CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 620: Information Trading
Previously on CLEAVER OF SIN...
Asher opted to pose another question, “When exactly did this battle take place? The devastation and destruction remain vivid here, as if it occurred just a few hours ago?” he inquired, his voice infused with curiosity and persistent doubt while his eyes scanned the shattered landscape anew.
“Before your departure to the Star Academy, an attacker struck at Wuthenya—as you rightly surmised—at Crownstar Life Rank, leaving your elder sister with no chance whatsoever against such a foe, so I was compelled to intervene,” Malrik declared steadily, refraining from deeper elaboration since Asher proved too frail for such revelations yet.
A subtle frown marred Asher’s features, his brows furrowing as incredulity rose within. To dare assault Wuthenya was bold, but a Crownstar Life Ranker defied evaluation by common measures anyway.
“Who attacked her and why?” he pressed inevitably, curiosity prevailing even as he sensed Malrik’s unwillingness to disclose.
Malrik paused briefly before answering, “You can already deduce the motive, but the perpetrator’s identity... you’re still far too feeble to learn,” he added with a faint head shake, his voice firm and unyielding.
Asher went quiet again; he didn’t need to query if Wuthenya’s assailant survived—his brother’s record and the Wargrave prestige ensured the foe’s total annihilation without remnant.
Still, Asher yearned for further details, yet he grasped that coercing Malrik was impossible regardless. In that instant, insight struck: he couldn’t perpetually lag in leverage; equal intel access demanded methods, and this juncture offered prime testing ground to probe and unveil crucial truths.
“How about a trade?” Asher proposed, meeting Malrik’s eyes squarely, his manner composed and intentional.
“Hooo!!! What might my little brother hold that eludes me?” Malrik queried, spurred by authentic fascination rather than disdain or superiority.
“Information,” Asher answered plainly, a subtle confident grin curving his mouth.
Malrik’s countenance altered faintly for a split second; confined to home and Academy, how had his brother secured verified, dependable intelligence?
“Information about whom?” he probed, curiosity uncontainable.
Asher’s grin broadened slightly as he revealed, “The Emperor, Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor.”
Malrik’s gaze sharpened at once upon hearing that title, the ambient air congealing motionless, the oppressive battlefield blaze dissolving away while his bearing transmuted utterly. No affinity had he ever felt for that name’s bearer.
Asher distinctly perceived the atmospheric and personal shift in Malrik; his smile evaporated as hesitation infiltrated his thoughts, leaving him uncertain on continuation.
“What information?” Malrik demanded, his tone snapping to sharp frigidity, stripped of prior brotherly warmth, paternal facade erased in a flash.
Asher hesitated momentarily, selecting terms precisely, “Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor wields the power to scan minds and rewrite memories, possibly transforming any he physically contacts into devoted thralls,” he affirmed resolutely.
With every ticking moment, the atmosphere densified relentlessly, reality taut to breaking point; overhead clouds shredded savagely by raw strain, though no precipitation descended, as if heavens recognized Malrik perched on control’s precipice.
“How did you acquire such knowledge?” Malrik interrogated, chill deepening in his inflection, each syllable bearing crushing gravity.
Asher gulped before replying, “After sparring Ryan Silvershade at the Royal Twin Birthday party, the Emperor rested his hand on my shoulder amid his address, and precisely then, his influence pulsed straight into my psyche.”
No sooner had Asher uttered those words than colossal, monumental force burst from Malrik’s frame; air wailed as if sentient, firmament neared implosion, lingering clouds obliterated, subsurface quaked in pent fury as his essence overflowed boundaries.
Even space quivered, warped, then splintered outright, unable to endure Malrik’s ferocious emanation.
Asher’s eyes bulged in utter astonishment—this marked his initial glimpse of Malrik thus enraged, certain that absent his enveloping crimson-orange Solar Energy, Malrik’s aura alone would have erased him instantly.
“He dares,” Malrik uttered, voice glacial enough to solidify frost’s essence; pivoting to Asher, he queried, “How did you resist that power?”
Asher clamped his palm resolutely on Virelass’ hilt, retorting swiftly, “My soul-bound weapon instinctively guards my mind against any psychic incursion it senses,” keenly mindful that any misconstrual might spell catastrophe should Malrik deem him compromised.
Malrik fixed Asher with an extended stare, ambient heat surging till it mimicked solar descent upon the realm.
“I’ll return,” Malrik declared decisively and irrevocably.
Upon those words, Asher’s eyes slitted faintly; he inferred Malrik aimed for the Capital’s Imperial Estate forthwith. Yet prior to Malrik’s vanishing, a figure materialized squarely before him—white hair impeccably groomed, blue-eyed, clad in spotless butler attire with immaculate gloved hands.
Asher instantly identified the man confronting them: Malrik’s dedicated butler.
“Young Master, kindly rethink your intended course,” intoned Conrad, Malrik’s butler, deferentially inclining his head.
“Conrad, what is this?” Malrik challenged, fingers drifting instinctively to his katana’s grip; that mere gesture honed air into myriad unseen edges, sky blade-like, space itself razor-keen.
Alarms blared perilously in Asher’s psyche, survival urges howling flight or perish; though instincts infallible hitherto, Asher defied them first-time, convinced his brother posed no true peril to him.
“Young Master, weigh the broader scheme; let not rage obscure wisdom. Ample indirect reprisals against the Emperor exist—it’s premature for outright clash,” Conrad advised serenely, visage impassive amid Malrik’s domineering aura.
Malrik held mute momentarily; any other would’ve perished unhesitatingly, but Conrad was his paramount aide and confidant.
Asher observed mutely in suspense, anticipating Malrik’s verdict. Moments later, Malrik eyed him and commanded, “Go back now; I’ll share the sought details upon my return.”
Ere Asher could respond, utter, or comprehend, he blinked from sight—Malrik having hurled him via teleportation to Ducal Wargrave Estate, denying rebuttal.
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