Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 388: Salon

Without hesitation, all of the assassins moved their hands toward the small pouches hanging from their waists and legs, and with fluid, practiced ease, they unleashed a storm of deadly projectiles. Hundreds of senbons coated in gleaming, viscous poison burst forth, raining down in a lethal torrent meant to blanket Asher from every angle.

The shrill sound of air splitting apart reached Asher’s ears, the hiss, the shriek, the violent tearing of atmosphere as the poisoned senbons sliced through the forest. ”How familiar,” he mused, almost entertained, before vanishing entirely from his position in a burst of impossible speed.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

The barrage tore violently into the bark of trees behind him, embedding themselves deep within the trunks. Not a single needle found its target. Asher’s figure appeared moments later atop the crown of a towering tree, his posture low and balanced like a predatory cat preparing to pounce. His purple hair swayed in the wind as he observed the assassins below, his body poised with the same tension as a bowstring ready to snap.

Without hesitation, he launched himself forward. His speed was swift, lethal, and deceptively smooth, streaking through the forest canopy like a hawk descending upon a helpless hen. His trajectory was clear: the closest assassin.

With an explosive boom, Asher’s fist tore into the assassin’s chest. Flesh ripped apart, bones shattered like brittle sticks, and blood erupted outward in a crimson spray. His hand punched straight through the assassin’s back, the heart clenched in his palm. Asher withdrew his hand with cold efficiency, letting the corpse collapse to the forest floor with a soft, almost respectful thud.

He stared at the slowing, barely-beating heart in his grasp, then casually tossed it over his shoulder as though discarding worthless debris.

An assassin closed in from Asher’s right flank, attempting to catch him off guard with swift, silent steps. The assassin’s short sword swept toward Asher’s chest with deadly intent, the blade coated in a faint, oily sheen.

But Asher merely shifted to the side with effortless grace. Catching him off guard was impossible, something the people of Crymora would one day carve into their collective wisdom. Asher felt the air brush against his cheek as the blade missed him entirely.

Before the attacker could retract their arm, Asher’s hand blurred upward. His fingers clamped down around the assassin’s wrist. With a brutal twist, he snapped it with ease. The assassin bit down hard, refusing to scream; pain meant nothing to those trained in darkness.

But Asher wasn’t finished.

He plucked the short sword from the assassin’s limp grip, and in a single blur of motion, the kind so fast the eye could not separate, he stabbed three times. Brain. Chest. Stomach. Three fatal strikes executed with surgical ease. Before the assassin even had time to blink, life had already fled their body.

As the corpse began to fall, Asher bent slightly, lifted it over his shoulder, and hurled it with terrifying force toward another assassin hidden within the trees. The targeted assassin reacted instantly, tearing sideways to evade, but the moment he moved, he froze, Asher was already there, standing directly before him with a perfectly calm expression.

The assassin activated a movement technique, his body breaking into a wind-like blur, attempting to escape.

But Asher would not allow it. He read the movement technique instantly, then replicated, intercepted, and surpassed it. Within a blink, he appeared beside the fleeing assassin, his fist barreling toward the man’s head.

The assassin crossed his arms, activating his arm-guard technique in desperation. A thunderous impact shook the forest as Asher’s fist collided with his defense. The force was monstrous, both arms were crushed instantly. The assassin’s body blasted backward like a ragdoll thrown aside by a giant, slamming into several trees before collapsing.

He was still alive... but only barely. And not for long.

Before the assassin could gasp or cough blood, Asher appeared before him once more. His right foot shot forward like an iron pole. A deafening crack echoed through the forest as Asher’s kick crushed the assassin’s skull and drove straight through it into the tree behind. Bone, blood, brain matter, and splintered wood erupted outward in a grotesque explosion.

The next sound filled Asher’s ears, the crackle of lightning.

His head snapped upward. A colossal bolt descended from above, splitting the sky apart as it plummeted toward him. At the moment of impact, Asher lifted a hand and, almost lazily, slapped the thunderbolt to the side as though brushing away a bothersome insect.

A blinding detonation erupted beside him as the redirected lightning smashed into the ground, sending shockwaves rippling through the forest.

Asher exhaled softly. Someone had the audacity to use lightning against him? Had they somehow forgotten that he possessed the Lightning Elemental Affinity? If his opponent had been stronger or had superior elemental mastery, perhaps the attack would have wounded him. But something like this, this flimsy bolt?

Nothing but wishful thinking.

Suddenly, Asher sensed Astra energy stirring beneath his feet. Without hesitation, he blurred backward just as a towering pillar of sand erupted upward from the ground. Sand bullets shot out from the pillar in rapid succession, tearing through the forest in countless deadly projectiles.

Asher moved instantly, vanishing and reappearing across the forest in swift, controlled bursts of speed. He dodged every sand bullet with immaculate finesse, yet he did not simply evade. Instead, he angled his movements toward the hidden assassins, letting the sand bullets continue tearing through trees, foliage, and unfortunately... several of the assassins themselves.

Realizing the disaster he was causing, the sand-wielding assassin immediately canceled the technique. But it was far too late. Asher dove toward the location where the sand bullets had exposed several assassins. Before any of them could activate an ability, use a technique or even breathe properly, Asher had already ended their lives with ridiculous speed, each death as swift as a blink, as effortless as a breath.

Suddenly, Asher leaped into the air. A fraction of a second later, something slammed into the ground beneath him, a thick lock of long black hair, sharpened and hardened, stabbing into the earth with immense force.

An eyebrow lifted. ’An assassin who can control their hair? Shouldn’t they be working in a salon or something?’ he mused, mildly amused.

His hand shot outward, clamping onto the long black hair before it could retract. With overwhelming force, he pulled, hard. Nature obeyed. The assassin attached to the hair was yanked forward violently, unable to resist the momentum. The assassin barely had time to widen their eyes before Asher’s knee slammed into their gut.

A thunderous boom echoed through the forest. Air expelled from the assassin’s lungs instantly, along with the contents of their stomach. They convulsed in agony, but Asher didn’t give them time to recover.

His hands moved with clinical precision, one gripping the assassin’s jaw, the other pressing against the back of their skull. With a swift, forceful twist, he snapped their neck. The body collapsed to the forest floor with a lifeless thud, but Asher was already gone.

His eyes, his mind, his body, all locked onto his next prey, the hunt continued.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thanks for reading.