CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 589: Casual Kick

Asher remained silent in response to Debro, acknowledging the accuracy of his claims. Although the Wargrave family was comprised of monsters, they respected the established power hierarchy and did not leap across power levels without reason. While they were capable of overcoming opponents within their own Life Rank, they rarely defied the boundaries of an entire Major Life Rank, let alone two. Such a feat was considered nearly impossible, even for their monstrous standards.

While this might seem trivial, this very boundary set the Wargraves apart from common geniuses. Once one reached the Swiftstar Life Rank, the scale of evolution and individual power shifted dramatically. From that threshold onward, every subtle change in sub-Life Rank represented a massive increase in raw power, refined control, and overall mastery.

Debro spoke the truth, yet he failed to realize he was addressing Asher, a cultivator who had attained the Swiftstar Life Rank a mere year after awakening. No other individual in the storied history of Crymora had achieved such a milestone, a record that defied all logic and pointed toward a potential far greater than any ordinary genius.

Asher offered no rebuttal to Debro’s words; there was no logic in debating an insane and twisted adversary. He held his position, waiting for a vulnerability while forcing himself to remain calm. He refused to act blindly, narrowing his entire focus to the present moment with unwavering precision.

Observing Asher’s silence, Debro delivered a final message, "Don’t force my hand, Ash." He used that nickname as if they shared a long history, a forced familiarity that felt both unearned and deeply unsettling to Asher.

To Asher, however, it was just a name; he saw no purpose in reacting to it or granting his attacker any acknowledgment.

"I apologize in advance, Ash," Debro murmured. Though a shadow of regret lingered in his voice, his presence suddenly surged, crashing down upon Asher’s shoulder like an descending comet. He had employed this tactic once before to force Asher to his knees; to him, it remained the most efficient way to subdue the youth and drag him back to his domain with minimal fuss.

Asher felt the crushing pressure settling onto his back as if the weight of Crymora itself were bearing down on him. Despite the overwhelming force, he did not falter. He stood motionless with an expression of cold indifference. During their previous encounter, he had submitted to avoid acting prematurely, but now, there was no reason to pretend he was weak or obedient.

Asher’s gaze drifted to the blade hanging at Debro’s waist. 'So he wields a katana; he truly is the male mirror of that woman, Doris,' he thought, refusing to avert his eyes as his senses sharpened to their absolute limits.

"It appears your talent exceeds what the Empire has reported, just as I expected, Ash," Debro noted, impressed by how easily the youth withstood his pressure. Yet, the moment the final word left his mouth, he vanished from his original position, reappearing instantly beside Asher without a single tremor of movement.

His speed eclipsed the wind, sound, and the force of a sonic boom. As he manifested next to Asher, he raised his leg with a movement that seemed deceptively slow, yet was faster than anything Asher had ever witnessed. With the power of a shattering war drum, his foot surged toward Asher’s chest, the strike so overwhelming it seemed to fracture the very air like fragile glass.

Asher was stunned. The man had moved entirely beyond his perception; it was as if Debro had never been in front of him, having existed beside him all along, invisible and untouchable.

Every instinct in Asher’s body shrieked of impending death. A frigid chill raced down his spine, his blood turned to ice, and his vessels contracted as his circulation surged instinctively. Even without visually processing the strike, his body reacted. His Absolute Physique surged, while his Battle Intuition, Instinctive Adaptation, and Optimal Movement Efficiency ignited like crashing supernovas. His mind surrendered control to his subconscious, forcing his body into a state of pure, raw reflex.

Asher instinctively crossed his forearms in front of his chest, creating a desperate but sturdy shield. A fraction of a second later, Debro’s foot collided with his arms, the impact reverberating throughout his limbs and torso like a localized earthquake.

Asher felt the collision in agonizing detail; before he could even register the strike, he was hurled backward like a kite caught in a hurricane. He tore through trees as if they were made of parchment, shattering them upon impact. He bounced across the earth like a projectile, slamming into a mountain side that crumbled before him, and finally, he came to a violent halt buried deep into a distant hillside, much like a nail driven by a hammer.

As movement ceased, only one sensation remained for Asher: agony.

It was a raw, unfiltered pain, unlike anything he had ever endured. Every fiber of his being and every organ shrieked in protest, his mind barely able to process the sensory overload of his nerves screaming in a relentless, endless cycle of misery.

Asher lay still, feeling more fragile than ever before. With one casual kick, Debro had flung him over two kilometers. His body was a ruin; his hands were mangled, his bones reduced to shards, and his muscles shredded into near-nothingness. The damage was total and catastrophic.

His spine remained fractured from the brutal force of repeated collisions, the sheer kinetic energy of Debro’s strike proving monstrous in its intensity.

Blood flowed freely from his mouth, ears, and eyes. He had lost teeth, his lips hung in tatters, and his breastplate had been pulverized into useless fragments scattered across the vicinity. His vambraces had been sheared off by the force, leaving his arms exposed, though his greaves remained stubbornly intact on his legs.

Pinned against the side of the hill, blood painting the rock face, Asher slumped into a seated position, a long trail of red marking the path of his descent.

With nothing more than a casual kick, Debro had revealed the terrifying dominance a Wavestar Life Rank cultivator possessed—a level of strength that rendered distance, durability, and defense entirely irrelevant.