CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 611: Nth Time
Previously on CLEAVER OF SIN...
Asher locked eyes with Malrik’s piercing blue gaze and gave a nod, fully grasping his brother’s position and words. Why would Malrik bother hunting down this mysterious group? It was a pointless, exhausting endeavor with barely any real payoff. Even platinum coins wouldn’t tempt him—the Duke’s son was wealthier than several lesser nobles put together, rendering such bribes ridiculous.
Malrik let out a sigh after a brief pause and continued, “The Empire has two key reasons why it can’t effectively strike against them...” His voice stayed even and deliberate, like he was stating the obvious.
“What are they?” Asher inquired, his curiosity genuinely sparked by the subtle change in Malrik’s demeanor.
“We have zero intel on their actual headquarters—no real lair where solid details can be uncovered. Whenever we raid a site, it’s like your Experiment job: just some weak cannon fodder who know zilch of importance,” Malrik explained. “Rumors suggest their main base evades us because they’ve forged their own pocket dimension, akin to Cindralis, or a master of concealment is at play, or maybe a mighty artifact hides it.” He stopped briefly, giving Asher time to absorb the info.
“Regarding the second reason,” Malrik hesitated for a second before unleashing the bombshell, “evidence points to them operating not only in the Zarethorn Empire, but throughout all four Empires across the world.” He concluded firmly, his composure unshaken by the bombshell’s gravity.
Asher’s thoughts stalled once again, his mind reeling as he grappled with the statement’s immense implications. He’d figured the group was huge already—in his mind’s eye, at least—since the Zarethorn Empire sprawled vast with billions of souls. But now, that view felt ridiculously narrow, as the truth dawned: this shadowy force blanketed the entire globe, active in every Empire at once.
This scale dwarfed anything imaginable, utterly beyond comprehension.
Asher’s mind wandered to Crymora’s true size. Per Malrik, Zarethorn alone boasted over three times Earth’s population—a mind-boggling figure, and that was the low-end guess. Add three more Empires, each matching or exceeding that, and the world’s vastness defied understanding.
Noticing Asher’s stunned look, Malrik offered a light smile and remarked, “Pretty shocking, huh? I wore the exact same face when I first heard it.” Amusement tinged his features, as if reliving his own past bewilderment through Asher.
Then he continued, “Whatever their aims, little brother—it doesn’t matter if they seek humanity’s doom or cozy up to the Emovirae—one fact stays true.” He paused dramatically before finishing, “They’ll all meet their doom eventually, no matter what.”
His eyes met Asher’s with warm brotherly love, and he ruffled his hair gently. “So concentrate on your own cultivation and advancement right now. Let folks like me handle these bloated ants. You’re strong, sure, but against the world’s puppet masters, you’d get swatted effortlessly. Relax, revel in your freakish progress, and once you hit Crownstar Life Rank or even Soulstar Life Rank, then ponder these matters.” His voice soothed like a promise to shield the heavens from falling on Asher or his kin until they reached Soulstar at minimum.
Asher dipped his head in agreement, staying silent, but a surge of warmth flooded his blood—strange yet soothing. True family ties were alien to him before. As Ethan pre-transmigration, he’d been a lone orphan amid millions, floating aimlessly without bonds.
Back then, Jennifer was his nearest brush with family, but now this felt solidly real, profoundly deeper. Though he’d barely shared moments with the Wargraves in the past year—everyone dashed from battle to battle nonstop—the profound connection and affection among them shone through, beyond any words.
A soft smile crept onto Asher’s face. Malrik was spot on: fretting over threats leagues above his power level achieved nothing. He lacked the might to clash at their tier yet. Even Debro had drained him fully, leaving him collapsed after one mere wound in their grueling fight.
Crownstar Life Rank was no mere hope for Asher—it was inevitable, just a question of when. At eighteen, awakened at seventeen, he’d surged five Major Life Ranks in one year. By early twenties, Crownstar should be his, no doubt.
His mind flickered to a future clash with Malrik. Victory or defeat? His insane talent and hidden aces let him punch above his weight, but Malrik could too. No telling how much stronger his brother would grow. Hailed as the Wargrave lineage’s greatest prodigy ever, Malrik’s might would surely crush mountains.
Asher pondered it all deeply, mind spinning through endless scenarios and results.
Yet another idea resurfaced. In tales and novels, a clan or bloodline’s founding Patriarch invariably stood as the ultimate genius—past, present, future. Asher pictured the Wargrave founder’s godlike prowess to birth such a dynasty.
A subtle head shake and faint smile crossed Asher’s face at the notion, his thoughts calming as he pushed them aside.
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