Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 121: By Whom

Malrik and Wuthenya appeared within the Wargrave estate, materializing with silent grace. Wuthenya exhaled sharply the moment her feet touched the polished ground. Though she didn’t utter a word previously, her mind instinctively braced itself throughout her talk with Malrik, half-expecting another Sinvaira to launch an attack.

Both Malrik and Wuthenya began walking with measured steps, heading toward Azeron’s office, their expressions unreadable yet calm.

”I wonder if the youngest is awake yet,” Malrik asked, his voice breaking the silence.

”Well, he just completed his True Awakening. I remember sleeping for about a week straight after mine,” Wuthenya replied, walking alongside him in a composed manner.

During her own awakening, she had nearly slept through every hour of the day. It had been a time marked by vulnerability, being targeted by assassins for six and a half hours without a moment’s rest was no ordinary ordeal, especially for a fifteen-year-old child.

”He’s a man now. He should already be awake and training,” Malrik remarked with a subtle grin. ”Back in my day, I resumed training the very next morning.”

”Not everyone shares your obsession, Malrik. Let him rest,” Wuthenya countered, shaking her head in mild exasperation.

But Malrik simply shook his head in return. ”No one will be around to protect you when I die if he doesn’t push himself now.”

Wuthenya paused, watching him speak of his own death without the usual sentimentality. She didn’t try to hush him with the typical, ”Stop saying things like that.” After all, no one was immortal. Death claimed all, it was only a question of when.

Though Solaris could inform Malrik when his loved ones were in danger, what about Malrik himself? Who would warn him? Who would see it coming? Who would protect him?

This was one of Solaris’s inherent flaws. It could sense danger to others, but not to its wielder. It could protect everyone else but was blind to the peril surrounding Malrik himself.

So, within the entirety of the Wargrave bloodline, only Malrik Wargrave walked in complete blindness at all times. But, it never troubled him. As a Wargrave, it was his lifelong creed: to make a war and battlefield his grave, if necessary.

”Let’s just check,” Malrik muttered. With that, they diverted course toward Asher’s room.

Without pausing to knock or announce their presence, they pushed open the door and stepped inside. But the room was empty, spotless and serene.

”It seems he has left the estate,” Malrik noted, his senses instantly sweeping across the entire building like a storm surge. Still, there was no trace of Asher.

”Let’s go,” Wuthenya said calmly, turning on her heels and exiting the room, with Malrik silently following behind, closing the door as they left.

Within seconds, the duo arrived at the chamber that housed the Primarch’s office. No guards stood at the door, none were ever assigned to guard it. With quiet ease, Malrik pushed the doors open and walked in, Wuthenya beside him.

Inside, Azeron sat behind a heavy oaken table, a parchment in one hand as he pored over its contents. Beside him stood Zarek, ever composed in his pristine butler uniform and snow white gloves.

Azeron’s golden eyes rose from the document and settled upon his two children, the First and Second.

”Wuthenya. I thought you left last night. What are you doing back here? Wouldn’t Stravos be missing you right about now?” Azeron asked, setting his pen down as a gentle smile played on his lips. It was the kind of smile only a father could give, warm, knowing, and quietly pleased to see his children again after some time.

Neither Malrik nor Wuthenya flinched at the mention of Stravos. Of course their father knew. Azeron had eyes everywhere, his information network spanning the entire Empire. Very little escaped him. Certainly not Stravos.

Zarek, as ever, remained at his post. A normal butler would have excused himself by now, granting the Primarch and his heirs privacy. But Zarek was no ordinary servant.

”Good morning, Uncle Zarek,” Wuthenya greeted, gracefully taking a seat opposite Azeron. Malrik took the chair beside her.

”I did leave... but I returned. Well, brother brought me back with him, rather,” she said simply.

Azeron’s gaze slid to Malrik, now weighted with quiet expectation. It demanded explanation.

”Sigh...” Malrik began. ”Wuthenya was attacked on her way home.”

At that single revelation, the air itself seemed to halt, then twist, then compress. The atmosphere choked with unseen force, as if even oxygen required permission to linger. Cracks began spidering across the walls of the chamber.

Azeron had not moved. He had not even released his aura. But his demeanor had shifted entirely.

The father had vanished. In his place now sat the Primarch of the Wargrave family, an apex existence whose fury, once roused, would be absolute. Whoever dared to touch his daughter would be erased.

To Azeron, Malrik’s presence here confirmed one thing, that the threat was beyond Wuthenya’s capacity to handle. And considering Solaris’ unique ability to alert Malrik when loved ones were in danger, Azeron knew the gravity of this attack.

Though Wuthenya was a Voidstar Life Ranker, fully capable of holding her own against some Rank 9 Emovirae, she was still his daughter, and a Wargrave.

”By whom?” Azeron asked, his voice deceptively calm.

A smile flickered across Malrik’s face, and he answered at the same time as Wuthenya.

”Sinvaira.”

The name dropped like a blade of judgment. Zarek’s expression tightened immediately. There wasn’t a soul of power in Crymora who hadn’t heard of the Sinvairas.

Beside Azeron, a sharp hum filled the room. His soul-bound spear, Ender, materialized out of thin air, pulsing as it responded to the name. The weapon shimmered with deadly intent.

Azeron’s golden eyes turned frigid. One of the Sinvairas had murdered his father. This was not just business, it was blood. But the Sinvairas had always been elusive, their movements ghostlike, their tracks cold.

”You could’ve informed me before you left,” Azeron said, his tone now directly addressing Malrik.

At those words, every glass object in the room shattered outward, bursting into shards that danced in mid-air. Ender’s hum rose with intensity, a reflection of the growing storm within its master.

The spear felt everything. As a soul-bound weapon, Ender was attuned to every flicker of rage Azeron possessed.

”Tell me everything you know,” Azeron said again, his voice quieter now, yet more dangerous. ”Even the bits your best friend told you.”

The room had begun to tremble subtly, the building itself reacting to his seething power.

Across the estate, every maid, butler, gardener, and knight paused. All eyes turned toward the Primarch’s chamber. They didn’t know what was happening, but they felt it. The very air vibrated with tension. No one was allowed entry to that room. No one cleaned it. No one dared approach unless summoned. Only Zarek entered freely.

And now, even though the windows had burst and walls trembled, they saw nothing, heard nothing, Zarek’s Astra had sealed everything.

They could only hope the matter didn’t concern them, and that no foolish maid or wayward butler had dared to steal from the Primarch.

Malrik understood immediately what Azeron meant by ”best friend.” He was referring to Solaris. And if Malrik gave Azeron even the faintest hint of the Sinvairas’ location... then war would begin this very day.