Absolute Cheater - Chapter 481
481: Averin Academy V 481: Averin Academy V He turned slightly, raising a hand.
A faint shimmer spread across the ruined courtyard, and instantly, the ground repaired itself.
The scorch marks vanished, marble tiles realigned, and the mist rolled back in as though the destruction had never happened.
Asher’s gaze lingered on each of them.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, “we raise the tempo.
You’ll face me together.” Maxwell exhaled sharply, a grin breaking through his exhaustion.
“All of us against you?
That’s not fair.” “It’s not supposed to be,” Asher said, a faint smile curving his lips.
“Fairness doesn’t forge strength.
Pressure does.” He looked up at the faintly reddened horizon-the last light of the day shimmering across the barrier walls.
The next morning dawned with a sharp chill in the air.
The mists over the Magnus courtyard clung low, curling like pale ribbons over the marble ground.
Dew sparkled faintly in the first slant of sunlight, and the silence that followed was deep-expectant.
Asher stood in the center once more, his black training robes faintly outlined by the crimson hue of dawn.
His sword was sheathed at his side, no aura radiating from him at all.
He looked almost serene, as though the man who had crushed kings and slain aberrations was nothing more than a quiet instructor awaiting his students.
The cousins arrived together, weapons ready and expressions steeled.
The exhaustion from the previous day had been replaced by resolve.
Maxwell’s golden aura burned steady and proud, Sylens’ beasts prowled silently at his side, Amanda’s whip crackled faintly with quiet lightning, and the twins’ blood auras glowed in balanced harmony-gray and red intertwined like living mist.
They formed a half-circle around Asher.
“Today,” he said softly, drawing his blade, “you fight me.” His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of inevitability.
Maxwell stepped forward first, his grin fierce.
“You sure you want to take all of us at once, cousin?” Asher didn’t answer.
He simply unsheathed his sword with a sound like the breath of wind.
The blade gleamed faintly silver-no bloodlight, no energy surge, no visible aura at all.
That silence was far more intimidating than any power he could have shown.
Then he moved.
It was like time folded.
One instant, Asher stood before them, unmoving.
The next, Maxwell’s sword was deflected with a single effortless parry that sent him stumbling backward.
The counterstrike was clean, smooth-without blood essence, without any Law-but so precise it nearly shattered Maxwell’s defense outright.
Sylens moved in instantly, his beasts lunging to flank Asher.
The crimson wolf darted low, the shadow-lion leapt high, and the dragon exhaled a blast of searing heat.
Asher didn’t even turn his head.
His sword drew a single curved line through the air, and all three constructs dispersed like mist.
The backlash sent Sylens staggering, clutching his arm.
Amanda’s whip snapped forward, lightning crackling along its length.
It struck Asher’s side-but he tilted his sword just slightly, and the whip’s trajectory curved harmlessly past him, diverted by the perfect angle of his blade’s flat.
She recoiled, blinking in disbelief.
Lia fired three arrows in succession, each infused with soul rhythm.
The shots were swift, deadly accurate-but Asher stepped forward between them, his movements so refined that each arrow passed within a hair’s breadth, missing him by inches.
His sword didn’t even rise to block.
Sophia took that moment to charge, shield first, hoping to capitalize on his forward motion.
But Asher’s foot shifted half an inch, and she crashed into the empty air where he had been.
His sword tapped her shield from behind-just a light touch-and the impact threw her to one knee as her entire balance shattered.
He wasn’t using blood arts.
He wasn’t using aura.
Not even soul force.
Just pure swordsmanship.
Every move was the embodiment of mastery-fluid, deliberate, inevitable.
“Your rhythm falters when you think too much,” he said quietly, catching Maxwell’s blade on the flat of his sword.
“Combat isn’t counting steps.
It’s hearing the pulse beneath them.” Maxwell growled, striking harder, faster-but Asher’s blade intercepted each blow with effortless grace.
No strength wasted, no motion unnecessary.
He turned, guiding Maxwell’s final strike aside and using the momentum to step inside his guard.
With a simple twist, he tapped the back of his blade against Maxwell’s ribs, sending him reeling.
Sylens’ beasts reformed and attacked again.
Asher met them with one long breath and a horizontal cut.
The wind pressure alone flattened all three.
Then Sylens himself lunged, his claws glowing red-but Asher’s sword flicked once, and the air burst between them, throwing him backward like a rag doll.
Amanda launched a storm of black lightning in desperation.
The air screamed with her whip’s strikes, the courtyard shaking under the assault.
But Asher raised his free hand-not even his sword-and brushed the lightning aside.
The energy dispersed instantly, unraveling into harmless static.
He was no longer moving as a man of their world.
His every gesture carried a density that bent the natural rhythm of motion.
It wasn’t that he was fast-they simply couldn’t perceive the interval between his actions anymore.
Lia and Sophia tried to synchronize one last combined attack-soul and blood interwoven into a final arrow that glowed bright as dawn.
Asher didn’t dodge.
He stepped forward, sword sheathing in one smooth motion.
The air split silently.
A single click echoed.
The arrow dissolved into motes of light before it reached him.
When he finally spoke, his tone was soft but edged with steel.”This is the difference between mastering energy-and mastering yourself.” The cousins stood, panting, surrounded by the faint echoes of their defeat.
Not one of them had managed to touch him.
Yet not once had he struck to wound-every blow had been measured, educational, precise.
Maxwell straightened slowly, sweat dripping from his brow.
“You didn’t even use your blood arts…” Asher turned to face him, eyes calm.
“You think mastery lies in power.
But true cultivation begins when you no longer need it.” He pointed his sword downward.
The courtyard trembled faintly-not from his energy, but from the faint pulse of resonance within the earth itself, responding to him.
“This is what lies beyond the lower bindings,” he said, referring to the Bloodline Veils-the thresholds of strength all cultivators were chained by.
“The higher realm doesn’t bow to force.
It answers to understanding.”