CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 597: Sick Skull

Asher lay within a crater, his body broken and coughing blood, yet a grin persisted on his lips. He rose with agonizing slowness, shifting until he rested on his knees. He could hear Debro drawing near, moving with the heavy confidence of a battlefield ruler—which, at this moment, he truly was. The man stopped two meters away, watching Asher’s flesh knit itself back together with a calm, predatory gaze.

A thick silence stretched between them, heavier than any words could ever be. It was a suffocating, stagnant stillness that pressed against the battlefield. Neither combatant moved, the tension vibrating between them like a bowstring pulled to its absolute limit, as if the very atmosphere was frozen, waiting for the inevitable snap.

Asher wasn’t merely waiting; he was plotting. This was the moment the equilibrium finally shifted. With perfect precision, he activated his Perfect Astra Control. He manipulated the photons touching Debro’s eyes to weave a fresh illusion. He executed the technique with chilling focus, leaving no room for a single lapse in judgment.

Not wasting a heartbeat, he launched himself from the crater like a bolt from a crossbow. He became a blur, his rapier whistling toward the man’s throat with terrifying velocity. The raw power of his strike tore through the air, producing a sharp, piercing shriek that resonated across the scarred earth.

Though it seemed as if the illusion would guarantee victory, Asher knew better. Individuals like Debro possessed monstrous danger-sense and instincts forged in the crucible of countless near-death encounters. Even trapped in a mind-trick, such predators could sense an incoming strike and retaliate.

That was precisely why Asher had waited for this specific opening—the moment Debro felt his control was absolute and allowed his guard to drop. It was the perfect window. Even if the man caught the movement, Asher would at least be able to carve a chunk from his neck, shifting the tides of battle in his favor, even if only slightly.

Just as his steel was mere centimeters from severing Debro’s spine, the man’s hand blurred. With effortless grace, Debro caught the rapier between his index and middle fingers. He moved without urgency, as if he possessed all the time in the world.

Asher stood frozen, his mind wiped clean by an overwhelming wave of disbelief. He refused to accept what his own eyes were documenting.

Debro hadn't reacted based on instinct or danger-sense. He had moved as if he saw the strike coming long before it arrived. His calm expression betrayed a level of awareness that far eclipsed mere reflexes.

Asher felt lost. Beyond the fact that his plan had been shredded like fragile parchment in a storm, he couldn't fathom how Debro had become immune to his light-based arts—the very cornerstone of his strategy was now completely inert.

It had been effective once before. If this were tied to Debro’s inherent abilities, the first attempt should have failed as well. The contradiction only served to deepen his confusion.

Debro stared down at Asher with a look of bored indifference. "Your photon illusions are impressive, but they no longer work on me," he stated, his voice ringing with unsettling conviction.

Before Asher could catch his breath, he felt a fist bury itself into his freshly healed gut. His stomach seemed to cave inward from the sheer weight of the blow, and he was sent flying backward. His body tumbled across the ground like a skipping stone, each brutal collision sending jolts of agony through his nerves.

For the first time, Asher had met an opponent who resolved his illusions after a single encounter. Such was the terrifying depth of battle-hardened veterans at this level; their capacity to adapt in real-time was truly efficient, if not outright frightening.

Asher clutched his midsection, coughing up more blood. Virelass labored in overdrive, struggling to staunch the pain and knit his ruined remains back together.

Debro advanced once more, his face impassive. "What is so wrong with loving me?" he questioned, his voice booming with a strange, frantic mixture of obsession and aggravation. "Are you truly so eager to die rather than be with me?"

"I am a Wavestar Life Ranker—not some weakling. I am wealthy, influential, and possess status within my organization," Debro continued, frustration seeping into his tone. "So why... why must you reject me with such stubbornness?"

Asher forced himself to his feet. His clothing was shredded, his skin stained with soot and gore, and he looked nothing like the refined noble he once was—just a battered warrior clinging to the last remnants of his strength.

His purple eyes locked onto Debro. Even as his mind raced to comprehend how his illusion had been bypassed, he couldn't hold back an exasperated retort, tired of listening to the man repeat the same absurdities like a broken record.

"If the reason isn't obvious by now, you are even denser than I imagined," Asher snapped, his voice sharp and unfiltered. "I simply have no interest in men. Try to hammer that into your twisted skull."

In his former life as Ethan on Earth, he had no issue with who others chose to love; it was their business, and he didn't care. But having this deranged individual constantly corner him with these romantic overtures was pushing his patience to the brink.

"So you would choose death over me?" Debro began to laugh hysterically, the sound echoing unnaturally across the field, stripped of all sanity.

Asher found it impossible to understand how a mission to protect villagers had spiraled into such a sickening, twisted psychological confrontation.

Regardless, he would not waste this opening. Capitalizing on the moment Debro succumbed to his manic fit, Asher surged into Star Form, his resolve hardening as he prepared to push his limits far beyond the breaking point.