Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 389: Silence Permanently

Asher resumed his hunt with immediate, almost casual ease, his form cutting through the air like a sharpened arrow loosed from a divine bow. Although he carved through the assassins as though they were nothing more than fragile silhouettes, the assassins themselves were far from helpless. They were elite killers, trained, conditioned, and sharpened for one singular purpose.

But whether their struggle would matter, whether their resistance could alter the outcome in even the slightest way... only time would be the judge of that.

Asher’s fingers shot forward like an obsidian spear, piercing through the skull and brain of one assassin with such ease it seemed the man had been made of brittle paper. Asher twisted his wrist, then flung the corpse aside like a discarded rag.

Another assassin blurred forward, closing the gap with lethal precision, twin daggers slashing toward Asher’s ribs and throat. Asher read the pattern the moment it began, his mind deciphering the attack as though it were a children’s book. He shifted to the side with fluid grace, and his elbow snapped outward in a brutal arc toward the attacker’s head.

But instead of meeting bone and flesh, instead of hearing the familiar crunch followed by the tearing of tissue, Asher’s elbow passed straight through the assassin’s body.

He did not react with surprise. He had already noticed the differences. This was no innate ability, most of the assassins had now begun employing various techniques in desperation, forcing their bodies beyond natural constraints to keep up with him.

The assassin retaliated immediately, dagger plunging toward Asher’s chest, but Asher blurred out of range, his foot swinging upward in a devastating heel strike. The attack cleaved the air in a vicious arc capable of shattering bone, but once again, his strike phased harmlessly through the assassin’s form.

Yet the assassin was not so fortunate a second time.

Before the man could reposition himself, Asher’s other fist slammed directly into his chest, this time making solid contact, piercing through bone, flesh, and organ with horrifying ease.

”I see,” Asher said flatly, withdrawing his fist as the assassin trembled. ”The technique allows you to phase through a single attack... but not two simultaneous ones.”

The assassin stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, realization and fear blooming too late. His body went limp as Asher pulled his hand free, crimson-dyed and dripping. With a single sharp swing of his arm, the blood splattered onto the scorched earth below and evaporated instantly.

Around him, Asher felt a shift, his perception twisting, bending. Instantly, several assassins materialized from the sides, surrounding him with predatory precision. Asher did not even need to guess. Another illusion technique. Another desperate attempt.

But illusions were useless against him. Still, he played along.

He dashed toward one of the illusory assassins and engaged it with deliberate sloppiness, feigning struggle. The moment the real assassins sensed their technique had succeeded, they surged forward in a deadly wave, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

But before they could strike, Asher abruptly pivoted away from the illusion. His body shot toward the real assassins, his form streaking through the air like a purple comet, the wind bending around him as though reality refused to restrain him.

’We’ve been played,’ the assassins thought in horror.

But by then it was far too late.

Asher was already among them, already dismantling them before they could activate another technique or retreat into the shadows they cherished. His body moved with a blur of purple light and monstrous velocity.

’How is he this fast without Astra... or even his elemental affinity?’ one assassin thought, panic twisting her voice within her mind.

Her thoughts ended abruptly.

Asher’s fist struck her chin from below, snapping her head backward with such force it nearly severed her spine. Though her consciousness teetered on the abyss, she desperately clung to wakefulness, a fatal mistake.

The moment her eyes refocused on Asher, all she saw was a knee tearing toward her face.

The impact was catastrophic. Bone, flesh, and skull disintegrated under the force of the strike, her head reduced to fragments before her body collapsed like a puppet severed from its strings.

From the sides, a barrage of senbons shot toward Asher, each needle coated in poisons and enchanted toxins meant to kill instantly. Asher’s hand blurred to his sword belt, Virelass hummed with anticipation, convinced he would finally draw her and unleash carnage in her name.

But Asher’s hand brushed past her. IInstead, he plucked one of the three short silver blades hanging at his waist.

With a swift burst of movement, he deflected every senbon with surgical precision, sending each metallic dart clattering harmlessly onto the forest floor. Before the last one had even fallen, he returned the blade to its sheath with the same calm efficiency.

Silence fell across the battlefield.

The assassins, hidden across branches, shadows, and ridges, stared down at him with a mixture of awe, fear, and disbelief. Corpses lay around him like scattered weeds after a storm, blood pooling beneath them in dark crimson lakes. The metallic scent of death thickened the air until it became suffocating.

Asher exhaled softly as he sheathed the short dagger.

”Honestly... this is simply too boring and too easy,” he muttered, sounding more exasperated than impressed. ”You came on an assassination mission,” he continued, raising his voice slightly. ”And yet most of you are barely at the Blazestar Life Rank. Tell me, has assassination become a joke?”

No assassin replied. They remained silent, unmoving, clinging to the ancient code of their craft. Their eyes stayed fixed on him, waiting, hoping, for the smallest opening, the smallest flaw in his stance, the tiniest misstep that would allow them to kill a Wargrave.

”I see,” Asher sighed. ”Your useless assassination code, silent even in death, is that it?” He placed a hand on his waist. ”Then let’s establish that silence permanently.”

His fingers curled slowly around Virelass’s hilt. She trembled with delight.

The reaction among the assassins was instant. Panic rippled through the trees. Every assassin took multiple steps back, their bodies blurring into streaks as they retreated, employing every technique they possessed to put distance between themselves and the rapier.

But Asher did not chase.

Instead, Star Energy poured from his body like a ruptured star, saturating the space around him. He drew Virelass in a single elegant motion, her blade singing as it touched open air.

His knees dipped slightly. His stance settled. Purple lightning crackled outward, wild and rampant, engulfing Virelass until she hummed like the wrath of a storm god. Then Asher spun, one full, flawless 360-degree arc.

The swing birthed a cataclysmic ring of purple lightning that exploded outward in a roaring dome of destruction. The blast expanded violently, ripping through everything in its radius. Trees disintegrated into vapor. Earth liquefied into molten lava. Grass, roots, and stone turned to ash without resistance.

The assassins never stood a chance. Their bodies were charred instantly as the lightning crashed into them, and before their corpses could even fall, the next wave obliterated them, annihilated them so thoroughly no fragment remained.

Dust, smoke, and churning debris rose into the sky, painting the world in a swirling chaos of destruction.

And when everything settled...

Only one man remained standing.

Asher.

Unshaken. Unbothered. Unchallenged.