CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 5: Handkerchief

Ethan wiped his mouth using the napkin on the table, indicating that his meal was complete.

Twenty minutes on the dot later, the door swung open behind him as Lyra stepped inside.

She efficiently cleared away the plates with her usual elegance, stacking them carefully on the serving cart.

Ethan's words stopped her right as she was about to push the cart toward the kitchen.

"Let some other servant handle that. We're heading to the Family Library together," he instructed, standing up fluidly from his seat.

"As you wish, Young Master," Lyra responded, letting go of the cart. She proceeded to the door, opening it silently and precisely, while Ethan passed through without delay.

As he traversed the vast hall, Ethan's gaze scanned the surroundings, striving to keep a neutral face, yet he couldn't quite manage it. A faint sparkle flickered in his eyes, making them gleam like far-off stars.

Brilliant hues and shine emanated from the walls, as if they received constant polishing throughout the day. Sophisticated lamps adorned the walls, their golden luster creating the appearance of real gold plating.

Certain wall areas consisted purely of transparent glass, and the ground was covered by a lavish red carpet that murmured extravagance with each footfall.

Even though Ethan experienced riches in his previous existence, the sight before him went beyond mere wealth—this was true extravagance at its finest.

Lyra, trailing a short distance back, didn't catch the changes in Ethan's look. If she had glimpsed his expression then, she might have thought him drunk on the aroma of riches alone.

During the beginning of his prior life, Ethan faced nothing but hardship. Growing up in an orphanage that even limited water supplies, he learned to view money not just as indulgence, but as a mark of liberty and authority. In that old realm, fortune controlled sway; the wealthier someone was, the more powerful their position.

'While I'd enjoy investigating every nook here, the library comes first,' Ethan pondered silently.

Ethan's eyes landed momentarily on a maid coming from the front. Immediately, his face turned into a veil of apathy. All offspring of the Primarch were famous for their impassive, inscrutable faces, something Ethan had noted swiftly from Asher’s recollections.

Although he didn’t plan to keep their icy attitude forever, this wasn’t the moment to draw attention. Until he grasped his present circumstances and role completely, it was best to blend in.

"Good morning, Tenth Sun," the maid said, offering a deep bow of respect.

Ethan gave no response. He continued onward past her without even looking, flawlessly mimicking the detachment that Asher was expected to show.

This mirrored how Asher behaved, aloof and remote. For the time being, Ethan needed to do the same, to avoid exposing himself prematurely.

'From Asher’s memories, the male successors get called Suns, and the females are known as Moons. Lucky for this world that feminism hasn’t spread, or the online uproar would be massive,' Ethan reflected.

"Young Master, might I inquire why we're bound for the library?" Lyra asked, keeping her proper space, exactly two steps trailing Ethan. Close enough to act quickly if required, but not so near as to intrude.

In the Wargrave family, servants or butlers were barred from probing a Young heir on matters beyond their specific tasks. Yet, those chosen right at the birth of a Sun or Moon—the Primarch’s offspring—received a special allowance.

These chosen servants acted not just as helpers but nearly as extra guardians in their roles, their status based on the closeness of their connection and the quality of service they provided to their assigned heir.

Lyra belonged to this group of attendants.

"You're aware that my last shot at awakening is just days from now," Ethan stated, his voice steady and even. "I'm certain the whispers have reached you: if I fail once more, expulsion from the family awaits."

Without turning or reducing speed, he pressed on along the hallway.

"I'm merely visiting the library to seek out the best spot to reside... in case that fate unfolds," he continued, slipping the falsehood smoothly into his speech.

Telling Lyra the real reason—that he sought the library to learn about this world’s history and collect details—would only spark suspicions. Plus, drawing from the numerous stories he’d consumed, banishment was far more complicated than it appeared.

Ethan realized that the instant he was proclaimed exiled, survival past the next sunrise would be unlikely. Perhaps not even the coming hour.

Even having Lyra with him, he knew well that they’d dispatch at least two foes superior to her to block or eliminate her, should she try to help.

The remaining Suns and Moons would act without delay. The second he crossed the family threshold, some "unfortunate incident" would await.

Murder was unavoidable. Banishment served merely as a more elegant term for death.

A flutter stirred in Lyra’s chest, an unspoken quiver racing through her. Unspoken phrases lodged in her mouth, hesitant and unclear. From his birth, she had dressed him, nourished him, washed him. He exceeded being just her responsibility; he formed a core piece of her existence, woven into her daily habits and recollections.

Yet at this point, silence was all she could offer as she walked.

No phrase she uttered would ring true, none could lighten the burden of his statement. Thus, she remained quiet, offering only silent hopes. Hopes that this occasion, he would finally awaken.

Oblivious to Lyra’s emotional storm within, Ethan kept his focus on the splendor around him. He marveled at each elaborate feature, his thoughts already wandering to dreams of boundless riches.

He ignored the servants who passed by, their figures blending into obscurity as images of the vast inheritance he could claim overtook his mind.

In short order, Ethan reached the imposing doors of the library. As his hand extended toward the entrance, a voice pierced the quiet.

"Hoo... if it isn’t the Tenth Sun," the voice sneered, laced with contempt, making no effort to hide it.

Ethan pivoted to find the Ninth Sun, Thalric Wargrave, positioned there, a triumphant grin twisting his mouth.

Recollections from Asher surged into Ethan’s thoughts. He remembered how Thalric had hounded Asher without mercy, not through physical blows or weapons, but via taunts more cutting than steel.

No bodily harm had ever befallen Asher, not due to Thalric’s reluctance, but on account of the Primarch’s firm rule: Suns and Moons could not lay hands on each other except in formal combats.

"Looks like you've crawled out from your hole at last, convinced you'll succeed in the awakening this round?" Thalric jeered, his derisive grin holding steady.

Typically, Asher would have recoiled or fled to dodge such clashes with his kin. But Ethan differed entirely from Asher, past and present.

Still, he saw no point in squandering effort on verbal jabs with an idiot just a year his senior.

Ethan reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Silently, he lifted it to shield his nose and mouth, then walked beyond Thalric into the library, displaying utter nonchalance.

No verbal retort was needed; the action stung more fiercely than any slur, a wordless dismissal that wounded profoundly.

Thalric remained rooted, shocked mute, struggling to accept the scene he’d just observed.

Lyra trailed Ethan, a subtle, aware smile on her lips. After all, this marked the initial instance where Asher had refused to yield.

Though unspoken, the impact lingered clearly.