CLEAVER OF SIN - Chapter 259

Chapter 259: Misunderstanding
In a blur of faint black light, Asher, Finch, and William materialized within a long, gleaming hallway. The trio immediately recognized the surroundings: this was the same corridor that led to the hall where their orientation had been held, the space where the Principal and Vice Principal had addressed them just days ago.

Asher’s sharp purple eyes swept the hallway, noting the steady arrival of students, one after another. Some wore expressions of excitement, their enthusiasm nearly tangible. For many, this conference was more than a gathering, it was an opportunity to gain free points, a commodity of immense significance within the Academy. After all, in a place where merit and ranking determined every aspect of a student’s life, points were not merely a measure of progress; they were the lifeblood of ambition. And beyond the conference, classes would resume tomorrow, reasserting the structured rhythm of their academic existence.

Without hesitation, Asher stepped forward, his movements deliberate and confident. William matched his pace on his right-hand side, while Finch followed closely on the left. The hall before them was vast, expanding into a wide, open space that seemed to pulse with the collective energy of the students present. During their earlier orientation, the hall had accommodated precisely two hundred students, a number that had seemed immense at the time. Now, however, nearly four hundred individuals occupied the space, as second- and third-year students had joined the assembly, their presence lending an air of gravitas to the gathering.

The murmur of conversation filled the air. First-year students chatted freely, their voices a mix of excitement and nervous energy. By contrast, the upperclassmen, second- and third-years, sat with measured composure, their silence and self-restraint conveying a sense of superiority, as though idle chatter were a trivial distraction beneath their status. Even from a distance, Asher could sense the subtle hierarchy in the room, the invisible lines of power and experience that separated each class from the others.

Asher’s gaze swept across the hall, analyzing the arrangements. The first, second, and third-year students had naturally separated themselves, each group claiming a distinct segment of the space. The third-year students, in particular, exuded a restrained yet unmistakable aura of strength. Though they remained motionless and spoke little, the mere presence of their collective power was palpable, radiating from them like an invisible force.

It was clear that these students were far from ordinary; after all, the Star Academy accepted only the most exceptional candidates, individuals possessing talents or abilities so extraordinary they bordered on the impossible. To have survived this institution’s rigorous standards for over two years and not been expelled was proof enough that these students were formidable beyond measure.

Asher reflected inwardly on the differences between the students, noting that even those who shared the same Life Rank could vary tremendously in their combat abilities. The disparity between two individuals might be the difference between heaven and earth, subtle yet profound in its implications. Such thoughts had little effect on his outward demeanor, yet they sharpened his awareness, preparing him to navigate the intricate social and hierarchical landscape of the Academy.

As he approached the front, making his way toward the small flight of stairs that led to the first-year section, Asher felt the weight of numerous gazes upon him. At first, he ignored them, accustomed as he was to attention; his appearance and status as a Wargrave naturally drew notice. But this time, the gazes were different. They weren’t piercing, but deliberate, and searching, as if those who bore them sought something more than mere observation. A sense of gratitude, perhaps, lingered in those stares, an unspoken acknowledgment of his presence that he could not immediately comprehend.

One boy, seated at the side with striking red eyes, held his gaze fixed upon Asher, unblinking and excited, as though he were beholding a deity descended from a divine realm. Asher’s face remained impassive, but his mind whirred with questions. Why did so many of them look at him this way? What had occurred to elicit such recognition or reverence?

‘It seems there has been some sort of misunderstanding,’ he thought, his stride unbroken as he continued toward his designated seat.

Not all attention was so intense or solemn. Some second- and third-year students cast casual glances in his direction, accompanied by subtle smiles that seemed laden with meanings only they understood. Asher did not concern himself with them; their presence was peripheral, their relevance negligible. He did not know them well enough to warrant distraction.

Upon reaching his seat, Asher settled down with practiced ease, crossing one leg over the other, his elbow resting on the armrest as his chin supported itself upon his fist. His purple eyes remained locked on the stage ahead, where a podium awaited, its polished surface gleaming under the overhead lights. Finch and William followed, seating themselves silently on either side of him, absorbed in quiet discussion, their hushed tones blending with the ambient noise of the hall.

Moments later, another figure approached their row. She moved with a serene and careful grace, her white hair and black eyes exuding both elegance and discipline. Without a word, she seated herself beside Finch, who in turn sat beside William, while William remained directly to Asher’s right.

Ryaen Silvershade.

Finch stiffened imperceptibly, his body suddenly tense under her silent presence. She did not acknowledge him, did not even glance in his direction, but her mere proximity sent a ripple of disorientation through him. Finch, an heir to a modest Barony, the lowest noble rank, was accustomed to social hierarchies, but being seated beside a Ducal heir of the Silvershade household was an entirely different matter.

It was, by all accounts, a rare and fortunate opportunity. While he had previously encountered the Tenth Sun, another Ducal heir, that experience had been mediated by his personal association with William rather than a direct connection. This encounter, however, placed him in immediate proximity to one of the Academy’s most talented individuals.

The world seemed to tilt slightly for Finch as he attempted to reconcile the enormity of the situation. His gaze darted to Ryaen’s face, noting the symmetry of her features, the depth of her gaze, and the controlled power of her presence. But even as he admired her beauty, he suppressed any thoughts of impropriety; he was not a man who allowed base desires to cloud reason.

He rose swiftly from his seat, bowing with precision and respect. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Silvershade,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him.

Ryaen’s black eyes shifted briefly to Finch, assessing him with quiet calculation. Even without explicit knowledge of his rank, she could deduce from his attire and the careful etiquette of his greeting that he was likely an heir to a Barony or County.

But her appraisal was not judgmental; she did not divide or value individuals solely by their social standings. With a subtle nod, she acknowledged his courtesy before turning her attention back to the podium, her focus fixed, her composure absolute..

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