CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 587: Wrong Foot

Debro fixed his gaze on the fallen Emovira before pivoting away, his eyes drifting down to his own tainted boots. With a mere flick of his will, a subtle pulse of Astra energy rippled across him. The crimson stains vanished instantly, restoring his footwear to their original, pristine condition.

Though the Emovira had demonstrated strength far beyond its typical grade, it was nothing more than an inconvenience for Debro. He had dismantled the creature using nothing but sheer physical dominance and martial mastery. There were no activated abilities, no infused Astra energy, and no tools of war employed—just three brisk, effortless strikes that finished the encounter before the beast could register its own demise.

The long-burning ambition for retribution that had driven the Emovira was extinguished like a flicker in a hurricane; it was snuffed out without a struggle, rendered utterly meaningless.

With that business concluded, Debro dissolved from his position. He materialized high in the heavens a moment later, a curve of satisfaction tugging at his mouth. No obstacles remained to bar his path; nothing could deflect his focus from Ethan. Driven by this conviction, he surged forward, slicing through the atmosphere toward Asher’s position, anticipation simmering within his chest.

Asher sat in perfect stillness upon the earth in a cross-legged position. His form was immaculate, his garments untouched by the fray, creating a striking contrast between his own composure and the carnage of the ruined battlefield that surrounded him. One might have thought he was a mere bystander, entirely disconnected from the slaughter that had birthed the debris around him.

Even with his eyes sealed shut, Asher’s Star Sense and Omni Perception remained at their zenith. He had no way of predicting Debro’s reaction upon arrival. Would he be consumed by rage? Would he unravel in a fit of fury? Would he launch an immediate strike? Lacking answers, Asher opted for the prudent choice: he stayed put, electing to let the confrontation unfold on his own terms.

He could not have known that the man he awaited had spent an eternity waiting for him as well, patiently biding his time for the end of Asher’s skirmish so that they might reunite—not as adversaries, but for a connection far more intimate.

All at once, a booming shockwave vibrated through the air above. Asher’s violet eyes snapped open, his head whipping upward to greet the encroaching aura. Although he had not yet seen the visitor, he knew the truth.

Debro.

Within moments, Debro descended into view. He slowed his momentum until he was hovering in the air, peering down at Asher. Asher did not utter a word, merely meeting the gaze, his purple eyes locked onto Debro’s dark ones.

A heavy quiet draped itself over the ruins. Distant leaves rustled in the breeze, yet to these two, such background noise was nonexistent. Their sensory focus had stripped away all distractions, fastening solely upon one another, though for completely divergent motives.

Asher’s heightened senses were primed to recoil or deflect any sudden aggression. He remained ignorant of Debro’s true potential. Given that those ranked Number One through Six had all wielded lethal and exotic powers, it stood to reason that their superior would possess something infinitely more perilous.

Debro’s perspective, however, was anchored by an entirely different agenda. His eyes tracked every nuance of Asher’s presence. The shape of his lips, those vivid amethyst eyes, the fine purple lashes, the subtle pulse of his blinking, the texture of his hair, the grace of his cheeks, the razor-sharp jawline, the bridge of his nose, the entirety of his face, the steady rise and fall of the chest against the breastplate, the physique, the stature—every tiny detail was seared permanently into Debro’s consciousness.

Without warning, a gentle smile blossomed on Debro’s face.

Asher felt the tug of bewilderment at that expression, yet his defenses remained unyielding. He did not dare lower his guard, not even for a heartbeat.

"It seems we began on the wrong foot," Debro stated, shattering the stillness like breaking glass, his smile lingering. With masterly grace, he dropped from the sky, his feet meeting the earth with a feather-light touch.

"I’m Debro. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he added, his voice dripping with an uncanny, gentle warmth.

The more Asher observed, the more profound his confusion became. He had braced himself for a lethal struggle the second Debro materialized, fully expecting to risk his life. Instead, here stood the man, beaming and offering introductions as if they had merely suffered a minor social misunderstanding.

Asher held his tongue, his vigilance intact. He made no attempt to strike first. Though Debro appeared relaxed, Asher was not deceived. He could detect that even in this casual posture, Debro’s mind and body remained coiled, ready to react in a split second to any opening or hostility.

Observing Asher’s continued silence, Debro pressed on, entirely unmoved. In his estimation, love was a matter of patience.

"I suspect the name you gave me previously was a fabrication," Debro noted with calm composure. "I further assume every detail you shared was crafted falsehood. While Ethan is an appealing name, I am certain your true identity is far more exquisite. So... what might you be called?"

He paused, genuinely expecting an answer.

Once before, Asher had masqueraded as Ethan, even asserting that the Seer went by the same title. Despite his lack of desire for a long dialogue, he decided to provide a response.

"Is that information truly of interest to you?" Asher returned, his tone level, his expression vacant of emotion.

"It is," Debro replied immediately, his smile sincere.

"Asher," he answered simply, opting not to hide his lineage further.

"Asher..." Debro repeated the name quietly, as if savoring its flavor, recording it deeply into his soul. "A sturdy na—"

Before he could continue, Asher interjected sharply. "Asher Wargrave, Tenth Sun of the Ducal Wargrave Family," he stated with detached finality.

As those syllables registered, Debro’s breath failed him, as if his physical rhythm had been physically halted. His eyes widened in undisguised shock as the weight of the name "Wargrave" thundered through his thoughts.

Though he had never personally brushed shoulders with Asher Wargrave, the label was legendary throughout the Zarethorn Empire. Asher was notorious as the so-called black sheep of his bloodline, a reputation that had traveled far and wide. Furthermore, the specifics of his later exploits were largely guarded secrets held by the nobility.

Debro struggled to discern if this was another deception. If it were a lie, however, it was a catastrophically dangerous one. No soul, not even the shadowy organization he served, would dare adopt the Wargrave name without absolute cause.

For a fleeting moment, silence reclaimed the space between them. For the first time in his memory, Debro found himself completely devoid of words.

Could his burgeoning obsession truly survive the daunting shadow and reach of the Wargrave house?