CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 615: New Order

Asher advanced with steady, composed strides, Lyra trailing right behind, while Virelass walked alongside, humming a soft, tuneful melody. Through the extended corridor, maids and butlers froze in shock at the sight of Asher, but their astonishment vanished in an instant as they bowed respectfully—yet he passed them by without a glance, his face cool and impassive.

"So, how have you been, Lyra?" Asher inquired in a serene voice while striding forward, reaching the stairs that descended to the lower level.

"I’ve been well, Young Master. According to your orders, I’ve been training a lot, and I’ve gotten to the Radiant Firmstar Life Rank, just a step away from crossing into the next Life Rank, the Dust Wavestar" Lyra responded with a grin, obviously thrilled by her advancement and the rewards of her unwavering dedication.

"Congratulations in advance then, Lyra," Asher said smilingly as he descended the staircase, his footfalls firm and hushed like always.

"Thank you, Young Master," Lyra answered smilingly as she exited the structure, keeping precisely two steps after Asher—neither too near nor too distant.

Lush greenery extended in all directions, butterflies alighting softly on vivid blooms and foliage, distant birds singing sweetly, and graceful fountains cascading water in a calming cadence. Asher picked a casual path and strolled onward while chatting with Lyra, disregarding the bowing maids and butlers offering homage, their existence hardly impinging on his awareness.

"But you know you can’t train twenty four hours a day, Lyra," Asher remarked evenly as he paused at a blossom, knelt slightly, and picked it tenderly and precisely, avoiding harm to its fragile petals.

"What do you mean, Young Master?" Lyra questioned, puzzled by Asher’s statement and the abrupt change in subject.

"I mean sometimes you should just take things slow, enjoy the breeze, appreciate the warmth of the sunlight for an hour or two, be amazed at nature, then dive back into training with a refreshed mind," Asher explained leisurely as he gazed at the flower clutched in his palm, his voice even and contemplative.

He had long championed equilibrium between labor and leisure. Reincarnation didn’t compel him to barricade himself in a practice chamber forever, forsaking life’s basic yet profound joys until ascension.

Lyra remained quiet, unsure of a response. She had glimpsed the sun for years—decades, truly—but never paused to savor it or unwind; duties and obligations had always consumed her. True, since the Tenth Sun departed for the Star Academy, idle time abounded, yet her ingrained habit of tireless toil persisted.

"I understand, Young Master," she affirmed with a nod, eyeing the bloom in Asher’s grasp, her look pensive.

Asher inclined his head, then resumed wandering aimlessly. After a quiet interval, he queried, "When last did you participate in any fight or high stakes battle, Lyra?" his voice mild as before, laced with quiet interest.

Lyra paused briefly, as if tallying inwardly and sifting memories, "It’s been about twenty five years, Young Master," she stated promptly upon settling on the answer.

Her revelation halted Asher abruptly; disbelief gripped him. Lyra’s quarter-century without combat struck him as utterly astonishing—bordering on insanity.

In this perilous realm where noble lands faced yearly assaults without cause, Emovirae slew mercilessly, and ancient groups abducted folk for vile experiments and sinister schemes, a powerhouse capable of self-defense or escape hadn’t clashed in two and a half decades.

Asher’s thoughts raced through rapid computations, sharp and exact. From his knowledge, Lyra stood at forty-five years now, fight-free since age twenty. Of those twenty-five peaceful years, eighteen had passed at his side; the other seven likely in maid instruction or steadfast service to the Wargrave clan.

A soft sigh escaped Asher. Ultimately, Lyra served as a maid with defined roles; the Wargraves wouldn’t permit her frontline combat—that wasn’t her place in the estate.

Perhaps Lyra simply avoided fights, engaging only when essential, such as safeguarding him en route to the capital for the Royal Twin Birthday Party.

Facing her, Asher locked his violet gaze with her dark ones, inquiring, "Do you hate battles, Lyra?" his demeanor steady and tranquil, eyes keen and probing.

Lyra denied it with a headshake, "I don’t, Young Master," she said, then after a short pause added, "but I do not actively seek it out or look forward to it either. If there is a battle, I simply fight to the end; if there isn’t any battle, then that too does not change anything," her response poised, tone level and deferential.

Asher pondered silently, grasping her view on combat perfectly. Not all were Wargraves, battle-eager plungers; preferences varied—some craved it, some shunned it, others indifferent like Finch, who battled fiercely when needed or relished tranquility otherwise.

Asher exhaled, then pressed, "Lyra, I can tell that you haven’t fought for the past two and a half decades due to your duties, but I’m sure you know the benefits that come with battles and fights," his voice now tinged with quiet resolve.

"I do, Young Master," Lyra acknowledged; at her caliber, ignoring combat’s superior gains—swifter, deeper than regimented practice—was impossible.

Asher dipped his head, then declared, "Then I will be giving you a new order: from now on and until I leave the Star Academy, you will be required to take various missions, all of them involving battles, at least twice per month. You are only allowed to defy these orders due to matters beyond you, like an order from my elder sibling, or father, or an injury," Asher commanded evenly, with understated authority brooking no doubt.

Hearing Asher’s directive, Lyra responded without delay. Though startled by the abrupt mandate and its weight, she accepted instantly, "As the Young Master orders," she affirmed bowing deferentially.