Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 546: Deranged Man

Hearing the sound, Asher’s eyes snapped sharply in the direction from which it originated. He remained utterly silent, as he had not yet seen anything, and after all, this chamber alone spanned over 300 meters in width, meaning the source of the noise was most likely emerging from the far end of the vast, dimly lit room.

The sounds of metal clanging and screeching reverberated throughout the chamber one after the other in irregular, discordant patterns. Asher did not need to deliberate long to deduce that the source of the disturbance was a person methodically opening the cells.

Within a few minutes, the figure arrived at Asher’s side, first opening the cell of a man positioned opposite him, retrieving food and water from a space ring and carelessly tossing it toward the prisoner with absolutely no concern as to whether the provisions scattered across the filthy floor or remained intact.

The figure turned away without the slightest hesitation and approached Asher’s cell, unlocking it before stepping inside with deliberate calm. Asher’s purple eyes settled upon the individual standing before him. ’An assassin?’ Asher contemplated inwardly, recalling vividly the assassin Biue and his fellow operatives who had worn dark capes and featureless masks, yet he dismissed the notion almost immediately, for his Father, Duke Azaron, had already annihilated the Assassin Guild along with its leader in a decisive and merciless purge.

Although Asher was far from naive enough to assume that a new Assassin Guild would not eventually rise to replace the fallen one, and despite the fact that more than a full month had already passed, ample time for another clandestine organization to establish itself, he also understood that assassins were not inclined toward kidnapping.

Their profession revolved strictly around execution, nothing more and nothing less. Furthermore, the mere act of wearing a cape and mask did not automatically designate one as an assassin; such attire could just as easily conceal the identity of a common thug or a sadistic subordinate operating under darker orders.

The figure standing before Asher remained silent for a brief moment, as though measuring him, then suddenly moved with blinding speed as a vicious kick tore toward Asher’s head. Asher instinctively prepared to evade the strike, yet he restrained himself at the final instant. The next moment, the kick collided with his temple with a resounding blast, snapping his head violently to the side as the force of the impact exploded outward, causing the chains binding him to the wall in a seated position to clatter thunderously against the stone surface.

The figure did not pause for even a fraction of a second; they advanced again, driving a fist savagely into Asher’s stomach before following with a brutal kick to his jaw. The sound of each strike echoed through Asher’s confined cell and rolled outward across the expansive chamber in heavy waves. Asher did not utter a single word; he remained motionless and simply endured the assault without the slightest alteration in his expression.

From the weight and restraint behind each blow, Asher could discern that the figure before him was deliberately holding back to avoid shattering the chains, cracking the walls, or bending the reinforced steel bars that comprised the cell.

Asher remained silent, his Omni Perception granting him an ability akin to X-ray vision, allowing him to see through the dense stone walls and even beyond the opaque mask covering the figure’s face. Beneath the concealment, a wide grin stretched across the man’s features, an expression of twisted delight, the man evidently exerting immense effort to suppress the deranged and villainous laughter threatening to escape his throat.

The man seized Asher by the head and slammed it violently against the wall behind him. Asher felt the force surge through his skull like a shockwave, yet once again he offered no reaction, remaining eerily composed as the impact reverberated through his body. Ordinarily, Asher would have retaliated or at least responded instinctively, but an assault of this magnitude meant nothing to someone who was supposed to stand at the Dust Brightstar Life Rank, a level of existence far beyond the comprehension of most individuals imprisoned within this forsaken chamber.

The man pressed his boot against Asher’s face one final time, deliberately grinding the sole against his handsome face as though to reinforce the notion that Asher was nothing more than a lowly ’Adventurer,’ a being beneath contempt. After a brief pause, the man withdrew his foot, his black eyes lingering on Asher for a long, scrutinizing moment before he turned away without uttering a word, not even bothering to provide Asher with food or water.

Asher remained silent for several seconds thereafter. Fury did not ignite within him; anger, hatred, and wounded pride did not erupt uncontrollably; instead, he remained seated, still bound in place as though he had not just endured a beating.

His purple eyes followed the retreating man’s figure briefly before he deliberately tore his gaze away. If not for the mission, and more importantly, the unfathomable unknown that permeated the very foundations of the building in which he was confined, he would have killed the man instantly and without hesitation, reducing him to nothing more than a fading corpse upon the cold stone floor.

Yet if he were to act impulsively, if he were to surrender to instinct and retaliate, the metallic scent of blood would inevitably spread beyond the confines of the cell, and whoever was monitoring the captives would undoubtedly take notice, rendering all the progress he had painstakingly achieved thus far entirely meaningless and jeopardizing the broader objective he had yet to uncover.

’If only,’ Asher mused inwardly, his thoughts flowing with chilling clarity; if only time were not such a constraint, he would have captured this particular deranged individual and subjected him to a prolonged torment before granting him the mercy of death, but Asher did not possess that luxury within the parameters of this mission, and discipline prevailed over vengeance.

Further down the chamber, another sequence of beating erupted. The pattern was consistent and disturbingly methodical: it would commence for several minutes, conclude with the unmistakable clang of a cell door shutting, followed by the opening of another cell and the continuation of the brutal cycle. Asher did not speak; he simply listened intently and counted within the confines of his mind, his awareness expanding with each echoing strike.

’Those he is beating are undoubtedly the Adventurers who accepted the mission before being captured,’ Asher concluded internally after careful deduction, for the deranged man had not assaulted any of the villagers who had been kidnapped, and if he had, such villagers would have perished almost instantly, as most were unawakeners, and even those who were awakeners remained pitifully low within the Life Rank hierarchy, meaning a beating of this magnitude would either kill them outright or leave them suspended in a vegetative state.

’Twenty in total then,’ Asher calculated inwardly as he finalized the count of Adventurers subjected to the brutal abuse. Although he could not physically see them due to the sheer distance of three hundred meters separating their cells, Asher could accurately determine their number from the resonance and repetition of the heavy blows that echoed precisely twenty times throughout the vast chamber, each sequence distinct and unmistakable within the silence that followed.