CLEAVER OF SIN

The old man who had been addressing the students earlier did not rush to speak. Instead, he stood silently, his black eyes sweeping across the gathered candidates as he carefully observed their expressions.

He saw their joy, their arrogance, their despair, and their hope, all of it reflected in a thousand different faces. Happiness shone in some, sadness clung stubbornly to others, while pride and superiority radiated from a few, only to collapse into shock moments later.

Through it all, he remained a quiet witness. Not a word left his lips, not even a murmur of acknowledgment. To many of these students, this day marked a fall, the abrupt crumbling of their pride. To others, it was the dawning of their rise, the first step into a future brighter than anything they had imagined.

And yet, to some, the results seemed trivial, as though they already knew life itself would always keep them ahead of the pack, regardless of an exam.

The old man's gaze, dark and steady, shifted deliberately toward Asher, who stood calmly in the crowd with his hands folded neatly behind his back, eyes closed in unruffled composure. To say the least, the sight surprised him.

Like many, he too had believed the Tenth Sun was not nearly as talented as his Wargrave kin. And yet, unlike the rest, he had chosen to withhold judgment. He had granted Asher the benefit of the doubt, refusing to fully cast him aside as talentless. Now, witnessing the scoreboard and Asher's silent poise, the old man realized he had received the shock of his long life.

'The Wargraves just keep giving birth to monsters. Not even the chains of the third awakening, known for shackling countless people, can bind them,' he mused quietly, his thoughts stretching far into the past.

An old memory surfaced unbidden, one that carried with it a sting of loss. Long ago, he had counted a Wargrave among his dearest friends. But, as their name implied, a Wargrave's grave was carved not in earth but in battle. War and conflict claimed them all eventually. It was the fate they carried as surely as their bloodline.

His black eyes darkened further as his mind wandered. 'Not even the First Sun, Malrik, touched such a number. Malrik may have shattered the record for the highest score in this entrance exam, but now it seems his own brother has surpassed him. The First Child and the Last Child, different breeds from a family of monsters.'

The old man shook his head slightly, exhaling a mental sigh. There was no sense dwelling on it. Wargraves were Wargraves, and the world would never stop producing marvels, and terrors, from that bloodline. Pushing the thought aside, he focused once more on the present, letting memories slip into the recesses of his mind.

"Now," he began at last, his deep voice echoing across the grand hall, pulling every student from their thoughts, "I'm sure some of you already know what comes next when your name does not appear among the top two hundred."

Silence followed, but it was a silence filled with understanding. Indeed, they all knew.

Failure meant disqualification. It meant they would soon be teleported back to the noble territories where the Star Academy instructors had first picked them, back to the arms of parents, guardians, and kin who now waited anxiously for news.

"But," the old man continued, his gaze sharpening as he addressed the sea of faces before him, "we will not simply discard you like refuse. We are not savages. You have given your effort, your sweat, your blood. For that, we will extend to you a parting kindness."

The murmuring hall stilled, listening.

"We have prepared a feast," he said with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Tonight, you will remain within this Separate Dimension, free to rest and recover. By tomorrow morning, those who have been disqualified will be returned home. Those who have succeeded will begin their orientation immediately."

A ripple passed through the crowd, part relief, part curiosity.

But the old man was not finished. His eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Of course, in past years, some clever candidates have attempted to exploit this grace period. They believed that if they could hide themselves successfully until morning, they would escape disqualification, cementing their place in the Academy. While I do commend such ambition, I must tell you: it is futile. You will not succeed."

The faint smile widened into something sly, almost mischievous. "But, should any among you somehow manage to evade our notice until dawn… I will personally sponsor you myself."

His words struck the hall like lightning.

For the first time, uproar erupted. Those who had felt the sting of despair only moments ago found themselves reignited with hope. A chance had fallen into their laps, unexpected and miraculous. Their eyes gleamed with determination, their postures stiffened with renewed resolve. They would take this chance, no matter the cost.

And the beauty of it? The old man had not set a limit. He had spoken no number. If one person succeeded, he would sponsor one. If a hundred succeeded, he would sponsor them all.

None doubted his promise. Men of his stature did not lie to the younger generation, and his reputation carried too much weight. Besides, power and age brought with them wealth and resources beyond imagination. If he claimed he would sponsor them, then surely he possessed the means to do so.

Asher's eyes opened slowly, his purple gaze lifting toward the old man. His thoughts, unlike those of the others, were not filled with wild joy or desperate schemes. Instead, questions began to unfurl quietly in his mind.

'How high is this old man's position within the Star Academy, that he can bend the rules with such ease?'

'A vice principal? Perhaps even a co-founder?'

The corner of Asher's lips lifted faintly. 'In every fantasy novel I've read, old men like him are never simple. They are always far too powerful to be overlooked.'

A quiet, amused thought crossed his mind: 'If there's any advice I would give to reincarnators and transmigrators without cheats, systems, or powerful family backing, it would to help every old man you meet. Whether he's a beggar, a dying elder, or even one ready to jump from a cliff, help him. Eventually, you'll strike gold.'

The thought made him chuckle inwardly. But unlike others, Asher did not need to play that game. He had been blessed with a system, overwhelming talent, and the backing of one of the strongest families in Crymora. He had no need to wander the world in search of hidden sages disguised as old men in need.

A faint smile graced his lips as the thought settled. Some nearby students noticed, and their surprise was evident. A Wargrave smiling? That in itself was shocking. The Wargraves were infamous for their cold, aloof demeanor, their expressionless faces that revealed nothing.

But Asher did not care for such traditions. He had no intention of living behind a stone mask simply because his kin chose to. He would smile when he wished, laugh when he wished, and remain himself at all times.

"Now, off you go," the old man concluded at last. His voice was calm, yet there was finality in it.

He raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and at once, blinding white light engulfed the entire grand hall. Students watched as their vision vanished into brilliance. When the radiance dimmed at last, the chamber stood empty. The candidates had been transported away, leaving behind only the old man and the few other Star Academy instructors who lingered at his side.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: A super gift? Magic castle? Spacecraft? Golden Gachapon Anyone?

Thanks for reading... and supportig thus far.