Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 122: Lay Low

In a different location, millions of kilometres away, hidden within a separate space, nine beings gathered. They sat around a large obsidian table. They were the Sinvairas, the very ones who had orchestrated the assault on Wuthenya.

Unlike before, when they conversed cheerfully and spoke of slaying a Wargrave as if it were a mundane Tuesday, they now said nothing. Not a single word. It was not that they chose silence, but rather that they couldn’t speak, as though the very air had become too heavy to carry their voices.

They could all feel it deep within their bones. One of them was gone. He was dead. Permanently. No ability, no artifact, no matter how ancient or forbidden, could retrieve him from the clutches of oblivion.

And how did they know this? Because unlike most beings born from emotions, they were born from human sins. And through those shared origins, they possessed a tethering connection to one another, a dark, intimate thread that linked their lives. They could feel each other’s presence across the world. But now, just a few minutes prior, that connection to Orvak, the Sinvaira of Carnage, had been abruptly severed.

They could not fathom how a mission as simple as eliminating a mere Voidstar Life Rank human had ended in the death of one of their own.

None of them had ever died. Not once.

Though Orvak, the Sinvaira of Carnage, was not the strongest among them... still...

Across the centuries, yes, they had bled. They had skirted the brink of death once or twice, especially when confronting adversaries powerful enough to pose future threats to their grand plan. But, truly being killed? That had never happened.

Because of this, their prolonged existence and uninterrupted survival had deluded them into a false sense of invincibility, as if they were immortals, immune to the passage of time, untouched by the reaper’s hand. They believed themselves superior to every race that dwelled within Crymora.

But now, they had been reminded, brutally so, that they were not gods. They had been slapped by reality in the harshest form possible.

A reminder in the form of death.

And so, they remembered, they were not omnipotent merely because they towered above the usual Rank 10s, nor were they omniscient simply because their intelligence network extended across the breadth of all Crymora Empires.

The silence in the room clung to the walls like fog, thick and unmoving. It waited, for someone, anyone, to speak. A voice, a thought, a command. Anything.

But none did.

They simply sat, unmoving, watching one another, each one lost in his or her own thoughts.

”Are we sure he’s dead?” one of them finally asked, his brow subtly furrowed as he leaned forward, fingers intertwined.

At his question, several eyes shifted toward him, their expressions cold and sharp, as if they were staring at a fool. They all understood he wasn’t truly asking. He was in denial. He simply couldn’t accept what had happened.

Because if Orvak could die, then the next one to make a move... might be next. And while each of them desired to live, that did not necessarily mean they were cowards.

Even the woman who had slept through the entirety of their last meeting was awake now. Not entirely, her eyelids drooped as though the weight of the world clung to them, but she was awake. And more importantly, she understood the seriousness of the situation.

”What information do we have?” another asked from the side. Through knowledge, they could reconstruct what had occurred.

But they all shook their heads.

They had no information yet. The moment they sensed Orvak’s tether severed, they had convened this emergency meeting.

They didn’t know where the battlefield had been, or the circumstances surrounding it. In truth, they knew absolutely nothing. Orvak had been solely responsible for tracking his prey and executing the kill.

”We’ll gather all available information later,” one of them finally spoke. ”But if we’re to hazard a guess... only Azeron or Malrik could possibly have done this.”

”Again with this Malrik nonsense? Isn’t he only thirty or so?” another snapped, scoffing. ”He’s far too young to even breathe in the same space as Orvak. It had to be Azeron. A revenge strike for his father, no doubt.”

”We should still include Malrik on the list,” another interjected. ”We can’t dismiss him now. Nobody truly knows his combat capabilities, no matter how many times we’ve spied on him. He’s... suspicious.”

At her words, their expressions darkened. Malrik’s name echoed ominously in their minds.

They were the ones who had secretly provided information to Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor about the location of Malrik’s personal butler, information that had enabled the butler’s abduction. Of course, the Emperor had no idea it had come from them. They had wanted to inflict loss... but it had backfired, even back then.

”So... what do we do now?” one of them asked at last.

”We go after Asher, just as I originally proposed,” one intoned darkly.

But another quickly shook his head in dissent. ”We’ve already moved, and failed. It’s safe to say that individuals like the Youngest will now be under permanent protection. And we can’t touch Thalric the Ninth Sun either. He’s holed up in that damned Academy, and that troublesome woman is its head.”

”One of us has died, for the first time in all of history, and here we are, plotting against human children who haven’t even drawn their first real breath,” someone muttered from the side, his voice like chilled steel. ”What a disgrace. We’ve truly fallen this far.”

All eyes turned to him.

”And what do you suggest?” one of them asked cautiously.

”I say we attack the two who top our suspect list simultaneously, Malrik and Azeron,” he said, voice hardening with each word. ”Four of us to one. That’s eight Sinvairas in total. Neither of them would be able to survive an assault from four of our kind, not even together.”

There was immediate tension.

Brows furrowed. Mouths tightened. Fists clenched under the table.

He was proposing a full-scale offensive. The entire Sinvaira, against two humans.

Of course, they knew he wasn’t counting the sleepy one who had yet to utter a single word since the beginning.

While his logic seemed sound, brutally effective, even, no one answered immediately. Because the question that lingered unspoken was this:

Would any of them actually do it?

After all, the next to fall could be any one of them.

”I think we should lay low for now,” another declared, reclining in his seat with a bored expression, as though Orvak’s death were little more than a mild inconvenience. ”We can’t risk our lives for some fool who volunteered for the mission without anyone even suggesting him.”

And indeed, most of them did not care about Orvak’s death in particular.

What they truly mourned... was what it meant; They weren’t above death.