CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 689: Predictable

As Williams closed in, his sabre hissed through the air, aiming for Asher’s throat and slicing the atmosphere in its passage. Asher remained composed, his gaze fixed on the incoming strike. At the very last instant, he took a step back, evading the assault with flawless efficiency.

Witnessing his initial attack falter, Williams immediately launched into another, his sabre altering its course mid-swing to slash at Asher’s chest with precision honed by countless hours of dedicated practice.

Once more, Asher mirrored his previous defensive maneuver, his expression unchanged. Williams escalated his assault, infusing greater speed and power into his strikes, the wind whistling as he moved. He delivered five rapid thrusts, yet each attempt proved futile. Just as his blade neared its mark, Asher would invariably evade, as if time itself yielded to his presence, bending to accommodate his evasions in a manner that defied ordinary comprehension.

Williams shifted his focus from the upper body, his sabre now a blur streaking towards Asher’s ankles, intending to impede his mobility and cripple his movement. Asher’s eyes darted downwards. As Williams’ blade menaced his ankle, he simply lifted a foot, and the attack whistled harmlessly past. Williams, however, instantly followed up with a diagonal upward slash, designed to bisect Asher’s torso, the motion executed with seamless fluidity and no hint of hesitation.

"Your attacks are far too predictable, Williams," Asher finally spoke, weaving to the side as if carried by a gentle breeze. It seemed less like a conscious movement and more as though the wind itself had guided him, aligning him with the flow of motion rather than being constrained by it.

At Asher’s words, Williams faltered for a fleeting moment before resuming his assault. Yet, once again, he missed, his blade slicing through empty air.

"Just because I spoke doesn't mean you should react. If this were a real battlefield, that split-second hesitation would be your end, Williams," Asher added, sidestepping two consecutive strikes as though he possessed foresight, his calm demeanor undisturbed by the relentless onslaught.

'Since my attacks are too predictable, I'll incorporate feints,' Williams resolved internally, his mind working furiously to conquer the vast disparity between them.

He attacked anew, his dark sabre lunging toward Asher’s heart with the intent to cleave it in two. However, at the precise moment Asher typically evaded, he altered his trajectory, shifting the attack to his waist with deadly force, attempting to outmaneuver the easily deciphered pattern.

Despite perfectly gauging the moment Asher usually dodged, it was still in vain. If he had timed Asher, Asher merely had to adjust his timing by increasing his own speed. With that, Asher’s form blurred again as he shifted backward, evading with effortless grace. Unlike Williams, his movements weren't phantom-like; he simply existed in that moment, as if space itself acknowledged and conformed to his presence, molding itself around him.

"Hoo!!! You show promise, blending a feint with my evasion timing. Impressive, but it appears feints are something you've either never practiced or only recently bothered with," Asher commented, his tone analytical rather than taunting or encouraging, like a seasoned master assessing his disciples' every flaw.

"Furthermore, when I stated your attacks were excessively predictable, it was obvious your next step would involve feints to become less so. Ultimately, this still rendered you even more predictable," Asher continued bluntly, his voice imbued with a calm certainty that left no room for dispute.

Though Asher spoke, Williams’ assault never ceased, not for a single second. He absorbed Asher’s words while simultaneously executing his attacks with the utmost efficiency, his concentration intensifying despite the gnawing frustration.

'I must commend your timing on the feint, at least,' Asher mused internally. Few individuals could devise such a maneuver on the spot, especially during its inaugural use, offering a subtle recognition of the young man's latent potential.

'He is genuinely talented,' Asher thought as he evaded another strike. 'He will likely reach the Crownstar Life Rank around sixty,' he estimated inwardly, acknowledging the imprecision as he merely projected based on Williams' observable talent and rate of adaptation.

Williams’ knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his sabre, unleashing a hundred precisely aimed thrusts. He launched attacks along every conceivable path towards Asher’s body, seeking any opening, his movements fueled by sheer determination and a mounting desperation to land even a single, decisive hit.

Asher's body suddenly became a blur, effortlessly evading all hundred simultaneous strikes with precise control. He expended no more strength or speed than was absolutely necessary, perfectly synchronizing with Williams' predictable rhythm as if mirroring a pattern instead of facing a real opponent.

"Merely tightening your grip on your weapon doesn't inherently make your attacks deadlier or faster. Consider this: out of those hundred consecutive strikes, the final thirty lacked the speed, power, and accuracy of the initial seventy, rendering them quite useless," Asher stated, his body coming to a halt three meters from Williams. His posture remained relaxed, as though the entire exchange had been a trivial warm-up.

Williams immediately closed the distance once more, Internalizing Asher's advice while continuing his movements. His breathing remained steady, unperturbed by the sheer intensity of his actions.

Asher, unbothered by the flurry of attacks, continued his discourse. "You ought to have ceased at seventy. Those last thirty merely caused you to squander time, strength, stamina, and efficiency, inadvertently creating openings any opponent could exploit." His words flowed as smoothly as his movements.

'To think he could perceive all hundred attacks, one by one, while simultaneously evading them... The disparity is simply too immense,' Williams mused internally as he fought. Yet, his purpose here was to learn, and every word uttered by Asher was invaluable, destined to be absorbed and integrated into his own martial style.

Heeding Asher's counsel, Williams slightly loosened his grip on his sabre and unleashed seventy consecutive strikes. However, Asher once again evaded them all with an air of amusement, as if indulging a child unaware of their own futile efforts, his expression remaining impassive.

While Asher offered guidance, it didn't obligate Williams to follow it without experimentation. If he could execute seventy perfect attacks, why not refine the number, then channel the combined speed and strength of seventy strikes into half that quantity, concentrating the power rather than dispersing it?

His grip tightened again, but this time, it felt more natural. His sword and wrist achieved a superior balance, his shoulder aligning with his hand and blade as he moved. His sabre transformed into streaks of pure darkness, filling the space around Asher. Each subsequent movement was sharper, more deliberate than before.

Asher tilted his head upwards, anticipating the incoming assault. He could sense it – the very air seemed to rend as the attacks drew nearer. They were sharper, swifter, more perilous, and even the wind itself appeared to shriek in response, as if acknowledging the subtle yet undeniable enhancement in Williams' technique.