Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 95: Emotions

As Asher arrived at the chambers where Azeron resided, Zarek pushed the grand doors open, and Asher stepped in with graceful, measured strides. Within the room, Azeron could be seen seated, holding a sheet of paper in hand, appearing every bit like a corporate office worker lost in concentration.

”I greet the Patriarch,” Asher said, bowing respectfully.

Azeron did not speak at first. He simply continued reading what he held. After finishing, he set the paper aside and slowly raised his golden eyes, fixing his piercing gaze upon Asher.

”Congratulations on making it back in one piece. That, in itself, is an achievement,” Azeron stated calmly.

”It’s expected of a Wargrave, Primarch,” Asher replied. Whenever he was unsure of how to receive praise, he defaulted to that phrase; ’It’s expected of a Wargrave.’

”Sometimes, a simple ’thank you’ would suffice, youngest,” Azeron said, his voice even.

”Thank you, Primarch,” Asher responded instantly, rising from his bowed position with practiced fluidity.

”Call me Father from now on, at least when we are alone,” Azeron said, his tone softening ever so slightly.

Asher hesitated.

He had only ever referred to Azeron as ’Father’ when the man wasn’t present, never to his face. But now, could he truly bring himself to say it aloud?

He knew he wasn’t the real Asher everyone knew, Azeron didn’t know this. Nobody did. He had awakened in this world under circumstances unknown to him, inhabiting a body and a life that were not originally his.

Although he had no family in his past life, Asher, no, Ethan, had always longed for one. A sister. A brother. A mother. A father. But just because he had wished for it didn’t mean he’d ever searched for it. Despite his wealth in his previous life, he had never once made an effort to track down his biological family.

That unfulfilled longing had created a persistent void within him, a void he had hoped to fill with Jennifer and the family he once intended to build with her.

And now, here stood a man who wasn’t his father, asking to be called one.

Could he decline?

He dared not.

But still, what right did he truly have? What right did he, Ethan, have to usurp the place of someone else’s son? Even if the original Asher had been a coward or a failure, this life, this family, did not rightfully belong to him. It was never meant to.

Yet, he knew better than to open his mouth and confess the truth. He would be jailed or executed on the spot. The Wargraves would never tolerate such a blasphemous act as body possession. After six months of living among them, he had come to understand them to some degree.

If they knew, he would be branded an Emovira.

Although he had grown to accept this role, as Asher, as a Wargrave, as part of this monstrous but fascinating family, these thoughts always clawed their way back. He was human, after all. He had emotions, doubts, insecurities. He wasn’t a machine. He wasn’t cold-blooded.

Yet regardless of what he felt, this was his reality now.

He couldn’t decline.

He had to accept it, if he wished to survive. And if he was being honest with himself, he was beginning to like Malrik and Wuthenya. There was something about them that warmed him, despite the madness in their blood.

Though he would never be the real Asher, and though he would always live with the gnawing guilt of being an imposter, maybe... just maybe... this was his second chance. His chance at familial love. A chance to fill the void that only Jennifer had managed to soften.

A small, almost involuntary smile appeared on his face as he looked at Azeron and responded, ”Yes, Father.”

”How do you feel?” Azeron asked. ”I mean, after all your battles and experiences. Are there any side effects? Any adverse consequences?” His face remained neutral, but deep inside, his heart swelled with a quiet joy.

”No, Father. I’m perfectly fine. Virelasa has precise and thorough healing capabilities,” Asher replied with calm confidence. He had half-expected Virelasa to materialize at the mention of her name, but she remained curiously silent, unbothered, perhaps.

Azeron gave a slight nod, then said, ”Since you’ve completed your first mission, it’s time for a reward.”

Asher’s eyes glinted subtly at the word ’reward.’ He had been awaiting this moment for quite some time.

”As Wargraves, we possess countless techniques,” Azeron began, his voice adopting the tone of an instructor. ”Throughout our existence, we’ve wielded nearly every weapon imaginable.”

”You will be granted two rapier techniques aligned with the lightning element, and one standard movement technique without elemental affinity,” he continued.

But then, his tone shifted, growing heavier.

”However,” Azeron added, pausing as though for effect, ”we are Wargraves. We do not rely solely on what has been handed down. We carve our own paths. We forge our own techniques, unique, personal, unparalleled. The techniques you will receive now are temporary, a stopgap. They are merely to sustain you until you begin creating your own world.”

There was a quiet finality to his words.

Asher’s thoughts stalled for a moment. While techniques were considered gradeless, could someone truly create one from nothing? That level of innovation required vision, talent, and a deep understanding of self.

’Truly... a family of monsters,’ he thought, a strange admiration blooming beneath the weight of expectation.

There was no such thing as a standardized Wargrave technique. Every Sun, Moon, Elder, even the Great Elders, had personally crafted their own original techniques, customized to their weapons, elemental affinities, and any unique abilities they awakened during their True Awakenings.

Asher believed he could create his own, eventually. But he also understood the process would require more than raw talent. It demanded insight, precision, knowledge, and an unshakable foundation. He wouldn’t rush it. He wouldn’t create anything until he was certain, until everything he needed was in place.

”Thank you, Father,” Asher said with sincerity as he bowed once again.

But,he didn’t need these techniques.

Not really.

He already had the techniques he obtained from Hillary. More than that, with his battle instincts, he could analyze and use the techniques of others just by observing them. Why accept a reward that he could acquire elsewhere, without effort?

He opened his mouth to make a request, to voice the true reward he wanted.