Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 38: Borrowed Splendor

Asher turned and walked back toward Lyra and the guards, all of whom stared at him as though he were a monster cloaked in human flesh. What they had just witnessed defied all logic, utterly impossible by their standards.

The Tenth Sun had actually emerged victorious?

And not just victorious, he had triumphed without a shred of formal training or battlefield experience. It hadn’t even been a full week since his awakening, and by protocol, he still had more than three weeks to go before he could be deemed eligible to face a single monster in the First Training Ground.

What they had witnessed left them speechless, stunned into silence. None more so than Lyra, who stood frozen at the rear, still clutching Asher’s coat in her hands.

She had been by his side every day, before his awakening, and even after. And yet, she had never explicitly seen him train. She knew he was a genius; that much had been clear when he ascended two sub-Life ranks as if it were nothing.

But she had neither seen him personally train in the First Training Ground nor watched him train privately in his room afterward.

Her gaze remained fixed on her charge as he approached. His breathing was steady, his stride composed. Those calm, purple eyes and hair, made all the more vivid against the backdrop of crimson blood splattered across his form.

The guards immediately stepped forward, speaking in unison. ”Congratulations on your first battle and first kill, Tenth Sun.”

Asher turned his gaze toward them and offered a faint smile. ”Thank you. My safety is in your hands. However, if we encounter any weak monsters along the way, leave them to me.”

For a moment, the guards stood in stunned silence.

’Did the Tenth Sun just say... thank you?’

The thought echoed in their minds, disbelief written across their faces.

One of them quickly composed himself and responded, ”Rest assured, Tenth Sun.”

He then turned to another guard and issued a swift order. ”Set up a tent for the Tenth Sun to freshen up. We’ll resume the journey once he’s ready.”

With practiced efficiency, a guard broke from formation and began assembling the tent without delay.

After bathing and changing into a fresh set of clothes, Asher made his way back to the carriage.

’Thank goodness I made Lyra pack a generous amount of my wardrobe into her space ring,’ he mused, recalling how he had selected some clothes for himself, only for Lyra to store them with her usual efficiency.

The moment he settled into his seat, the carriage began to move once more. Up front, the coachman wore a far-off look, quietly lost in his thoughts as he guided the horses along the path.

He was clearly fantasizing, perhaps imagining himself in battle. After all, who hadn’t dreamed of standing on the battlefield, weapon in hand, forging their legacy?

But reality had been less kind. He had failed all three of his Awakening attempts. No Astra, no ability, just a regular man in a world of powers beyond reach.

Inside the carriage, Asher had already settled into his usual routine. Eyes closed, his breathing steady and measured, he slipped into a meditative rhythm. His mind replayed the battle from beginning to end, each movement, each decision, each strike.

He analyzed every moment with sharp focus, searching for flaws, missed opportunities, or anything he could have executed more effectively. This was his process, refining himself, even in stillness.

Yet, despite his scrutiny, everything appeared seamless, flawless, even, save for one moment: the pack leader’s initial strike. That single exchange lingered in his mind, a slight imperfection in an otherwise immaculate performance.

Lyra watched Asher intently as he sat in a lotus position, eyes closed, lost in quiet concentration. Her mind was ablaze with questions. She wasn’t afraid to voice them, but she knew better than to interrupt what appeared to be training.

Then, as though he had read her thoughts, Asher spoke without opening his eyes.

”If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I’ll answer them to the best of my abilities.”

He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting his posture as one leg folded over the other with ease.

Lyra didn’t hesitate. ”Was that really your first battle, Young Master?”

She already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.

Asher offered a small, confident smile. ”I’m sure you already know it was, Lyra. But I’m just that talented. And I train hard enough to back it up.”

Lyra nodded slightly, then asked what truly intrigued her. ”And those blood threads from earlier, what exactly were they?”

She had her suspicions. The Wargrave family’s weapons were known to possess unique and often terrifying abilities. But guessing wasn’t enough. She needed confirmation.

”That’s Virelass’s ability,” Asher replied calmly. ”It’s called Crimson Pact. It heals me using the blood of those I kill.”

Lyra’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought. She had never heard the name Virelass before, but she could safely assume it was the name of his rapier.

With that, Lyra continued, asking more questions, curious about the other abilities Virelass might possess. Asher answered each one with a calm voice, withholding nothing.

There was no real need to hide anything from her. After all, trust was the foundation of her role by his side.

That said, he wasn’t the type to share his secrets simply because someone asked.

Openness didn’t equate to carelessness.

Even now, everything he had shared with Lyra remained confined within the four walls of the carriage. In noble circles, discretion was a discipline.

Carriages were always reinforced with barriers or enchantments to ensure privacy, preventing even the most loyal guards from listening in. For nobles, conversations were as valuable as gold, and far more dangerous if overheard.

And so, the journey continued.

Asher passed the time in conversation with Lyra, the hours slipping by as their carriage rolled steadily forward. Whenever a monster was sighted along the way, Asher stepped out to confront it himself. For those beyond his current ability, a single guard effortlessly dispatched them.

Frequent stops were made so Asher could cleanse himself of blood, a necessity that, while minor, extended the journey beyond its intended duration.

Yet not a single complaint was uttered.

How could they complain? They were witnessing something extraordinary: the Tenth Sun’s growth unfolding right before their eyes.

By the time they reached the capital, night had already fallen. The towering gates loomed ahead, bathed in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. But the city guards stationed there made no move to halt the carriage for the customary inspection.

The moment they laid eyes on the crest emblazoned on the carriage walls and the armor of the accompanying guards, they stood at attention and stepped aside in silence.

Some insignias spoke louder than words, and this one demanded reverence.

Asher and Lyra arrived at the most luxurious inn in the capital, a place so exclusive that a single room cost one hundred gold coins per night. Without hesitation, Lyra paid for two rooms: one for Asher, and the other for the coachman.

She and the guards, however, did not seek rest. Instead, they took their positions outside Asher’s door, ever vigilant, prepared to respond at a moment’s notice to any threat or disturbance.

As for the coachman, he was living a dream. Never in his life had he imagined stepping foot inside such an opulent establishment, let alone sleeping in a room worth a hundred gold coins, for a single night.

Surrounded by silk sheets, golden fixtures, and velvet walls, he could only grin to himself.

At this moment, he felt nothing less than royalty. A prince in borrowed splendor.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE: The currency goes like this;

1 silver coin = 100 copper coins.

1 gold coin = 100 silver coins.

1 platinum coin = 1,000 gold coins.