CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 595: A Checkmate Move

Asher sighed, the faint sound escaping his lips as he missed his target yet again. It was a slip of composure he hadn't intended to show, revealing the frustration simmering under his steady veneer. Though they had traded thousands of blows, neither had managed to inflict a true wound on the other.

To anyone watching, it might have appeared as though they were perfectly matched in a deadlock of peerless skill. Asher knew better, however; he wasn't blind to the reality of their duel. He realized clearly that he was the one being led, the one serving as a mere subject for evaluation. This fragile balance was merely a prelude, and he knew that when it finally shattered, the result would not be in his favor.

The realization pressed heavily on his consciousness. He had to secure an advantage before the turning point occurred, or he would be obliterated the moment the scales shifted against him.

Dodging Asher’s strike with precise, minimal effort, Debro surged forward, his counterattack unfolding with terrifying speed. His katana arced toward Asher’s knees, the trajectory impeccably efficient, aiming to sever his legs in a single, brutal motion.

Asher’s reaction was instantaneous. His body moved before his mind could even register the threat, his instincts whetted to a lethal sharpness as he launched himself into the air. The katana hissed beneath him, slicing through empty space where his legs had been an instant earlier, the sheer power of the swing creating turbulent ripples in the atmosphere.

As he hovered, Debro’s chained attacks followed without a pause. The man’s movements flowed with seamless grace, unleashing a barrage of sword flashes at his airborne opponent. But the sky was as much Asher’s territory as the earth. Spinning through the air as if treading upon solid ground, he channeled his Star Energy to defy gravity, anchoring himself in the open void.

With ethereal grace, he flickered through a storm of silver katana slashes, weaving between the blades like a dancer. Moments later, he drifted back to the ground with a soft, controlled landing that barely disturbed the dust.

But the second his feet touched the soil, Debro was already there, looming like a predator. His presence was suffocating as he drove his katana toward Asher’s shoulder with a lethal, cleaving intent.

Asher sidestepped with fluid grace, refusing to let thought hinder his reflexes. Yet, the moment he moved, Debro mirrored him perfectly, repositioning himself into Asher’s path as if he had calculated the exact trajectory of his retreat.

Exploding into a violent burst of speed, Debro unleashed a torrential storm of attacks. The barrage descended like an avalanche, sharp and oppressive, as if intending to reduce Asher to shredded remains. Asher didn't need to be told; he could feel it—Debro was increasing the tempo, tightening the noose of pressure with every passing second.

Asher reacted on pure instinct, but this time his response was a fraction of a second too slow. Debro’s mirroring had disrupted his rhythm, and while he blocked the majority of strikes, some slipped through his guard, grazing his skin.

He did not bleed, however. The Star Energy shielding his form dulled the power of the cuts before they could reach his flesh, though the raw impact still rattled his bones.

Without hesitation, Asher flickered backward, creating space to regain control of the battle. He tore across a kilometer in a blink, but the moment he arrived, his instincts screamed. Turning instantly, he slashed his rapier sideways with explosive force. As Virelass cut through the air, it collided with a thunderous impact against Debro, who had somehow appeared exactly where the blade struck.

Debro stood there as if he had been waiting all along, as if Asher had simply walked into his trap rather than escaping it. Without a pause, Debro’s fingers twitched; in a display of absolute mastery, the katana rolled along the back of his palm as he reclaimed his grip, the movement completely seamless.

In the next heartbeat, a deadly arc swept toward Asher’s collarbone. This time, there was no stepping back or parrying; it was far too late to use the rapier for standard defense.

Instead, Asher’s body reacted with frantic speed, shedding his weight as he ducked, his reflexes pushing past their breaking point. He didn't just evade; as he lowered his stance, he lunged forward, driving Virelass directly toward Debro’s heart.

Debro, seeing his own strike fail while a blade raced for his chest, remained perfectly calm. Panic was a stranger to him. He twisted his body with an unnatural, liquid fluidity, slipping past the stab by a mere hair’s breadth.

As Debro shifted, Asher pursued him, mirroring his movement just as Debro had done earlier. Attempting to force a turn in his favor, he redirected his rapier toward Debro’s Achilles, seeking to cripple the man’s mobility.

Debro did not bother to dodge. With absolute confidence, he brought his foot down heavily upon the rapier, pinning it into the earth as though it were a discarded toy. The sheer force of the stomp locked the blade in place, stripping Asher of his ability to reclaim it through raw strength.

Asher didn't waste time trying to wrestle the weapon free. He recognized the futility of such an act. Debro stood at the peak of the Life Rank—a Radiant Wavestar Life Ranker—and competing in physical power would be suicide. Thus, Asher acted without delay.

He let go of the blade entirely.

His body launched upward like a missile, his fingers snapping out like talons toward Debro’s throat.

Debro moved to evade with his usual precision. But in that infinitesimal moment, the method of Asher’s attack transformed. Virelass, pinned beneath Debro’s boot, vanished in a shimmer, only to instantly reappear in Asher’s hand. He gripped the hilt and drove the blade forward, stabbing at Debro’s throat from point-blank range with merciless accuracy.

It was a checkmate.

A flawless strike intended to resolve the duel in a single breath.

Debro’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. He had momentarily forgotten the most vital fact: he was fighting a Wargrave, and a Wargrave’s weapon could never truly be disarmed. It would always return to its master.

He had committed a blunder.

An undeniable, glaring mistake.

As the tip of the blade closed in, mere centimeters from his skin, his perception expanded beyond human limits. The world drained of color, fading into muted shades as time seemingly ground to a halt. The ambient noise vanished, and reality blurred into smudges as his speed surged to unthinkable levels. In that final, fleeting fraction of a second, just before the blade could strike, he moved.

Almost as if he had erased his own existence, Debro vanished from the space entirely, narrowly dodging the killing blow at the final millisecond.