CLEAVER OF SIN - Chapter 262

Chapter 262: Reputation
Within the vast hall where the conference was ongoing, a suffocating silence descended the moment Asher’s voice faded into stillness. The air itself felt heavy, as though the very walls held their breath. When he had stepped forward to speak, the crowd had anticipated something entirely different.

Many among them had assumed he would seize the opportunity to further elevate his popularity, to secure admiration and prestige that many desperately sought in such a public setting. A moment like this, under the eyes of nobles, scholars, and aspirants alike, was a treasure trove for anyone wishing to shape their image.

But, the Tenth Sun had done the complete opposite.

He had won valuable points for saving people during the apocalypse, and with that feat, he had unknowingly risen in the esteem of many. Yet, he now stood before the podium with an indifferent posture and declared before the very same people he had saved that they should not rely on him. His words were not spoken in bitterness or arrogance, but with a tone devoid of theatrics. They were direct, plain, and painfully honest.

Everyone remained stunned, their expressions frozen in disbelief. It was as though their minds could not fully process his words. The Tenth Sun simply did not conform to the logic they believed in. He moved with a rhythm entirely his own, unbound by the typical pursuit of recognition, admiration, or praise. The murmurs that had begun to rise earlier died quickly, swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed his declaration.

At the side, Vice Principal Berion, who had been watching Asher closely, maintained an expressionless gaze. But, within his mind, even he had paused in astonishment. Then, just a heartbeat later, a subtle smile formed in the depths of his thoughts. To him, the Tenth Sun’s words were not strange nor rebellious. They were simply the truth, untarnished and unembellished.

Asher, having completed his statement, felt countless gazes trailing him like invisible threads as he walked back to his seat. Bu he did not so much as tilt his head in acknowledgment. His steps neither hastened nor slowed; he moved with an unshaken rhythm, as though the entire hall and its emotions had nothing to do with him.

Berion returned his focus to the podium and raised his voice, which sliced through the silent tension lingering in the air. “What the Tenth Sun has said is indeed the truth.” His steady tone pulled everyone out of their thoughts, forcing them to confront reality rather than indulge in emotional fantasy.

“If the students require saving every time adversity strikes, then what is the purpose of building the Star Academy institution? What is the purpose of training you, educating you, and preparing you for the world beyond these walls? That would be nothing but a waste of time, resources, and expectations. And the fact that some among you believe you could simply rely on someone else to save you every time danger appears only shows how disconnected from reality you truly are.”

His words were not sharp with anger, but they were impossibly firm. “As the Tenth Sun said, never place your life in the hands of another. Although we awarded points for saving and assisting others, it was never an obligation. Do not wake to the morning sun thinking that anyone is bound by duty to rescue you. You might believe that those in positions of power, perhaps even an Emperor, are obligated to save the people, but tell me, do you think their duty comes before ensuring their own survival? And by the time they finish saving themselves, how many of you would still remain alive to be saved?”

A quiet dread settled in the minds of many. His words were not a mere reprimand; they were a mirror held before their idealistic beliefs. They sank deeply into the hearts of some of the first-year students, who had naïvely begun to view Asher as a hero or a figure to be idolized.

The second and third-year students, on the other hand, did not look at Asher with the same unfounded expectations. He had not interacted with them during the apocalypse. Even if he had saved one or two of them, they were not foolish enough to crown him a hero in their hearts. They understood that the world did not revolve around gratitude or sentimentality.

The first-year students, however, were still green, freshly molded by the comfort of structure, ignorant of the harsh cruelty that lingered outside the Academy’s walls. Because of that, no one truly blamed them for their naivety.

As Asher reached his seat, he sat down quietly, unaffected by the eyes watching him. The reverence that had filled their gazes earlier had diminished sharply, like a candle struggling after a gust of wind. But Asher did not mind in the slightest. Reverence was meaningless to him. He did not walk this life to be adored.

Although he was not one to seek the role of a savior, he was also not heartless. When the moment truly demanded it, when standing aside would be no different from cruelty, he would not hesitate to draw his rapier and act. For example, if the Wargrave Duchy, his homeland, were to be invaded by a monstrous tide, he would stand at the forefront without a second thought. After all, he was not a beast that would watch indifferently while his people were slaughtered.

“You must be the first person whose reputation soared so high one moment, only for you to tear it down yourself in the very next,” William commented with a tone that was more amused than disapproving, sitting beside Asher.

“What was I supposed to do? Bask in the glory of the moment?” Asher replied, his words spoken without a hint of interest.

Although it had been a rhetorical question, William either did not notice or pretended not to. “Indeed. After all, reputation goes a long way in this life.”

But Asher merely shook his head slightly. “Reputation shackled by expectations is nothing but a knife wrapped in a gift package. Power, in its purest form, is reputation enough. With enough power, one does not need to move, speak, blink, or even be present. The world will bend in favor simply because of the weight that power carries.” His tone remained flat, but his words were like iron.

William looked at him, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as though he did not fully agree but could not refute the logic either.

“What the Tenth Sun says is true, Young Master Canestane,” Ryaen’s calm voice drifted from the other side, drawing their attention.

“Reputation shackled by expectations is simply a knife wrapped around in a gift package. If the Tenth Sun relies on this heroic reputation, what then? Would he not be forced to save more students should another crisis arise? At first, it may seem small, insignificant, even noble. But before long, that invisible chain tightens. Expectations rise. And soon, everyone would believe he is duty-bound to save them, and because of that reputation, he will find it difficult, if not impossible, to refuse.”

She spoke without haste, her posture composed, her black eyes shifting briefly from the podium where Vice Principal Berion still stood, then pausing on William.

“And what happens when he can no longer save them? When the tide is too great, when power alone is not enough? The same people who raised him onto a pedestal will tear him down with their own hands. The very reputation he risked his life to build will crumble before his eyes. People forget. Gratitude fades. But expectations remain. Is that not the cruel reality of power misused?”

Her words, though spoken softly, struck with precision.

“Some might think or say, ‘Then he should simply stop caring about reputation.’ But those words are born from naivety. You cannot expect a person to remain unmoved as everything they built, everything they endured, is shattered before them. Power is a tool at the end of the day. But without the proper mindset, one does not wield power. Power wields them.”

Ryaen’s voice remained steady, as though what she spoke was simple and undeniable truth.

“So, Young Master Canestane,” she concluded, her black eyes finally drifting away from William and returning to the front, “in my opinion, the Tenth Sun has simply avoided making the greatest mistake of his life. Of course,” she added with a faint, composed tone, “that is only my opinion. Nothing more.”