CLEAVER OF SIN

"I understand," he said flatly, "if I am too talented for your understanding, Your Highness."

Asher's words seemed to freeze the entire table. The syllables rolled smoothly from his tongue, yet each one struck with the sharpness of a blade. The nobles, forks and knives in hand, suddenly halted in mid-motion as if petrified by an invisible force.

Their meals, once so appetizing, were forgotten in the shock of the moment. The words did not simply enter their ears; they reverberated within their minds, exploding with a clarity that could not be ignored.

They could hardly believe what they had just heard.

The Tenth Sun, had subtly, yet unmistakably, diminished the talent of the imperial prince. His statement was more than just a bold declaration; it was a comparison, a proclamation that placed his talents above the prince's, rendering the latter's brilliance almost trivial in contrast.

Although none of these nobles were sycophants who openly groveled before Vaelric, for they themselves were scions of power, heirs of mighty houses, the truth remained that Vaelric was still a prince.

His status, by virtue of blood and birthright, stood undeniably above theirs. Whether they adored him or not was irrelevant; his position placed him on a pedestal that few could ever hope to reach.

Now, eyes swiveled toward Vaelric, silently awaiting his response. How would he react? What words would he use to defend his honor?

Yet the prince, to their astonishment, remained as stunned as they were. His lips parted slightly, as though he wished to speak, but no sound emerged. His composure, though admirable, was tested; and still, his face retained the mask of expressionlessness he had cultivated since childhood.

Asher, seeing that Vaelric did not respond, did not falter. Instead, he pressed forward, his calm smile exuding both confidence and subtle mockery.

"Think about it, Your Highness," he continued smoothly. "Perhaps I am simply so talented that the awakening stone required three attempts to fully recognize me. A rather unusual occurrence, don't you think? Well... perhaps I am mistaken, Your Highness. But who can truly say?"

The silence thickened around the table like a suffocating fog. Disbelief etched itself into the faces of the nobles, their thoughts tangled in confusion and speculation.

What kind of man was the Tenth Sun? Was he a sarcastic soul, quick to mock others in veiled words? Or was he a narcissist, so enamored by his own reflection that he could not help but elevate himself above all others? His every word seemed to blur the lines between arrogance and jest, leaving them uncertain where he stood.

At the side, Ryaen Silvershade fixed her unblinking black eyes upon Asher. Memories of their battle stirred within her mind. Throughout that fierce confrontation, the Tenth Sun had been silent, his blade and his Astra doing all the speaking for him.

He had fought relentlessly, never uttering a word from start to finish, save for one sardonic remark that had lingered in her memory. That singular remark had been sharp enough to make her privately wonder whether the Tenth Sun was adopted, a jest so biting and unorthodox that it left her uncertain of his true nature.

Meanwhile, at other tables scattered across the vast hall, the remaining candidates dined with unrestrained vigor. They were oblivious to the tension gripping the table of the top ten.

For them, this was merely a feast after battle, a chance to fill their stomachs and toast to survival. Forks clattered, goblets clinked, and laughter rippled across the room, while at the table of the elite, the silence was as oppressive as a storm's eye.

Vaelric, despite the barbs flung at him, still did not react. His face remained serene, sculpted in the perfect mask of nobility. As a prince, he had been trained from his earliest years to suppress the storms of emotion within, to project only calm authority.

His aura did not flare, nor did he attempt to remind Asher of the gulf between royalty and dukedom. His brown eyes simply remained locked upon Asher, measuring him, studying him, perhaps even waiting for him to overstep further.

Then, without warning, laughter burst forth, sharp and vibrant, slicing through the air and scattering the tension.

"HAHAHAHAH!"

The sound belonged to Vaelra, the princess, whose bright voice filled the space with surprising warmth.

"I did not know the Tenth Sun possessed such a comedic side," she spoke, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "I seem to discover a new facet of you with each passing day."

Though a princess, Vaelra was unlike her twin. She refused to be shackled by the suffocating customs of royalty. Where others wore their masks of indifference, she dared to laugh openly, to speak her heart with candor.

Her twin brother might embody composure and restraint, but Vaelra embraced expression, relishing the freedom of authenticity, except, of course, during truly important occasions when even she was forced to don her mask of duty.

Asher, hearing her words, responded with a gentle chuckle, the sound unforced and sincere. "I have many sides to me, despite being a Wargrave, Vaelra."

"Indeed," she replied smoothly. "I could not help but notice. A sarcastic Wargrave, one who even smiles… The only other Wargrave known to possess such qualities is the First Sun himself. It seems the two of you share more in common than most would assume."

Her words carried subtle weight, but Asher merely smiled. Unlike the others present, he understood the truth: Wargraves did smile, but only among their own kin. To outsiders, however, they offered nothing but that infamous mask of indifference, a cold facade that concealed the warmth reserved for family alone.

Seeing that he did not reply, Vaelra pressed on, unwilling to let the conversation sink into the grave silence favored by the others. This was a feast, not a funeral, and she would treat it as such.

"So," she asked lightly, "how was your battle? After all, the point gap between you and us is..." She paused, tilting her head as if choosing the most delicate word. "...immense."

"I can only say," Asher replied calmly, "that I did not expect to face criminals and Emovirae during the battle exam. I had anticipated beasts and monsters, nothing more. But it seems the Star Academy thrives on unpredictability."

Vaelra nodded gracefully. "Indeed. I too held that expectation. Yet the Academy showed us once again why its reputation is beyond compare. Their unpredictability is both a challenge and a lesson."

She took a sip from her goblet, then allowed her lips to curve into a smile once more. "Still, I imagine your most noteworthy battle was the one you shared with Ryaen Silvershade."

At this, several pairs of eyes turned toward Ryaen, who sat quietly, her composure unbroken. Even as she felt their collective scrutiny pressing upon her, she did not flinch or falter.

Calm as ever, she continued her meal, ignoring them with practiced ease. Stares were nothing new to her; in the Silvershade Duchy, people often watched her whenever she rode her horse to the forests for training. This was no different.

"Well," Asher admitted softly, "she did give me a tough time."

His words were plain, without embellishment, without boast. He offered no elaboration.

Though the truth was that he had emerged from their battle unscathed, never once running out of Astra, he saw no purpose in proclaiming his superiority here. He had no desire to elevate himself at the expense of Ryaen's dignity.

They had crossed fists because the Academy demanded it, not because of enmity. She was not his foe, not a mortal rival deserving scorn.

To tarnish her name for the sake of attention would have been petty, beneath him. He was far too emotionally intelligent to indulge in such base behavior.