CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 691: Truly Talented [Castle Bonus - ]

Before Williams could even process Asher’s question, Asher’s hand shifted, moving from defense to offense in a fluid transition. His fingers closed around Virelass’ hilt as he drew the rapier, executing a swift, unsheathing slash. The drawing of the blade and the attack were linked in one seamless motion, so refined it appeared almost effortless.

Williams snapped back to the present, his mind screaming danger. His sabre flashed upward in a desperate block. The instant the two metals met, a force akin to a truck slamming into him reverberated through Williams, sending him barreling backward. He regained control almost instantly, his instincts barely keeping him upright.

The moment his feet hit the ground, a frown creased his brow. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just transpired. He wasn’t surprised by Asher’s attack; he knew it was inevitable. What puzzled him was how Asher's strike had sent him flying backward – an outcome he deemed impossible.

While Asher possessed greater natural strength, Williams knew Asher was deliberately matching his own speed and strength. This was to ensure the spar remained a lesson rather than a brutal beating, maintaining a crucial balance for growth, not mere domination.

Lost in thought, Asher suddenly materialized beside him, seemingly carried by the wind once more. His rapier whistled toward Williams’ neck. Williams’ sabre rose, but instead of blocking, he opted for a parry. The instant he deflected Asher’s thrust aside, he felt his own sabre being expertly redirected. With unnerving precision, Asher used his parry against him, twisting defense into offense.

Asher wasn’t finished. He pressed with another relentless assault, forcing Williams to block this time. Another thunderous impact slammed into Williams, propelling him backward. His body collided with the training chamber wall, but remarkably, it absorbed the shock without a crack, as if the impact were insignificant.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Asher’s voice cut through the air as he advanced, his steps calm and unhurried. He made no move to press the attack or finish Williams. The spar had shifted; it was now a lesson in defense, not offense.

"Even though I'm using the same amount of strength, you're at a disadvantage. Care to explain why?" Asher inquired, his tone placid, his pace deliberately slow, as if granting Williams ample time to contemplate and arrive at the answer himself.

Though he asked Williams to explain, Asher didn't truly expect a verbal response. The question was intended for Williams to answer internally, a self-reflection rather than an outward confession.

Seeing Williams still pondering, Asher continued, "It's because swordsmanship isn't solely about swinging, attacking, or executing various slashes. Just as offense has its style, so does defense. Consider the inherent weaknesses in a parrying technique before it’s perfected, the vulnerabilities when a user simply blocks, the delicate balance between your feet, hand, and sword when you adopt a stance to block an incoming strike – a balance that, when disrupted, can be exploited." He articulated these points with quiet clarity.

Williams’ mind worked furiously, his focus intensifying with every syllable Asher uttered. After a few moments, his stance shifted subtly. His body adjusted minutely as he channeled strength to different muscles throughout his frame, experimenting with alignment and balance.

Observing this transformation, Asher offered a gentle smile. "You truly are talented, Williams," he remarked before vanishing once more. He reappeared instantly with another strike, imbued with lethal intent yet contained within the same controlled force.

Determination blazed in Williams’ eyes. He neither dodged nor parried; instead, he met the attack head-on with a block. A cataclysmic clang erupted as the blades collided. While Williams wasn't thrown backward this time, his body still skidded across the ground.

Progress. He had undeniably made progress.

Although he wasn't a prodigy like Asher or Malrik, capable of mastering skills after a single observation, Williams recognized his own brilliance. His growth was palpable, even within this brief exchange.

Were it not for the existence of monstrous beings like the Wargraves and individuals such as Asher, Malrik, or even Azaron, he would undoubtedly be considered the epitome of monstrous genius. Beings like himself and Ryaen were destined to represent the pinnacle of talent.

However, the unfortunate reality of people like Malrik and Asher existing relegated him to being just another skilled individual among many. This realization served as both a humbling and a motivating force.

A wide smile bloomed on Williams’ face; he reveled in the moment, yet he understood that he was now in a defensive posture, his offensive spree concluded. However, his defensive stance did not preclude him from studying and comprehending Asher’s onslaught; such understanding was vital for his further advancement.

Witnessing the palpable progress, Asher resolved to intensify his focus. Consequently, he unleashed a torrent of strikes, each successive blow amplified in power and escalating in tempo, both in intensity and intricacy.

Left. Right. Above. Below. Below. Sides.

Whenever Williams appeared to synchronize with the rhythm, Asher would abruptly alter it, aiming to destabilize him and compel a recalibration. He also modified the flow, shifting the impact's weight from substantial to delicate, then from feints to light touches, culminating in an incessant barrage of attacks, each meticulously crafted to probe a distinct facet of Williams’ defense.

Williams’ hands grew numb; their redness deepened as if his wrists were on the verge of shattering under the fierce onslaught, yet he uttered no complaint. He merely continued to move. His shoulders ached for respite, his fingers throbbed, his palms seared with pain, but he persevered, resolute in his refusal to yield.

He was improving, he could feel it, and he was certain Asher sensed it too. He found himself incapable of ceasing now, not when he stood on the precipice of a significant breakthrough. His upper body became a blur as he confronted each strike directly, his movements refining with every passing second.

Speed met speed.

Strength met strength.

Attack encountered defense.

Slashes collided with blocks.

In this critical juncture, Williams seemed to transform into a porous entity, absorbing every iota of experience emanating from Asher and Virelass. He assimilated each lesson, every impact, and every motion, transmuting them into something that was unmistakably his own.

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