CLEAVER OF SIN

Within the grand hall, where the Dukes, Marquis Camber, and the Goddess of Space had gathered, silence prevailed. Yet this silence was unlike any other, it was thicker, heavier, and more suffocating than before.

It hung in the air like a fragile veil, one that seemed far more delicate than the most brittle glass, threatening to shatter with the faintest disturbance.

Every eye within that hall was fixed upon the scene before them. They had been watching from the very beginning, following the fierce confrontation between the Tenth Sun, Asher Wargrave, and Ryaen Silvershade. Across the forest, numerous other candidates clashed against one another, meeting by chance or colliding in desperation.

But the nobles, the powerhouses of the realm, the Emperor himself, and even the principal of the Star Academy ignored all of that chaos.

Their gazes bore into the battle before them as if it were a cinematic masterpiece, an unfolding spectacle that demanded their complete devotion.

Their minds reeled in disbelief at what they were witnessing. It was not mere surprise, it was as though their very understanding of talent and power was being torn apart and reconstructed.

They had seen the Tenth Sun hold his ground against Ryaen Silvershade in hand-to-hand combat, not just holding his own but actively learning from her movements in real time, adapting and copying her techniques on the spot.

Such an act was terrifying in itself, a feat that surpassed the imagination of most geniuses. Still, despite their shock, they had managed to digest it, forcing themselves to accept that much.

What they had assumed, however, was that once the battle shifted from fists and flesh into the realm of bloodline abilities, Asher would inevitably fall behind. After all, cultivating and mastering bloodline powers required time, diligence, and an extraordinary degree of focus.

Even more so for someone like Asher, who possessed with three different affinities, an advantage on one hand, but an immense obstacle in terms of mastery.

They recalled his earlier display during his cooperation with Darissa Camber, where he had demonstrated remarkable mastery and control. He had easily dispatched Grade 3 Emovirae.

But even so, the difference was clear. Facing Ryaen Silvershade, child of a Duke, heir to one of the most prestigious bloodlines, was not the same as battling some mere Grade 3 Emovirae.

Ryaen possessed more intelligence, sharper awareness, superior control, and raw power. She was a Silvershade, a bloodline renowned for its near-invincible defense and devastating offensive strength..

The difference between fighting her and fighting a Grade 3 Emovirae was the difference between defying a god and opposing a mortal.

The nobles had expected a clash worthy of the exam, a battle where youth would test youth, where fiery wills would clash head-on, pushing one another to the brink. They had envisioned a spectacle of struggle, an intense, heated duel where Ryaen would emerge victorious, mildly bruised and bloodied, but ultimately triumphant, upheld by the sheer dominance of her bloodline and two years training gap.

But none of that came to pass.

Instead, they watched their predictions, their carefully crafted expectations, and their arrogant guesses crumble into dust. Ryaen Silvershade had been the first to escalate, the first to unleash her bloodline powers, altering the tempo of the combat.

But even then, even with her initiative, she was deceived, lured into false security, and utterly overwhelmed.

What they were witnessing was not a battle, it was a massacre. A one-sided beatdown delivered with elegance and inevitability.

The Tenth Sun displayed a talent so radiant it seemed to blind those who watched. His rapier movements, sharp and flawless, carried echoes of his mother, Lily of the Abyss, wife of Azeron.

Her rapier had been feared across Empire, her name etched into history. Yet even she, for all her legend, had not displayed such monstrous proficiency at the tender age of eighteen.

Their awe only deepened as Asher danced through a storm of white bone whips, his body flowing like water, his blade flashing like lightning. He moved with flawless grace, every step deliberate, every thrust an answer to chaos itself.

A smile adorned his face, unnervingly calm, as he dismantled hundreds of attacks armed with nothing but an Astra-augmented rapier.

The more they watched, the more inadequate they felt. These were men and women who had climbed to the very peak of the world, who had stood atop mountains of talent and power. And yet, in front of this boy, not even twenty years of age, they felt utterly lacking, stripped of their pride.

Still, their admiration was not reserved for Asher alone. Ryaen Silvershade, despite being battered mercilessly, rose again and again. She stood after every blow, bled without complaint, and drove her battered body forward with grim resolve.

She did not scream. She did not curse. She did not cry out for vengeance. She wasted no breath on empty declarations or hollow threats.

She simply moved, with clarity, with purpose, with undying determination.

And for that, they respected her. Their opinions of her, already high, rose further still. For how many could endure such a beating and still rise to fight? Such indomitable will was rare, born only in those destined to be true warriors, or cultivated painfully through years of unrelenting hardship.

Duke Rhydion Silvershade, seated among them, wrestled with his own emotions. His son, Ryan Silvershade, had been humiliated by the Tenth Sun a year ago during the Royal Party. Yet he had dismissed it easily enough; Ryan, by noble standards, was talentless, a disappointment he had long since buried in the shadows of his expectations.

Now his daughter, the twin born of the same womb, the gifted one, the pride of his line, was losing as well. Losing, despite her talent, despite her diligence, despite all her training. A storm churned in the Duke's chest, though his face betrayed none of the turmoil raging within.

He knew his daughter had given her all. She had gone so far as to use Marrow Regeneration, but even that was not enough. And yet, he could not fault her. She had never once neglected her training since the age of five. She had devoted herself wholly to cultivation, unlike her twin brother, who wasted his years in indulgence, wine, women, and idleness.

A faint, subtle smile touched the Duke's lips. Even if she lost half her points today, dropping from the top ten rankings, it mattered little. With her strength, she would reclaim her place soon enough during the Academy's regular activities.

Besides, he knew this moment, this battle, this loss, would shape her. Today, she had faced her first true defeat, her first unscalable wall, her first rival who embodied a talent she had never before imagined. This humiliation, this pain, would forge her into something greater.

And Rhydion Silvershade was certain of one truth: his daughter would emerge from this stronger, fiercer, her will honed to steel.

In losing, she had gained far more than victory could ever grant.

His gaze drifted to her severed arms. He did not flinch, nor did he despair. Such wounds were not permanent, not in the Star Academy, where numerous abilities could restore even the gravest of injuries. Pain was a companion every warrior would come to know, and his daughter was weathering it as well as he could have hoped.

Pride swelled in his chest.

But, in the midst of that pride, another thought intruded. He remembered his son, Ryan Silvershade, and a faint scowl crept into his heart.

Clicking his tongue in quiet frustration, he wondered again how two children, born of the same blood, born of the same parents, could be so vastly different.

Was it because they were fraternal twins?