CLEAVER OF SIN

The sun hung high above, its radiant rays pouring relentlessly down upon the scarred world below. Within the heart of a once-vibrant forest, those same rays filtered through smoke and ash, illuminating a scene of utter devastation. The forest, once teeming with serene greenery, was now painted in destruction and ruin.

Choking, suffocating fumes churned through the air, swirling like restless spirits unwilling to leave the battlefield. The haze of dust floated across the space, thick and suffocating, reducing vision to a blur of shifting shadows.

Trees had been annihilated; some torn cleanly from their roots, others snapped violently in half, while countless more were shredded to splinters and set ablaze, their charred remains still crackling with flame.

The earth itself had not escaped devastation. Ravines and craters tore through the ground, sprawling across the landscape as though a reckless god had taken brush to canvas, each stroke leaving a scar of chaos upon the terrain.

The artists responsible for such catastrophe were not seasoned warriors nor ancient calamities, they were two young beings, their power overwhelming enough to twist nature into ruin.

Sword marks carved deep furrows into the ground, evidence of forces so violent they might be mistaken for natural disasters. Earthquakes of unnatural proportions had reshaped the terrain, leaving trenches stretching across what had once been a calm woodland.

The very stones of the land bore blackened burns, as though some force of unimaginable temperature had consumed and swallowed them whole. Hills stood fractured, their forms broken into jagged halves, bearing mute testimony to the fury unleashed.

The wind carried with it a silence so haunting that it seemed like a lament. It whispered, soft and mournful, as though the forest itself sobbed in grief for its stolen beauty. The once-serene greenness of life had been reduced to ashes, trampled underfoot by the clash of two youthful titans.

No ordinary person could have believed that children, mere children, had brought about such devastation. To any sane observer, the terrain would only be classified as a disaster zone, the aftermath of cataclysmic forces.

But, at the center of this shattered land, the two culprits existed with uncanny calmness, their presence almost casual amidst the chaos.

One was a man, the other a woman.

Within a large crater, Ryaen Silvershade lay sprawled upon her back. Blood pooled continuously from the stumps where her hands had once been, crimson rivers soaking into the ruined earth. The being who stood before her had severed them without hesitation.

At this moment, her black gaze drifted upward toward the sky. She looked not at her opponent, nor at the battlefield, but instead at the sun, the expanse of blue, and the drifting white clouds, clouds that mirrored the pale strands of her own hair.

She admired them as though seeing them for the first time, as though in this instant of defeat she had gained clarity she had never known before.

Though her body screamed with pain, paradoxically, she felt none. Instead, her mind was washed in stillness, a strange and profound clarity. It was as though a fog, long clouding her thoughts, had suddenly been lifted. She felt serene. She felt at peace.

She felt… enlightened.

Her skin grew paler by the second, drained of blood, but she did not stir. She lay unmoving, only her blinking eyes betraying life, as though the brutal battle, where she had given her all and still fallen short, no longer held meaning.

Her thoughts drifted back, unbidden, to the years of her childhood.

She remembered vividly the praises showered upon her from a young age. Even as a child, she had been extraordinary, grasping concepts and techniques with ease that left others in awe.

Her body grew stronger and faster as she matured into a fine young woman, her progress undeniable. Then came her awakening, and from there everything escalated. Her senses sharpened, her mind expanded, her talent exploded beyond measure.

The praises multiplied, and with them, so too did the weight of expectations.

She trained relentlessly. Day in, day out. Never once did she miss a session. Every waking moment became a step toward the level demanded of her.

There was no room for fun, for leisure, or for the simple joys of rest. If she wasn't drilling hand-to-hand combat until exhaustion, she was refining her Astra veins, striving to elevate her Life Rank. If she wasn't doing that, she was training her bloodline.

From childhood, her schedule pressed down upon her like an iron cage.

Her only reprieves were eating, sleeping, and bathing.

Friendship? That was alien to her. Meeting others for idle chatter or companionship was a luxury she had never tasted.

Although she never revealed it, deep down she harbored a subtle envy for her twin brother.

He lived freely, unshackled by burdens. He indulged in pleasures without restraint, lying with women, drowning himself in alcohol, traveling wherever and whenever he pleased.

He could squander his days with recklessness, knowing others would always arrive to save him.

There had been moments when she was tempted to do the same, to seize even a sliver of that freedom. But each time she reminded herself it was a sacrifice she had to endure. To reach the summit, she had to forgo what her brother embraced. She could not afford to fall into dependency or weakness.

This was why she never attended the Royal Party. To her, it was meaningless, a frivolous gathering wasting precious time that could be spent in training. Besides, her twin brother, Ryan, had eagerly gone in her place, enticed by the royal princess's presence.

And yet, through it all, she was not unloved. Her father and mother's affection remained a constant, anchoring her against despair.

But unlike Asher, who had created a perfect balance of training and rest, Ryaen Silvershade had never known such equilibrium. For her, life was either the grind of struggle or the fleeting moment of unconscious rest.

As her thoughts churned, her black eyes shifted from the sky to the purple gaze that observed her with indifferent detachment. Their eyes locked, each staring into the other as though worlds were revealed in that depth of silence.

No words, no movements, only unspoken recognition.

At last, Ryaen broke eye contact, her gaze drifting toward the scoreboard floating high above the battlefield.

"I lost," she whispered. Her voice was smooth, rich, almost silken. Even her grave injuries could not diminish the natural charm that wove through her tone.

At her declaration, her points were instantly halved. Her name plummeted from the top ten rankings, spiraling downward to a position she did not bother to check.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. Her body staggered under the effort, and though both her hands were gone, she refused to remain on the ground like a helpless damsel waiting for rescue.

She knew the rules of the exam well. If an instructor intervened to save her now, she would face disqualification and forfeit yet another twenty percent of her points, this after already losing fifty.

Asher stood silently, watching. Though his face betrayed no hint of emotion, he was intrigued. He wondered what her next move would be.

Would she activate her Marrow Regeneration skill again? But the fact that she hadn't until now told him all he needed to know: she couldn't.

Still, Ryaen rose. With nothing but thought, bones erupted into being. They sewed into her skin, weaving themselves to seal her wounds, holding her torn flesh in place. From her shoulders, circular bones manifested, capping the bleeding stumps and halting the flow of blood entirely.

With another thought, she activated her Bone Colossus skill.

The colossal giant of bone reappeared, its towering form casting a shadow over the ruined battlefield. She sat quietly atop its head, and the bone construct tore forward, the earth quaking beneath its thunderous stride.

Asher needed no explanation. He understood instantly: though Ryaen had lost, she did not wallow in defeat. She did not pity herself, nor drown in despair.

Instead, she endured. She rose, adapted, and immediately began clawing her way back, determined to reclaim her place among the top ten.

He had defeated her easily, yes, but not everyone else could.

For the first time, Asher's impassive mask shifted. A small, genuine smile curved his lips. He was impressed. Truly impressed by the woman called Ryaen Silvershade.