Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 145: Letter

Asher’s gaze swept over the broken and cracked buildings, their fractured walls seeming as though they could collapse at any moment under the weight of their own decay. Dust clung to their surfaces, and faint echoes of a once-thriving town seemed to linger in the air.

The carriage pushed forward with a steady rhythm, wheels creaking over the uneven road.

From the shadowed mouths of narrow alleys, children stood watching, their faces pale and eyes wide. Some merely stood still, silent observers of the world around them, while others sat on weathered steps, their attention fixed on the passing carriages with an unreadable mixture of wonder and weariness.

Asher did not speak; instead, he simply observed in silence. His sharp eyes missed nothing, the small movements of the children, the faded colors of the buildings, the faint scent of damp earth.

Along the roadside, knights clad in armor patrolled in pairs, their movements deliberate and measured, as though their very presence was all that kept the fragile order of the town intact.

”Do you want to look around first?” Xavienne’s voice broke the quiet, her tone tinged with mild curiosity as she noticed Asher’s curious gaze through the carriage window.

”No,” Asher replied flatly, his voice devoid of hesitation.

Though a part of him was tempted to explore, to see for himself the life and decay of the streets, he knew better. The attention his presence would draw as the son of a Duke was not worth the inconvenience. The thought of strangers staring and whispering, their eyes following his every step, left him cold.

Where others of noble blood might relish such attention, seeing it as validation of their status, Asher only ever felt like an exotic beast on display, something caged for the amusement of others.

Xavienne gave a small, understanding nod, and the carriage continued its steady course.

Before long, it slowed and came to a halt before a large building of pale stone. Beside it stood another, smaller structure, where people could be seen coming and going, their pace brisk, their faces set with purpose.

Raising her hand with effortless grace, Xavienne summoned a golden-black envelope into existence. Its surface shimmered faintly, as though reflecting light that wasn’t truly there. She handed it to Asher.

”This is your admission letter,” she said calmly. ”You will be asked for it in that building.” Her hand gestured towards the smaller structure they had stopped beside.

Asher gave a simple nod. With a mere thought, the letter disappeared into the storage of his space ring.

At the same moment, Xavienne and her twin brother, Xavian, rose smoothly from their seats. Asher followed without delay. The carriage door swung open, and the maid and butler, who had been waiting outside, bowed deeply, standing to either side in a show of perfect discipline.

The moment they stepped down onto the cobblestone street, a wave of gazes crashed over them. Dozens of eyes fixed upon their figures, sharp and unblinking, as though seeking to pierce through skin and bone. Yet Asher and the twins did not so much as flicker an eyelash in acknowledgment.

They moved forward in silence, crossing the short distance to the second building with effortless composure.

Asher pushed open the large double doors and stepped inside. A spacious hall stretched before him, its polished floor reflecting the muted light from the high windows. At the far end, a table and chair were positioned against the wall, and behind the table sat a woman, her posture impeccable, her expression calm.

A single line extended from her table to the center of the hall. From the bearing of those standing in it, Asher could easily guess they were all invitees of the Academy.

The sound of the doors closing behind him drew attention. Heads turned toward the entrance, eyes narrowing in curiosity, then widening in shock.

”The Wargraves are here,” someone murmured, the words carrying through the hall despite their low tone.

”Is that the Tenth Sun?” another whispered. ”I’d heard rumors he would attend, but didn’t he only awaken on his third attempt? How could he survive the Academy with such poor talent?”

”I heard he defeated the son of a Duke. Doesn’t that mean he’s talented?” a voice asked, laced with genuine confusion.

”Please,” another scoffed, ”everyone knows Ryan Silvershade is barely talented. Without his Bloodline abilities, even a commoner could defeat him.”

”Exactly. Even the Star Academy didn’t bother sending him an invitation, it was his twin sister who received one,” someone else added in a conspiratorial tone.

One girl sighed softly. ”Still... isn’t the Tenth Sun far too handsome? Even the Third Sun and Third Moon standing beside him pale in comparison.”

Her companion shot her a horrified look. ”Are you insane? Do you want us to lose our heads before we’ve even entered the Academy?”

Asher heard every word, every insult, every praise, every speculation, but neither he nor the twins reacted. His face remained unreadable as he took his place at the end of the line.

”Since we’ve escorted you this far, it’s time for us to take our leave, youngest,” Xavian said, his voice calm but final.

”Say hello to Thalric,” Xavienne added, her tone neutral, her face giving nothing away.

Asher inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Without another word, the twins turned and departed, leaving the building with a swiftness that suggested they had no desire to remain within Canestane territory a moment longer than necessary.

The line inched forward steadily. One by one, the woman at the table attended to each person, and they would then head toward a door on the left side of the room. Though Asher could feel the occasional glance being thrown in his direction, he paid it no mind. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression a mask of indifference.

Minutes passed. Finally, it was his turn.

”Letter,” the woman said plainly, her voice carrying the calmness of someone used to being obeyed.

Without a word, Asher retrieved the golden-black letter from his space ring and handed it to her. She tore it open and pressed it against an orb, roughly the size of a basketball, resting on the table.

”Asher Wargrave, correct?” she asked.

”Correct,” Asher replied in the same flat tone as before.

Within the orb, his name and likeness appeared in the form of a holographic image, confirming his identity.

”You may proceed to the next room. Next,” the woman instructed, already turning her attention to the person behind him.

Asher walked toward the door to his left, the one everyone had been entering from the start.

Beyond it lay a chamber filled with people waiting in silence. Some sat with eyes closed, perhaps meditating or simply resting; others leaned against the walls, attempting to appear nonchalant.

His purple eyes swept the room, taking in every detail. With only a glance, he could distinguish between nobles and commoners, the cut of their clothing, the way they carried themselves, the subtle arrogance or humility in their posture.

Several heads turned toward him as he entered, but he ignored them completely.

Moving with calm, deliberate steps, he selected a seat in a shadowed corner. Lowering himself gracefully, he crossed one leg over the other. Then, as if shutting out a world too dull and flawed to hold his attention, Asher closed his eyes.

And in that stillness, he waited.