CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 588: I can’t

Debro was rendered absolutely speechless upon hearing Asher’s true identity.

'A Wargrave,' he whispered to himself, the sheer gravity of that name anchors within his mind, resonating as though possessed of an autonomous spirit.

He dared not suspect Asher of dishonesty; after all, one would sooner masquerade as the Emperor than claim to be a Wargrave, for the lethal repercussions of such a ruse far exceeded the finality of death.

Debro held his tongue, and a thick, suffocating silence descended between them. While his affection for Asher was genuine, he could not help but question if his feelings could survive the overwhelming influence of the Wargrave family—a dynasty that defied all mortal reason.

His thoughts drifted toward the Duke himself, Azaron Wargrave, a man who reigned supreme and unchallenged. Mere echoes of his name instilled trembling terror in the masses; his very existence was a harbinger of catastrophe.

Then there was the First Sun, Malrik, rumored to eclipse the strength of his own father, a prodigy who defied all ancestral limitations.

There was Wuthenya, the Second Moon, whose movements were more lethal than any master assassin, regarded as death walking among the living. And the twins, the Third Sun and Third Moon, whose combined synergy could effortlessly rewrite the laws of warfare.

The more Debro dwelled on the members of the Sun and Moon, the more the silence between him and Asher stretched, turning stifling as if reality itself commanded him to withdraw.

Any of them could obliterate him in a heartbeat; he would be erased before he could even process an attack. Could he truly stand before such titans and proclaim love for one of their own? It didn't take much thought to realize that the moment those words left his lips, he—and anyone linked to his name—would be scrubbed from the face of Crymora, denied even the mercy of a memory.

His hand balled into a fist, resolve kindling within him as he locked eyes with Asher. The younger man’s gaze held a quiet confusion that barely camouflaged a rising sense of annoyance.

Though Asher was oblivious to the specifics of Debro's internal conflict, he could sense a significant turning point, watching as Debro’s expression cycled through various emotions before settling into a rigid, desperate intensity.

"I have a confession," Debro announced suddenly, his voice sharp and steady as he fixed his gaze on Asher, his eyes brimming with a fragile, strange hope.

Asher remained silent, offering no inquiry as to the nature of the confession. He simply studied the man, certain that Debro would eventually spill his secrets without any further prodding.

Observing Asher’s refusal to speak, Debro continued, "I think I am in love with you." He declared this plainly, his voice unwavering despite the weight of his admission.

The moment those words landed, Asher froze in utter disbelief. He was stunned; even he, a master of controlling his features, felt his composure slip, if only for an instant.

Asher had envisioned many potential outcomes for his dynamic with Debro, but never this.

He was familiar with Debro’s twisted inclinations, but love? How such a sentiment could manifest in mere hours was beyond Asher's comprehension, nor did he care to understand. Before he could retort, Debro pressed on, carried by the boldness inherent to one at the Wavestar Life Rank.

"I am aware you placed me in an illusion, I know it was artificial," he stated, his tone jarringly calm compared to his chaotic emotions. "But... those moments within that dream were the pinnacle of my life. My own harem cannot offer such genuine feelings. Since the illusion fractured, you are all I think about. You have conquered my mind and my very soul, Asher Wargrave." Debro held Asher’s stare with unblinking fixation.

Asher stared back, silent. 'What kind of deranged degenerate is this?' he thought, his mind recoiling at the absurdity.

Was a man over a century old truly professing devotion to an eighteen-year-old? An old man seeking to claim a youth who had barely touched adulthood—it was profoundy repulsive.

For perhaps the first time in either of his lives—be it as Ethan or Asher—he bore a frown of pure, baffled disgust, completely robbed of words.

"What say you, Asher Wargrave? I am prepared to stand by your side to the—" Debro was cut short by Asher’s sharp, decisive retort.

"No!" He uttered the word with a flat, finality that left absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

Debro paused, meeting Asher’s glare with a faint, detached smile. "That is fine. Love requires time to bloom between two souls. It is rare for two hearts to be struck by love at first sight, after all," he remarked, as if he were an authority on the nature of intimacy.

Asher’s frown finally vanished, his face resetting into a mask of indifference. He exhaled, a subtle release of his mounting irritation. "I am growing weary of your drivel, Debro," he muttered, his gaze piercing. "Do you truly love me?"

Debro nodded immediately, faster than a blink, seemingly terrified that hesitation might undermine his declaration.

"If your love is true, then commit suicide right here," Asher said with utter apathy. If Debro killed himself, it would save him the inconvenience of a fight.

Debro’s expression froze, then he shook his head. "I cannot."

"Then there is nothing left to discuss," Asher added, his patience clearly eroding.

"You do not have to believe me yet," Debro urged, unwilling to let the matter drop. "Just return to my personal base with me, and I am certain you will understand within a few days," he said, his smile carrying a sinister undertone clearly unrelated to affection.

"So, you intend to take me by force," Asher replied coldly, his senses sharpening as he prepared for the clash to come.

"Do not make me drag you, Asher. You may be a Wargrave, but you are at the Swiftstar Life Rank while I reside at the Wavestar Life Rank. That is a two-major-rank gap—a bottomless abyss. Even a Wargrave cannot bridge such a chasm, regardless of your battle talent," Debro argued, masking his aggression under a thin guise of concern.