CLEAVER OF SIN

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: You can go ahead and read yesterday's chapter if you haven't already, I've fixed it. Thanks for your patience. Also, the updates might become unstable because I've fallen ill, but I might still be able to release a chapter daily until I return to full health, when the usual two chapters per day will resume. Thank you for reading and understanding]

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Asher opened his eyes to the world as he felt his body stabilize. He had expected to find himself in the same four white-walled, cornered room he had seen so many times before, but this time he was wrong. It was different.

He appeared in what seemed to be a vast hall, grand, echoing, and filled with a faint hum of energy. All around him stood numerous other candidates, boys and girls roughly his age, though each varied in height, hair color, eye color, and overall physique. Their sheer number alone was overwhelming, easily entering the thousand with perfect ease.

Asher's senses expanded to their peak as he instinctively scanned his surroundings. Although his Omni Perception could not fully cover the immensity of the hall, that limitation did not mean his senses were useless. He could still feel the subtle shift in the air, the quiet clash of confidence and nervousness emanating from the others.

'Everyone is here together,' he thought with calm clarity. 'These must be the other candidates chosen by the Star Academy, gathered from noble territories scattered across the land.' His purple eyes swept methodically through the crowd, sharp and unyielding.

To one side, his gaze landed upon the Royal twins, Vaelric Lux Vanthelmor and Vaelra Lux Vanthelmor. They stood with flawless composure, the embodiment of nobility, befitting their positions as Prince and Princess of the mighty Zarethorne Empire.

As though sensing the weight of his stare, both turned at the same moment, their identical brown eyes locking onto him. Asher did not flinch or look away. He met their gazes head-on, calmly.

Vaelra, the Royal Princess, allowed the faintest of smiles to grace her lips, giving him a subtle nod before turning her gaze elsewhere. In contrast, the Royal Prince, Vaelric, offered no such courtesy.

He glanced at Asher, expression devoid of warmth or acknowledgment, and shifted his eyes away the next second, as though Asher's very existence was beneath his notice.

Unbothered, Asher's eyes shifted to others scattered across the hall, the prominent figures, the ones who carried themselves differently, with a bearing that demanded attention.

Their presence was suffused with pride, the weight of superiority etched into their stance. Each step, each glance, silently declared that they were the best among the candidates assembled.

But for now, Asher truly did not care. He had no reason to. At least… not yet.

He could not easily identify which of these youths hailed from Ducal households. He had never laid eyes on them before, and none bore the insignias of their families upon their garments. Their clothing was plain, stripped of outward marks of identity.

Asher shook his head softly, dismissing the thought, though deep inside he looked forward to meeting them, whoever they were, whatever might happen next.

His mind had already begun to churn with questions: how talented were these people? What unique abilities did they possess? What bloodline powers lay dormant within their veins? What weapon, blades, and elements would clash within this hall? What techniques would carve their names into glory, or failure?

Unknowingly, a smile touched his lips, only to grow into a grin so wide it bordered on madness. A hand shot up, covering his mouth as he suppressed the wild expression.

'I hope they can push me to the edge… like Hillary did,' he thought, recalling the thrill of that mild struggle.

But Asher was not the only one scrutinizing the hall. Dozens, no, hundreds, of eyes flickered across the crowd as the other candidates sized each other up. They all understood instinctively that this examination would test them in battle, and already their minds spun, gauging potential rivals.

Yet some candidates stood aloof, not bothering to look around, radiating an air of disdain as though everyone else present was already beneath them.

At the very least, all had come prepared. Every candidate wore non-restrictive clothing, designed for movement, for speed, for survival. They had anticipated this moment long before it arrived.

'Where is the one giving instructions? Can we get this over with already? We all know a battle is coming,' Asher complained silently in his mind.

Ahead, a raised platform stood like a stage awaiting its actor. As if on cue, a door behind the platform opened, and from it stepped a man. His footsteps echoed with sharp clarity, each one resounding as though Crymora itself amplified the sound, pressing it into the hearts of those present.

He walked with calmness. His hair, predominantly white streaked with black, betrayed his age, as did his sagging flesh and wrinkled skin. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, regarded the hall without haste.

He looked, at first glance, like any old man, fragile, frail, the sort of man whom a strong breeze could topple, whose life could end with the softest fall.

'If novels have taught me anything,' Asher mused with cautious amusement, 'it's never to underestimate old men with white hair. They always hide monstrous power beneath that sagging skin and fragile facade.' The thought earned a silent chuckle, though he dared not speak it aloud. He had no desire to be slapped out of existence for insolence.

'I guess this is the first time I've seen anyone older than Commander Yevric,' he added inwardly.

The old man began to speak, his aged voice carrying an authority that commanded silence.

"Good morning, candidates. Today marks your final examination for entrance into the Star Academy. Now, I am well aware that your previous test ended in disappointment, anticlimactic, after all the tension and suspense. But this time," his lips curved faintly, "I intend to make it… decidedly more climatic."

No introduction. No titles. He simply spoke, and all listened.

The candidates, every one of them, were hooked to his words. After the anticlimactic end of the last trial, the promise of something different, something truly decisive, captured their attention in full.

"But before we begin," his voice hardened, shifting from calm to steel, "I must warn you."

His gaze swept the hall, black eyes cold and sharp.

"There is an extremely high possibility of death in this examination. To be precise… ninety-nine percent of you standing here will not return alive once the test begins."

Silence.

The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

Shock rippled through the hall. Faces froze, mouths parted, eyes widened. Ninety-nine percent? Almost all of them dead? The thought was inconceivable. They had come here to be tested, to earn admission into the Star Academy.

They had not come here to die.

Not every powerhouse in Crymora had even attended the Star Academy. Many great names had risen elsewhere.

To demand such a cost was insane.

At the center of the group, Asher blinked, stunned. 'Did I just jinx this?' he thought bitterly.

He had literally entertained this possibility only moments ago, and now it was reality.

His eyes scanned the crowd, royals, nobles, commoners alike. Every face wore the same expression: disbelief, and dread. The old man's pronouncement weighed heavily on all of them.

Only one percent returning alive. No matter how the Academy justified it, the prospect was madness.

"For those who wish to step out now and preserve their lives," the old man continued, his tone utterly calm, "you may move to your left."

The invitation was given with such simplicity, such detachment, that it chilled them more than the threat of death itself.

Many wasted no time. They broke ranks immediately, moving to the left side of the hall. Fear overpowered ambition. Self-preservation outweighed dreams. Better to live than to risk certain death.

Asher remained where he stood, unbothered. 'If I die, so be it. Perhaps I'll simply wake back up on Earth.'

For him, this was not despair, it was exhilaration. Finally, something interesting. Finally, a challenge worth the cost. Death was no stranger in Crymora. It walked beside everyone here daily. Why should he fear it now?

The sea of candidates thinned drastically before his eyes. What had once been nearly two thousand strong shrank to just above nine hundred. Half had abandoned the trial without hesitation.

Turning his head, Asher looked at William, who stood beside him wearing a deeply conflicted frown.

"Wouldn't you join them?" Asher asked, his tone calm but edged with meaning. "You are the only son of the Baron Canestane family. You have an inheritance waiting. A title. That is better than risking a ninety-nine percent chance of dying here."

William smiled awkwardly, the truth of Asher's words undeniable. He could not use the same argument against Asher, for Asher had nine stronger siblings. Even if he died, the Ducal line would continue.

William's lips curved into a smirk as he replied, "Forgive me for saying this, Tenth Sun… but Mama raised no Bitch."