Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 689: Predictable

As Williams closed the distance, his sabre screamed towards Asher’s throat, the air slicing apart in his wake. Asher didn’t rush; he stayed calm as he stared at the incoming attack, and at the last possible moment, he took a step back, dodging the attack with zero wasted movement.

Williams, seeing his first attack miss, linked another attack immediately, his sabre changing path mid-motion as he slashed again, but at Asher’s chest this time, with an accuracy that spoke of both intent and discipline refined through endless practice.

Again, Asher repeated the same evasive motion without a change in expression. Williams simply increased the speed and strength of his attack, the wind howling as he moved again; he thrust five times in an instant, but no matter what he did, it was useless, as the moment his attacks were about to land, Asher would always dodge at the last possible moment, as though time itself bent to accommodate him, yielding to his presence in a manner that defied ordinary perception.

Williams abandoned the upper body, his sabre now streaking towards Asher’s ankle as though he aimed to reduce the boy’s speed and cripple his mobility entirely. Asher’s eyes snapped downwards; as Williams’ blade closed in for his ankle, he simply raised a foot and the attack screamed past him, but Williams immediately followed up with a diagonal upward slash that aimed to tear Asher’s torso apart, the motion seamless and devoid of hesitation.

”Your attacks are too predictable, Williams,” Asher finally spoke as he weaved to the side as though he was the breeze itself; it didn’t seem as though he moved, it seemed as though the wind itself had carried him in that direction, as though he existed in harmony with motion rather than being bound by it.

Hearing Asher’s words, Williams froze for a moment before he continued to attack, but again, he missed, his blade carving through nothing but empty air.

”Just because I talked to you doesn’t mean you should react; if this was a battlefield, that split second of freezing is enough to kill you, Williams,” Asher added as he dodged two consecutive attacks as though he could see the future, his composure remaining utterly unshaken despite the constant assault.

’Since my attacks are too predictable, I will mix feints within them,’ Williams thought to himself, his mind racing as he sought a way to bridge the overwhelming gap between them.

He moved again, his black sabre tearing towards Asher’s heart as though he aimed to cleave it in half, but at the last moment, when Asher usually dodged, he changed the trajectory of his attack, this time aiming towards his waist with lethal motion and force, attempting to outmaneuver the pattern that had been so easily read.

Although he had perfectly timed the exact moment Asher usually dodged, it was still useless; if he had timed Asher, all Asher had to do was reduce the timing by upping his own speed, and with that, Asher’s figure moved again, his body shifting backwards, dodging with effortless ease. Unlike Williams, his body didn’t seem to turn into blurs or phantoms; he simply was at the moment, as though space itself acknowledged his presence and adjusted accordingly.

”Hoo!!! You are learning, merging a feint with the timing of my evasion, nice, but it seems feints are something you never practiced or didn’t bother with until now,” Asher commented like a master who could see the flaws of all his students, his tone neither mocking nor encouraging, but simply factual.

”Besides, when I said your attacks are way too predictable, obviously your next course of action would be feints to make you less predictable, which, at the end of the day, still made you even more predictable,” Asher added without sugarcoating his words, his voice carrying a calm certainty that left no room for denial.

Although Asher spoke, Williams never stopped his attack for even a single second; he absorbed everything Asher said while also attacking with the best efficiency he could muster, his focus sharpening despite the mounting frustration.

’Although I must commend you for the timing of the feint at least,’ Asher mused to himself, as not many people could come up with that on the spot, despite it being the first time they were using feints, a subtle acknowledgment of the boy’s raw potential.

’He truly is talented,’ Asher thought to himself as he dodged another attack, ’he will probably get to the Crownstar Life Rank by sixty or so,’ Asher mused inwardly, not entirely certain, as he was simply making estimations based on Williams’ visible talent and rate of adaptation.

Williams’ grip tightened around his sabre as he unleashed a hundred thrusts with pinpoint accuracy, blasting out attacks along every path of Asher’s body where he could find an opening, his movements driven by both determination and a growing desperation to land even a single hit.

Asher’s body finally turned into a blur of motion as he dodged all hundred attacks simultaneously with measured ease; he didn’t use more strength or speed than necessary. He perfectly measured the rhythm at which Williams was moving and simply matched it, as though he were mirroring a predictable pattern rather than facing a genuine threat.

”Just because you tightened your grip on your weapon doesn’t mean your attacks become deadlier or faster; after all, out of those hundred consecutive attacks, the last thirty were useless and possessed less speed, power, and accuracy than the first seventy,” Asher spoke as his body came to a stop three meters away from Williams, his stance relaxed, as though the exchange had been nothing more than a trivial exercise.

Williams closed the distance again, taking in Asher’s advice in real time, his breathing steady despite the intensity of his movements.

Asher simply continued to speak, unbothered by the frenzy of attacks, ”you should have stopped at seventy; the last thirty simply made you waste time, strength, stamina, efficiency, and created an opening anyone can take advantage of,” his words flowing as effortlessly as his movements.

’To think he could read all one hundred attacks, each at a time, while also dodging... the gap is simply too big,’ Williams thought to himself as he moved, but he was here to learn, so every word that left Asher’s mouth was gold at this moment, something to be absorbed and refined within his own style.

At Asher’s advice, Williams immediately reduced the grip on his sabre by just a fraction, then unleashed seventy consecutive attacks, but again, Asher dodged all of them as though he was entertaining a child who failed to recognize the futility of their own effort, his expression unchanged.

Although Asher gave him advice, it didn’t mean that he would only follow it and not try something new. If he could unleash seventy perfect attacks, why not reduce the number, then channel the speed and strength required for seventy attacks into half that number, concentrating power rather than dispersing it.

His grip tightened again, but this time, it felt more natural, his sword and wrist more balanced, his shoulder leveled with his hand and blade as he moved, his sabre turning into pitch-black blurs that filled the air around Asher, each movement sharper, more deliberate than before.

Asher raised his head to the incoming attack; he could feel it, the wind tearing apart as the attacks approached. They were sharper, faster, more dangerous, and even the wind screamed in response to it, as though acknowledging the subtle yet undeniable improvement in Williams’ technique.