CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 612: Connection

While Asher pondered the Wargrave’s inaugural Patriarch or Matriarch, Malrik’s voice yanked him from his reverie.

"You remember the father and son that you killed?" Malrik inquired, his eyes flicking toward Asher for an instant, gaze serene yet subtly searching.

Asher nodded right away—how could he possibly forget? Those two had burned through more than four hundred thousand points of his, a bitter setback that continued to nag at his thoughts with a dull ache.

"I think they are still alive, little brother," Malrik declared flatly, his tone devoid of any uncertainty or pause.

At those words, Asher’s eyes narrowed into thin lines, a fierce spark igniting as bewilderment and shock surged up—he failed to grasp why Malrik would claim that, especially since he’d witnessed the pair detonate themselves in a suicidal blast, their forms shattered irreparably.

"Why do you say so, Big Brother?" he questioned, fixing his violet gaze on Malrik, voice even but tinged with controlled intrigue.

"It seems those two possess or are about to develop their own bloodline ability, since it looks like the son inherited it from his father," Malrik remarked offhandedly, as if oblivious to Asher’s query, his voice cool and distant.

A beat later, he continued, "Recall carefully—though you’ve battled and slain over a hundred from that organization, did any suddenly self-destruct by igniting their Astra energy?" he pressed, his stare now locking more sharply on Asher.

Asher required no deliberation; his exceptional mind had already supplied the answer: no.

"Which means, those two were likely their own clones, or something similar, but their power lets them trigger a suicide explosion while staying alive elsewhere—though I lack the full specifics of their ability, I can deduce at least that much," Malrik explained coolly, his delivery steady and precise.

Asher remained quiet, taking a moment to absorb Malrik’s revelation. True enough, he hadn’t considered it from this angle before—back then, there’d been no chance to reflect. Right after the blast erased over four hundred villagers in a heartbeat of utter ruin, he’d fled with the survivors.

He hadn’t lingered; he’d returned at once, clashed with those six depraved foes aiming to assault him, battled over a hundred members relentlessly, then faced the ‘Six Numbers,’ terminated Number Four’s Death Trigger power, fought Debro, and collapsed post-battle.

No opportunity existed to ponder; he’d been utterly consumed, propelled endlessly from one fierce confrontation to the next without pause for rest or contemplation.

Asher inwardly berated himself, even though he’d believed himself detached from the villagers’ demise, his thoughts still involuntarily revisited that horror, reliving snippets of the tragedy—he mulled over them, ways he might have rescued more, reacted swifter, chosen differently to alter the grim toll, even marginally.

He’d doubted that earlier man the instant he pierced Asher’s escape scheme; he should have recalled, shouldn’t have overlooked him then—that one oversight now thundered in retrospect.

Yet he’d dropped his vigilance... or more precisely, amid the frenzy of rallying every villager for flight, aware they’d suffer from the unleashed Emovirae’s devastation, in that frantic rush of desperation, the man had faded from his awareness, swallowed by the turmoil.

Asher shut his eyes briefly; plans rarely unfolded flawlessly, yet that nagging burden of potential improvements always persisted.

Even had he neutralized the father, the son remained an unchecked threat—Asher hadn’t verified him when the man mentioned his offspring; losses would’ve still occurred, but far fewer, the devastation scaled down substantially, if not wholly averted.

Asher’s fist tightened momentarily, muscles taut with strain—it demanded four hundred lives’ sacrifice for the harsh truth to sink in, etched by brutal aftermath over prudent anticipation.

Suddenly, a piercing insight struck his mind, abrupt and vivid: this father-son power evoked a memory... specifically, someone called Hito, drawn from buried recollections.

He’d encountered the orphaned youth at the Wargrave estate’s First Training Ground amid his rigorous sessions.

Hito’s power stood out vividly in his memory: crafting clones that battled beside him, replicas syncing his actions and will, which Hito could detonate for massive blasts— a ruthless, rapid, pinpoint strategy.

This mirrored precisely what the father and son executed, the parallel too stark to ignore.

‘Do they share the same abilities?’ Asher wondered, the notion gaining heft. Powers weren’t uniquely held; duplicates or variants appeared across users.

Just as numerous wielded elemental control, or how Asher bore a soul-bound weapon while Finch did too, sans Wargrave blood—uniqueness proved no ironclad rule.

‘Is Hito connected to them?’ The suspicion blazed through Asher’s thoughts, refusing to fade. What barred ‘The Consumed,’ ‘The Corrupted,’ or ‘The Maddened’ from grooming child infiltrators for noble houses? An ancient group like theirs could weave such an intricate, long-term scheme spanning decades.

Yet Asher recognized he might forge phantom links, weaving baseless ties, condemning an innocent on flimsy parallels and happenstance.

Hito’s visage lingered sharply in his mind; he’d known the boy over a year, watched him closely, engaged him, detecting no anomalies or veiled threats—still, better to probe and verify than trust hunches alone.

He’d dismissed the father-son duo once, reaping dire results, their fallout vivid; ignoring Hito if a plant could doom the Wargraves outright, repercussions dwarfing a mere blackout.

Asher solidified his choice, determination rooting deep. No unjust imprisonment awaited Hito; a clear background check would dispel all doubts, leaving suspicions as mere vigilance.

Conversely, if Hito belonged to them, his history would be meticulously forged by the group, polished against inspection.

But... perfection eluded all; no record stayed utterly pristine... a flawlessly pristine backstory might itself signal alarm, meriting further scrutiny over naive trust.