CLEAVER OF SIN Chapter 693: Zone-2

Williams and Asher were a blur of motion, not just around the ground but leaping onto the roof, clinging to vertical walls for precious seconds before gravity pulled them down. Even without their Astra energy, their honed physical conditioning allowed them to briefly defy normal limitations.

One was a flash of purple, the other a streak of silver, exchanging blows in an endless dance of speed, attack, and evasion. Despite the intensity, Williams, in his Zone state, found his mind racing yet paradoxically clear. He recalled the start of their spar: Asher’s effortless dodges, each movement precise, deliberate, and devoid of waste.

He longed to emulate that, to comprehend that level of efficiency, which he only partially understood and couldn't yet apply seamlessly. 'He never moved unnecessarily,' Williams mused, remembering how his own strikes always narrowly missed their mark. 'He waited until the last possible moment to counter any mid-motion adjustments I might make,' he analyzed, his thoughts mirroring his observations. 'He anticipated every attack,' he noted, narrowly evading another incoming strike.

He remembered the calm in Asher's movements, the finesse in his footwork, the tranquil focus in his eyes as he seemed to foresee every attack, as if the future unspooled before him. 'Muscle reading?' Williams wondered, dodging again. Asher had briefly mentioned this technique amongst other advice given earlier.

Currently, Williams was relying purely on instinct and the wind's subtle guidance to barely evade Asher's onslaught. 'I'm not there yet,' he acknowledged, accepting his current limitations. His understanding of muscle mechanics was rudimentary; he could barely track Asher's movements, let alone analyze them under such pressure. Furthermore, he couldn't replicate Asher's perfect timing, effortless grace, attack prediction, or serene demeanor. He could barely even grasp the technique itself.

'I need more experience to achieve such mastery,' he concluded, facing the undeniable truth that mastering Asher's skill on the spot was impossible. Williams wasn't discouraged; expecting to instantly replicate such proficiency would be foolish. 'At least I can read the wind now, even if just a little,' he determined, finding a small, meaningful gain amidst the overwhelming challenge.

As two minutes elapsed, Asher abruptly altered his attack rhythm, speed, and motion. His thrusts remained, but now possessed a sharper, more refined edge. This time, however, Williams was prepared. He wouldn't falter again. His dormant hands sprang to life, his sabre a blur of black as he met Asher's incoming strike head-on, parrying it aside with newfound precision. Asher attacked from the side, but Williams met it again, his body and hands reacting with timely efficiency, showcasing clear progress.

'Good, he didn't lose rhythm again,' Asher observed inwardly with quiet approval. He immediately shifted his offensive pattern, his attacks becoming erratic, almost chaotic—unpredictable and bizarre. He had discussed predictability with Williams, and now Asher embodied its complete antithesis. Williams' composure fractured instantly; his mind, moments before crystal clear within his Zone state, became jumbled, unable to comprehend the unfolding madness.

Williams found his defenses crumbling, his instincts and reflexes proving futile against the unpredictable nature of Asher's assault. He could only watch, helpless, as Asher's blade sliced through his body with increasing precision. A cut grazed his arm, another marked his cheek, his chest bore a rupture, his thigh a gash, his shoulder a rend, and his leg a deep gouge. Though each wound was superficial, they were accumulating at an alarming rate.

In that moment, Williams resembled a bewildered child. He had managed to parry Asher's earlier strikes, falling back into a semblance of rhythm, but that rhythm now felt utterly useless. His sabre would dart left, only for the attack to come from the right. He'd attempt to block an overhead strike, but it would land from below. Even when he deliberately defied his senses, trying the opposite of what they screamed, he failed to anticipate Asher's moves.

To Williams' perception, Asher’s rapier movements were as incomprehensible as a newborn’s babbling, a chaotic stream of gibberish only the infant could decipher.

Observing Williams' struggle to adapt to his sudden shift in combat style, Asher merely shook his head. His erratic attacks were simply too advanced for Williams' current Zone state to begin to comprehend. The mere fact that Williams had entered a Zone state did not grant him complete understanding of every technique Asher employed. Some movements and skills remained beyond grasp, even in the slightest degree, until one achieved a certain level of mastery in swordsmanship—a level demanding significantly more experience and refinement.

Asher abruptly ceased his wild onslaught, not wishing to overwhelm Williams further. The young man had already sustained dozens of injuries. The primary objective was to demonstrate the essence of unpredictability, a goal that had been achieved. It was now up to Williams to forge his own path toward such a level of skill.

With that, Asher transitioned into an entirely new sword technique, one that remained a complete mystery to Williams. He had attempted it once before, but had failed spectacularly. This technique was feinting, a deceptive style designed to obscure intent and mislead perception.

Whether Williams would adapt to this new challenge or falter once more rested solely on him and his Zone state's current capacity. The next phase of their spar commenced with a palpable, quiet intensity.

____