Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 989: Launched

Two palms tore toward each other with apocalyptic force. The moment both palms crashed into one another, the air twisted, then collapsed, as a thunderous storm of shockwaves clapped outward, slamming into everybody gathered around Azaron and Threshold I.

Malrik, Threshold II, Threshold III, Morthern, and the rest simply withstood the shockwave as they protected their weaker teammates. After all, just that shockwave alone was enough to kill the Suns, Moons, and the Alphabets.

From the point in space where the two palms met, and the position where Azaron and Threshold I stood, a sinkhole tore open as though a void had been etched into the very earth of the planet itself. Everything around them was torn to shreds, reducing everything within over five thousand kilometers to ribbons and fragments.

The scale of destruction from merely two palms colliding was literally insane.

But then, the impossible happened.

As the two palms met, Azaron’s body shot backward, the impact from Threshold I’s attack blasting him away as his body streaked across thousands of kilometers, eventually slamming into a hill that lay beyond the range of the palm attack’s destruction.

Silence consumed the entire battlefield. No, even the very concept of silence itself was silenced, as though silence itself couldn’t believe what it had just witnessed.

Azaron, the man who had stood above all since he stepped into the Crownstar Life Rank over a century ago, the man who had torn down everything in his path with nothing but physical strength... had been pushed back.

No, he wasn’t just pushed back. After all, he hadn’t merely stumbled back a couple of steps or so; he had been launched backward like a baseball struck by a bat, his body crossing a five-thousand-kilometer radius in the blink of an eye.

Morthern was speechless. Morgana was too. Damian floated there, utterly stunned. Azazel, who had fought Azaron before, was also struck with bewilderment. The Elders likewise stood frozen in pure disbelief, while Malrik floated with a dumbfounded expression. Even the Suns and Moons, who processed everything later due to their comparatively slower perception, remained suspended in utter disbelief.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Threshold IX burst into laughter as he clutched his stomach at the spectacle before him.

Azaron, the One Above All, had just been thrown backward by a single attack. How wasn’t that funny?

The Thresholds and Alphabets all wore various smiles and grins upon their faces. Their leader had always been monstrously powerful from the very beginning. There was a reason why she was Threshold I and the leader of The Convergence, after all.

"It seems the Wargraves are indeed simply too overhyped," Threshold X spoke with a small smile gracing her face as her eyes shifted toward Third Elder Willow, Azaron’s sister.

She had deliberately chosen a fellow woman as her target.

Willow didn’t acknowledge Threshold X. The stunned expression on her face, along with everyone else’s, gradually vanished. After all, there was simply no way Azaron would be defeated by that single attack. If he could be killed or heavily injured by a solitary strike, then the Wargraves were nothing more than a group of posers, and that was something they absolutely were not.

Over five thousand kilometers away, Azaron sat stunned, his body having been lodged deep into a mountain. There wasn’t a single injury upon his body, nor did his hand tremble from Threshold I’s attack. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been thrown backward by a single opening exchange or even an ordinary attack.

A hundred and thirty years ago? Perhaps a hundred and forty? He couldn’t remember exactly.

Threshold I, who was thousands of kilometers away, simply took a step and flickered from her position, instantly appearing before Azaron as she stood a couple of meters away. She looked down upon him with a flat expression, her earlier smile having long since vanished.

"Azaron," she began to speak once more as she stood with her hands clasped behind her back, "I told you not to insult our battle, and I also warned you that I’m not Valentine, the cowardly assassin whom you can afford to hold back against," she stated in an indifferent tone.

"I’ve been looking forward to this battle for a century now. Do not make this longing of mine go to waste," she added in finality as she stared at Azaron, who remained lodged within the hill as though he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

Azaron’s golden eyes finally shifted toward her, his shocked expression returning to its usual emotionless state. It wasn’t that Threshold I had been stronger than him. If that were the case, then his entire hand would have been blown off or shattered beyond repair, yet he hadn’t sustained even the slightest injury.

The reason he had been thrown back was simple. He had held back a tremendous amount of his physical strength, whereas his opponent had unleashed a far greater output than he had expected.

Azaron understood every single syllable that came out of Threshold I’s mouth, and indeed, she was right.

Normally, whenever Azaron fought anyone, he usually held back by an overwhelming margin, not because he looked down on his opponents, but because he didn’t want them to die from a single attack. He wanted to savor the battle. He wanted to have something enjoyable to do. After all, Crownstar Life Rankers rarely fought one another.

He could count the number of times he had fought another being since stepping into the Crownstar Life Rank. While he spent most of his time training, training simply wasn’t as exhilarating as actual combat. It didn’t make his blood boil nearly as much.

He couldn’t challenge End-class Monsters because doing so would trigger an Empire-wide Monster Invasion Tide. He couldn’t hunt Rank 10 Emovirae simply because they were far too slippery and cunning due to their extraordinarily high intelligence.

So, Azaron had to make do with what he had, and what he had were opponents like Valentine, against whom he could comfortably hold back, fight for an hour or more, or perhaps even less depending on how disappointing his opponents proved to be, before finally putting them down.

However, although Azaron had been caught off guard by Threshold I because she had unleashed a far greater physical output than he had expected, something as insignificant as this wouldn’t suddenly make him fight at full power. Even now, if he and the Black Disaster, Azazel, who had fought him to a draw on two separate occasions, were to fight again, he still wouldn’t begin at full power.

His opponents had to earn it. If they proved stronger than he had anticipated, then he would simply raise his own output accordingly until it matched theirs, allowing him to enjoy the battle for a while before deciding how it would end.

So, unfortunately for Threshold I, Azaron wasn’t suddenly going to go all out simply because she had told him to.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet as the hill, which had seemingly been supported entirely by his own weight, immediately collapsed into a crashing heap of rubble. As he stood, he dusted himself off manually without using Astra Energy, almost as though he genuinely enjoyed doing so. It had been a long time since he had been launched backward like this, and, admittedly, he had rather enjoyed the experience.

Threshold I didn’t say anything. She already knew Azaron was still going to hold back, yet she didn’t complain. She understood the kind of man Azaron was. After all, people like them, individuals who stood at the absolute pinnacle of power, were not so easily convinced that some random opponent could truly stand on equal footing with them.

But all she had to do... was prove it, wasn’t it?