Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 224: Show-off

As the Stealth and Infiltration Training class session continued, the students pressed forward with varying degrees of success. Some managed to make small strides, and though their progress was incremental, progress in itself was still progress.

Others, however, failed to improve at all, their efforts producing nothing but repeated failure. But none of this seemed to trouble Instructor Hale in the slightest. He did not expect miracles, nor did he demand impossibilities.

He never once assumed that every student would suddenly master the delicate and demanding art of silent steps within the span of a mere four hours. To harbor such an expectation would have been nothing short of preposterous, an insult to the discipline itself and to the very nature of human growth.

Among the many who tried and faltered, one stood out in particular. Darissa Camber had made what could only be described as astonishing progress, her rapid improvement almost unnatural. Her innate connection to sound seemed to give her a heightened awareness of how noise was born and how it could be suppressed, and through that ability, she advanced far beyond her peers.

She was not the only one to find footing in the lesson, however. A handful of others, especially those whose innate talents or elemental affinities brushed faintly against the art of silence, also began to make noticeable gains. Though none could rival Darissa’s pace, their steady persistence carved a path forward.

The Royal Twins, as expected, stumbled at first. But despite their missteps, their natural talent shone through, allowing them to gradually find a rhythm. Their effort bore visible fruit, though it remained just that, progress, not mastery. In truth, mastery was a title only two individuals could claim that day: Asher, whose movements were as silent as shadows slipping through the trees, and Darissa, whose attunement to sound lent her feet a grace few could match.

Frustration simmered among the others. Some muttered curses under their breaths, quiet enough not to earn Hale’s reprimand. Their vexation was understandable, after all, who would have ever imagined that something as seemingly simple as walking could prove to be so relentlessly difficult? Step after step betrayed them, each crunch of a twig or rustle of a leaf mocking their inability to tame the noise of their own existence.

Hale, however, remained patient. His instructions were firm, sharp when necessary, but always measured. He corrected when he could, guiding them with his words, but he did not hold their hands. He allowed them to stumble, to falter, to taste failure. For in his eyes, stumbling was not a setback but a necessity.

Those who managed even the slightest improvement were not permitted to move on; instead, Hale demanded that they repeat their progress again and again, until that improvement ceased to be an achievement and instead became instinct, natural, unconscious, and unshakable, like the act of breathing itself.

For the first session of Stealth and Infiltration Training, Hale chose to focus exclusively on the art of the silent step. Nothing more. He did not rush them into the shadows of concealment or the complexities of infiltration. There was no wisdom in building towers on unstable foundations. His focus was singular, his intent clear: master the first step, or collapse when the rest of the path arrives.

The forest around them became a stage for struggle. Students sweated and strained, their breaths alternating between shallow silence and ragged gasps. The woods resounded not with the harmony Hale sought but with discordant noises, the crunch of leaves, the snap of twigs, the soft rustle of branches disturbed by clumsy motion. The natural world, indifferent and unforgiving, bore witness to their every mistake.

”Listen to the forest,” Hale instructed them at one point, his tone sharp yet strangely reverent. ”Listen to the land, the trees, the leaves.”

Yet to the ears of most, his words were as riddles. ’How could one listen to inanimate things?’ Some students grumbled inwardly, their thoughts dripping with doubt. Listen to trees? Listen to leaves? What madness is this?

But though skepticism ran rampant in their minds, none dared stop, none dared defy the silent command of Hale’s presence. Determination still burned in their eyes. Pride, ambition, and the desire not to fall behind drove them onward, compelling them to persist through frustration and failure alike.

Asher, in contrast to their desperate exertion, sat gracefully upon the high branch of a tree. His posture was calm, his gaze steady, as he observed the struggles of the others below. He was not idle out of arrogance but out of understanding. He knew this was merely the first lesson, a test of foundations. Hale was observing them, assessing them, just as Instructor Melissa had done in her own way earlier that day.

Moreover, Asher recognized his own ignorance. He knew he was no master of stealth, no prodigy in infiltration. Silent walking might come easily to him, but that was only a fragment of the discipline. To assume that his talent in one area excused him from learning the art in its entirety would be nothing but foolish pride.

’So, I don’t get rewarded with two thousand points for this?’ he mused silently, his lips curving faintly at the thought.

Melissa had been quick to award him two thousand points for his earlier display, but Hale was different. Hale had given him nothing, not even a single point. Asher, however, harbored no resentment. He understood well enough why. Silent steps were but a single aspect of stealth; mastery required much more. To reward him now, for completing only a fragment, would be meaningless.

His eyes shifted to William, who was visibly struggling yet had managed to improve bit by bit across the long hours. Beside him moved Finch, a stout and clumsy boy whose every attempt ended in failure. Finch’s footsteps seemed cursed, each step producing noise regardless of how carefully he tried. It was almost as if the forest itself held a grudge against him, rejecting every effort to move quietly.

Time slipped by, hours blurring into one another, until at last the four hours allocated for the lesson drew to their end.

”The class ends here,” Hale announced, his voice carrying through the forest with firm authority. ”We will continue the silent step training in our next session. For those of you who made progress today, ensure you do not return with regression. Do not waste the effort of this day by abandoning your practice once you leave. Train in your rooms, in the halls, wherever you find space, make it second nature. As for those of you who failed to improve, your time is not yet gone. Work harder. Push further. Time waits for no one, and it will not wait for you.”

His eyes swept across the weary group, his gaze sharp and searching. Their chests rose and fell in heavy rhythm, sweat beaded their brows, and the hems of their trousers clung with dirt. Their shoes bore the proof of their effort, scuffed and stained from what was likely the longest and most taxing walk many of them had endured.

At last, Hale’s eyes found Asher, who still perched calmly upon his branch, his presence detached yet unshakably confident. A flicker of thought stirred behind Hale’s gaze. He wished to see how the Tenth Sun would perform in the more intricate facets of his training. Would his earlier display prove to be mere luck? Or was there genuine genius hidden within the boy?

”Until next time,” Hale intoned softly. And with that, the light around him seemed to bend, shadows folding inward as though the forest itself swallowed him whole. In an instant, he was gone.

Relief struck the students the moment his presence vanished. Many collapsed to their knees, their legs trembling and feet aching from the endless strain. They had walked, focused, and faltered for four endless hours, and now exhaustion bore down on them like lead weights. Dirt clung stubbornly to their boots, and their lungs heaved with the effort of restrained breathing.

Asher, watching Hale’s departure, finally descended. He leapt from his branch with the ease of falling wind, his body twisting in controlled grace as his feet touched the earth. Not a single sound escaped him, not even the faintest crunch of soil.

A few students clicked their tongues in unspoken frustration. ’Tsk. Show-off.’ The thought echoed in several minds, though none dared to give it voice.

Asher, of course, already knew what they were thinking. It was obvious in the sharp glances, in the subtle tensing of their jaws. But it neither bothered him nor stirred arrogance in him. If he were in their position, he might have thought the same.

After all, who among them would not envy such talent?

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