CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 671: Imperial Decree-1

While Asher feasted and imbibed his wine as if he were destined for the Zarethorne Empire’s throne, in a separate chamber, Azaron and Zarek engaged in a conversation that transpired under a starkly different atmosphere compared to Asher's tranquil indulgence.

A weary expression was etched on Zarek's face as he observed the illusion unfurling before him. Azaron, at intervals, would pause the display to meticulously explain every detail, acting as though Zarek himself couldn't perceive or comprehend the unfolding events, despite the illusion's crystal-clear depiction.

’Ugh… Perhaps I should have a child just so I can have something to boast back to him about,’ Zarek mused internally, groaning.

His sole intention in coming here was to notify Azaron of an Imperial decree's arrival, a task that had been initiated hours ago. However, Azaron had dismissed its urgency, opting instead to spend the intervening time boasting about Asher with paternal fervor, employing the illusion as his medium.

’The last time he exhibited such exuberant boasting was during Malrik’s nascent stages. Though he would have surely bragged about Apollo too, thank the heavens that boy is far too indolent to provide him with such ample opportunities,’ Zarek reflected, his fatigue no longer concealed.

While Zarek was always prepared, even willing, to indulge Azaron’s boasts about his offspring, this prolonged duration and the sheer extent of uninterrupted hours were certainly unprecedented. He had arrived around 2 PM, and now, darkness had enveloped the surroundings; the sun had long since vanished, supplanted by the moon’s quiet luminescence.

’Besides, since when did he even master an illusion-based skill?’ Zarek pondered, a flicker of curiosity piercing through his exhaustion. Much like Malrik, Azaron had never been inclined towards developing illusionary abilities, given his light affinity, as neither of them had ever required such subtlety, opting instead to brute-force their way through challenges with sheer, overwhelming power.

’Nevertheless, the Tenth Sun undeniably remains the greatest anomaly Azaron has ever produced,’ Zarek acknowledged, accepting this undeniable truth, even though it was delivered amidst Azaron's relentless vaunting.

Presently, Azaron concluded his exposition and boasts, finally allowing the illusion to dissipate. He then took a seat, a proud expression firmly fixed on his visage, as if he had just unveiled an unimpeachable masterpiece.

A tremor of fear coursed through the Imperial representative as his body instinctively urged him to flee. Every fiber of his being recoiled from the overwhelming presence before him. He could discern that Azaron wasn't actively projecting his aura or exerting any pressure; this was simply Azaron's natural state of existence, an inherent quality that required no conscious effort.

The Imperial representative could only swallow nervously as he observed Azaron occupy the seat opposite him, his expression utterly indifferent, as if nothing held any real importance. Zarek then stepped forward, positioning himself behind Azaron, serving as his steadfast, loyal right-hand man.

'How can this man, who is at the Crownstar Life Rank, feel so different from the rest of us?' he couldn't help but question internally. Azaron's mere presence made him feel like a mere child confronting something utterly incomprehensible, despite his own status as a Crownstar Life Ranker, even if he hadn't yet reached the Radiant sub-Life Rank.

"Read," Azaron's voice commanded, a single word that carried the undeniable weight of an order rather than a suggestion. His tone sliced through the thick tension in the room, jolting the Imperial representative from his spiraling thoughts.

The Imperial representative dared not delay. If Azaron possessed the audacity to attack and even attempt to kill the Emperor himself, then who was he, a mere messenger, to risk instant erasure by delaying?

He promptly unrolled a scroll, upon which all Imperial decrees were meticulously inscribed, each bearing the Emperor's seal, an emblem exclusively wielded by the Emperor himself.

Taking a steadying breath, he commenced reciting the Emperor's words, endeavoring to maintain a voice that was as composed and neutral as possible, despite the immense pressure bearing down on him.

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The instant the Imperial representative concluded, he leaped to his feet, announcing, "I shall take my leave now, Duke Azaron." Without awaiting a response, he turned abruptly and departed. Though he attempted to maintain a composed gait, his steps quickened instinctively, unable to fully suppress the urgency that propelled him forward.

And so, deep within the shroud of night, father and son, Azaron and Asher, dispatched two men each to their respective destinations. Both departed the Wargrave territory, quietly consumed by apprehension of what might transpire should they linger within its overwhelming dominion, a place where raw power alone dictated the very essence of the air one breathed.