Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 411: Soul

Apollo Wargrave could be seen sitting atop the branch of a tall tree, a piece of fruit resting casually in his hand as he stared down at the assassins surrounding him. He bit into it with an almost insulting nonchalance, chewing leisurely as though the ring of killers encircling him simply did not exist. Resting across his lap lay his soul-bound weapon, his scythe, pure black in color, as though it had been carved directly from the abyss itself, its presence alone exuding an eerie pressure that seemed to weigh upon the forest.

”Why are you lot here?” Apollo asked lazily, continuing to munch on the fruit. ”Can’t you sense the difference in power between us?”

He swallowed before continuing, his tone casual and almost bored.

”I’m a Wargrave, you know. The chances of you winning against me are abysmal. You’d have better odds against the Wargrave Knights. I’m sure they’d be happy to accommodate you by sending you off to the world of the dead.”

Yet none of the assassins responded. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move. They simply stared at him in silence.

Apollo Wargrave possessed bright crimson hair and matching red eyes that glowed faintly even beneath the forest canopy. Among all ten Wargrave siblings, he was known as the laziest, and paradoxically, one of the most talkative when on a battlefield. His demeanor was relaxed to the point of mockery, his posture careless, as though this entire situation were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

His personality was something his enemies could never quite understand.

He loved battlefields, he loved the stench of blood, the suffocating presence of death, the screams and chaos that filled the air when lives were torn apart. Yet despite that love, he rarely lifted his weapon to participate directly. More often than not, he preferred to simply observe the carnage from the sidelines, watching as others fought, bled, and died.

To Apollo, the battlefield was a feast even if he never swung his blade.

”Sigh...” he murmured softly to himself, his voice laced with mild annoyance. ”Why don’t people ever listen when I give advice?”

Taking the final bite of his fruit, he tossed the remains aside. His red eyes sharpened as they focused on the assassins before him in earnest, the casual amusement fading ever so slightly.

The assassins immediately tensed.

The moment Apollo’s gaze settled upon them, a subtle yet suffocating pressure washed over their senses. Throughout the entire Zarethorne Empire, the Fifth Sun was one of the most mysterious Wargraves in existence. His awakened affinity was almost completely unknown, those who had witnessed it had all died, one way or another. Even the awakened ability of his scythe remained an enigma.

It wasn’t that the Wargrave family actively suppressed information about him.

Such information simply... vanished.

Although Apollo Wargrave was considered lazy by Wargrave standards, his talent spoke louder than any effort ever could. Despite his indolence, he stood firmly at the Flare Voidstar Life Rank, stronger than even his elder siblings, the Third Sun and the Third Moon.

It wasn’t that he was particularly hardworking, rather, his scythe’s ability had made effort almost unnecessary.

That very ability was the reason he was the ridiculous existence he was today.

”Let me help you meet your maker,” Apollo intoned lazily.

His expression remained blank, almost apathetic. But the moment those words left his lips, he vanished.

He crossed the distance between himself and the assassins with frightening ease. The air did not distort. It did not scream. It didn’t even seem to acknowledge his movement, as though reality itself failed to register his speed.

The assassins’ eyes widened in pure shock.

They had been ready. Their senses were pushed to their absolute peak, honed to track even Voidstar-level movements. They had prepared themselves to react to the Fifth Sun’s speed, but with nothing more than a casual motion, Apollo rendered all their preparations meaningless.

Before any of them could blink or even begin to react, Apollo’s wrist glitched out of reality itself. His scythe flashed in a lethal circular arc, a streak of absolute blackness that moved faster than any assassin present could perceive.

For a single heartbeat, the world froze.

Then the heads of the first ten assassins were severed cleanly, soaring into the sky with immaculate ease and horrifying finesse. Blood rained across the forest floor, splattering against brown earth and trampled weeds, the metallic stench hanging thick in the air. The remaining assassins immediately retreated, tearing backward without hesitation as they created distance between themselves and the Fifth Sun. Without missing a beat, they transitioned into their attack techniques, fully aware that striking first was their only remaining chance.

”Such dark souls...” Apollo muttered absentmindedly.

Floating above his open palm were ten glowing dark orbs, each pulsing faintly with malevolent light. They were souls, fresh, intact, and screaming silently within his grasp.

Before the attacks of the remaining assassins could even reach him, the dark orbs flared violently. They brightened in a sudden surge of darkness before detonating all at once.

The explosion was lethal.

Everything within several kilometers was erased in an instant, trees, soil, rock, air itself reduced to nothing but annihilation and madness. The forest was torn apart as though a god had struck it down in wrath.

When the dust finally settled, Apollo stood alone at the epicenter, he remained lazy and relaxed, his posture unchanged, red eyes drifting toward where the remaining assassins had once been.

They were gone, erased before they could even react.

Apollo shook his head lightly, ”I warned you,” he muttered, disappointment evident in his tone.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his scythe resting perfectly balanced across his shoulders as though it weighed nothing at all.

Apollo Wargrave’s awakened affinity was Soul.

He could see souls. Manipulate them. Read them to a certain extent, allowing him to perform absurd feats that bordered on the incomprehensible. The ten dark orbs he had detonated earlier were the souls of the assassins he had killed first. Using his soul manipulation ability, he had forcefully compressed and detonated them simultaneously, erasing miles of terrain from existence.

The reason Apollo could afford to be lazy was precisely because of this affinity. His scythe possessed a unique passive ability, it increased his Life Rank simply by being present on a battlefield. That was one of the reasons he loved joining battles but rarely fought directly.

Why fight, when he could sit back, watch, and grow stronger simply by existing? There was no need to exert himself. No need to stress. Hence, his title as the laziest Wargrave.

With this ability, he had already surpassed both Xavier and Xavienne, growing stronger than the two of them. At this moment, only the First Sun and the Second Moon stood above him in power.

He walked calmly through the ruined forest, his expression apathetic, until his red eyes landed upon an ongoing battle, his elder sister locked in combat with an assassin. Without wasting a moment, Apollo leaped effortlessly onto a nearby tree, found the perfect branch, and seated himself comfortably.

Raising a hand, a bowl of fruit materialized out of thin air. He began munching lazily, eyes focused on the escalating fight below.

Deep down, Apollo knew the truth.

His scythe’s ability didn’t merely increase his Life Rank by being present on a battlefield, it did so by absorbing the souls of the dead. As someone who could see and read souls, he could literally feel his body converting them into Astra energy in real time, without him needing to do anything at all.

However, he also understood the limitations.

He couldn’t absorb souls weaker than himself, they were worthless, offering no increase to his Astra reserves. That was why he had detonated the ten assassin souls earlier without hesitation. The souls he absorbed had to be equal to or stronger than him.

Absorbing the soul of a Crownstar Life Ranker like Valentine, the Assassin Guild Leader, wouldn’t instantly propel him into the Crownstar Life Rank either. In Crymora, every ability had limits, even his Soul affinity.

Still, it was enough.

As he continued to eat, Apollo waited patiently for his sister to finish her opponent. Once she did, he would simply absorb the assassin’s soul, effortlessly.

Simple. Easy. Efficient. Perfect.

To Apollo Wargrave, this was utter bliss.

What could possibly be more perfect than this? The answer was simply, nothing.