in one fell strike.

But no one had witnessed it. No eyes recorded what had transpired. That was precisely why Malrik’s combat capabilities remained shrouded in mystery. He didn’t spar for amusement. He didn’t test his strength in front of others. He fought to kill, nothing more, and none of his opponents had ever lived to speak of their battle, just like now.

The only person who knew even a fraction of what had occurred was Wuthenya, and she had been left behind at the first battlefield, the forest... if one could even call it a forest now.

She had simply been too weak to follow the speed at which they moved, even under the moon’s influence. Strong though she was, strength alone was not enough when faced with beings like Malrik.

Malrik still hadn’t moved. He stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the sun above, while his cerulean-blue hair danced in the whispering breeze. He was lost in thought, replaying the battle that had ended mere moments ago.

Together, he and Orvak had obliterated an entire forest like it was nothing. Then they razed an ocean, cleaving through its seabed as easily as slicing through warm butter. They created massive sinkholes and ruptured the ocean’s floor, redirecting its waters beyond its natural boundaries.

His eyes drifted toward the drifting clouds above. He had never before fought while standing on a cloud. But his battle with Orvak had taken him there, to weightless vapors that shouldn’t support a body, yet through refined Astra control, he had stood atop them as though they were solid ground.

’Did I kill Orvak too quickly?’ Malrik wondered. To him, the fight had ended far too soon. But he also knew that Orvak had intended for a swift battle once the sun rose, not because he feared the sun, but because he didn’t want to attract a crowd and find himself at a disadvantage.

’I wonder when the next Sinvaira will appear. It seems they were watching the youngest True Awakening,’ Malrik mused, assembling the fragmented hints in his mind.

To him, it was obvious. Asher had shown talent that defied common understanding, and the very next day, the Sinvairas had taken action, targeting one of them.

’Father will be jealous... especially Ender, his spear,’ Malrik thought with a small smirk. He was certain that once this news reached Azeron, the spear named Ender would not remain silent. It would thirst for its own clash against a Sinvaira.

With that, Malrik turned and began walking across the glass-like terrain beneath him with composed elegance. Anyone who saw him at that moment would never guess that he had just fought a battle that teetered on the edge of life and death. He moved as if he were returning from a pleasant stroll through a garden.

No injuries. No sweat. No blood. Not even a tear in his garments. Not a speck of dust marred his form.

Throughout the entire battle, Orvak had only managed to land a single blow, through a sneak attack by extending his scythe unexpectedly.

And with that, Malrik vanished in a streak of radiant golden-orange light.