Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 242: The Top Ten-1

William could be seen tearing his way through an endless sea of beasts, monsters, and Emovirae. Their numbers were far too many to count, yet he pressed on relentlessly, never daring to stop for even a moment. His movements carried the desperation of one who understood that hesitation meant death, his body weaving through carnage with mechanical efficiency.

Before the Separate Dimension descended into this current apocalypse, William had managed to copy Ryaen Silvershade’s bone manipulation bloodline ability. Now, in the midst of chaos, he wielded her inherited power as though it had always been his own.

At the other end of the battlefield, Ryaen herself caught sight of William fighting with her abilities, but she did not have the luxury of addressing it. She was fully locked in combat with a foe of her own, her concentration unshakable. Questions could wait for later, if there was a later. For now, a single stray thought or moment of distraction could open her to a lethal sneak attack.

All around her, bones of various shapes erupted from her will, animated with life-like sentience. They twisted and surged as extensions of her command, tearing through anything foolish enough to approach her from behind. She herself remained fully focused on the adversaries in front of her, her attacks sharp and lethal, her battlefield awareness unparalleled.

Elsewhere, at different corners of the battlefield, the other members of the academy’s top ten were each proving why they had earned their coveted ranks among the first years.

Vaelra, the royal-blooded princess who bore no resemblance to the soft and sheltered image one might expect, was embroiled in a brutal clash. Her daggers slashed with maddening ferocity, moving at speeds the eye could scarcely follow. Every motion of her wrist was swift, deadly, and merciless. With each swing, blood painted the air as though it were rain in a storm. Her opponents fell in droves, unable to keep up with her overwhelming onslaught.

From behind, an Emovirae lunged, its massive fist collapsing downward with killing force aimed at the back of her head. But Vaelra didn’t even turn to acknowledge it. She ignored the strike as though it were less than meaningless.

The blow landed directly upon her skull, but no result followed. No inertia jerked her forward, no pain seared her nerves, no blood spilled from her scalp. It was as though the fist had brushed against her with the gentlest touching care in the world.

The truth, however, lay in her bloodline ability.

Vaelra possessed a power that allowed her to passively absorb and nullify all forms of energy. And a punch, at its very core, was nothing more than a manifestation of kinetic energy. The moment she felt the fist connect, that energy was absorbed into her being and rendered harmless.

With deadly grace, Vaelra twisted at the waist, her dagger flashing like lightning. Before the Emovirae could even blink, its head was soaring through the air, severed cleanly from its body. Before its lifeless corpse could collapse to the ground, Vaelra had already vanished from the spot, her dagger plunging into the throat of her next victim.

Though she rarely relied on her bloodline ability offensively, she made ruthless use of it as a defense, preferring instead to let her daggers carve the battlefield open. In her hands, the steel blades sang like wolves tearing through helpless prey in a pen of chickens. Nothing survived her passage.

In another direction, her twin brother, Vaelric, embodied the complete opposite philosophy.

He did not rush across the battlefield. He did not dart or weave like his sister. Instead, Vaelric walked. Each step was regal, measured, and commanding, as though the battlefield itself was his empire and every living being upon it was subject to his reign. His demeanor was that of a sovereign, untouchable and absolute.

From behind, a criminal, one of the twisted souls that thrived amidst chaos, closed in with lethal speed. His form blurred through the air as a sword slashed toward Vaelric’s throat with murderous intent. But Vaelric did not so much as glance in his direction. The man’s existence was beneath his notice.

And then, in an instant, the air behind him erupted. A torrent of searing flame exploded into being, swallowing the attacker whole. The world shook with the impact as fire tore apart everything in its path. Not even ashes remained of the unfortunate soul who dared to strike at Vaelric.

Step by step, he continued forward. With each motion of his feet, overwhelming bursts of elemental energy erupted outward. Flames consumed those behind him, reducing bodies to dust and shadows. He carried no weapon, he spoke no words. His stride itself was the weapon, his very presence the executioner’s verdict.

Whereas his sister chose to revel in close combat with blades, augmenting herself with her bloodline only when necessary, Vaelric regarded such theatrics as wasteful. His power demanded no tools, no crutches, no unnecessary embellishments.

As he walked, his eyes shifted calmly toward a swarm of lesser beings closing in, mere insects compared to his majesty. But he did not alter his pace. He simply took another step. In that moment, a chilling wave of energy erupted from his body. The atmosphere shifted violently as the temperature plummeted into frigid stillness. The charging horde froze mid-motion. Their blood solidified, their hearts shattered like glass, their brains crystallized into icy tombs.

Their corpses cracked apart, shattering into fragments of brittle ice that littered the ground. Those rushing at him on foot shared the same fate. They froze instantly, their bodies then detonating outward in explosive bursts of frost that encompassed tens of meters. Still, Vaelric walked, untouched by the devastation he unleashed. The biting cold dared not harm its originator. His footsteps alone echoed with inevitability.

Meanwhile, Caelan Stormveil, heir to the Ducal Stormveil family, waged his battle with unmatched precision. His scythe cleaved through the air in deadly arcs, a weapon of elegance and execution. He spun it with fluid mastery before cleaving downward in a motion meant to split his opponent in two. Yet his adversary, swift and calculating, sidestepped the strike with remarkable agility, thrusting her spear forward to pierce him.

Caelan, however, did not bother to block. The instant the attack reached him, the world around them shifted. Time itself seemed to falter. His opponent’s spear froze mid-air, unmoving as though the universe had decided to halt its advance.

Her eyes widened in shock as she realized too late the truth, Caelan had seized control of her blood itself. She strained to move, to breathe, to act, but every drop of liquid within her veins was bound to his will.

Without pause, his scythe blurred. The blade whispered through flesh as though it were paper. Her head severed cleanly from her neck. Her arms followed. Her legs crumpled as they too were sliced away. Her waist split in two, the blood in her body erupting outward like a grotesque fountain. Gore and entrails painted the battlefield in a gruesome canvas, as if Caelan had chosen to paint with the living, only to turn them into the dead.

Before the blood could even fall upon him or stain the ground, it froze inches from his form. At his command, it reformed, twisting into spinning crimson chakrams. Their deadly edges gleamed, infused with his will, before they streaked forward to eviscerate anything nearby that bore the curse of blood flowing in their veins.

Another enemy attempted to close in on him silently, an assassin seeking to strike from behind. But Caelan’s mastery made such stealth meaningless. He sensed the flow of blood within all beings, no matter how carefully they hid. Without sparing so much as a glance, he willed it, and a towering spike of hardened blood erupted from the earth. It impaled the assassin from jaw to skull, piercing upward in an instant. The man’s brain matter erupted outward as his life was extinguished in a spray of crimson ruin.