CLEAVER OF SIN - Chapter 270

Chapter 270: Mountain
Asher’s purple eyes recentered the moment he stepped through the portal, his gaze sweeping across the expansive environment they had been transported into. The sensation of transition still clung faintly to his skin, like a whisper of energy that had yet to fade.

He could hear the soft rush of wind brushing past his hair and trailing against his skin, cool and crisp, carrying with it the fresh scent of untouched land. Beneath his feet, the rocky surface felt uneven, coarse, grounding him firmly to this unfamiliar terrain.

The distant sound of water reached his ears, a rhythmic streaming followed by the crashing wave of a nearby water body, a constant echo that mingled with the rustling of leaves and the soft groan of swaying branches. The smell of greenery drifted through the air, trees, grass, damp earth, and raw mountain soil, each scent intertwining to form the fragrance of pure, untainted nature.

He lowered his gaze slightly and immediately noticed that he and the rest of his classmates were elevated high above the ground, suspended upon a mountain plateau that overlooked vast stretches of land.

‘A mountain, huh?’ he thought, his expression calm yet observant. Around them, the world stretched far and wide, an expanse of forest, rivers that snaked through valleys like glimmering threads, jagged hills piercing the horizon, and distant mountains crowned with mist. Everything seemed strangely still, as though the entire land lay in silent anticipation, waiting for something, perhaps them.

“This place will be your training ground from now on,” Instructor Jane spoke, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade, pulling the students out of their quiet observation. Instantly, the students refocused their attention, their expressions shifting into alertness.

“Now, to begin,” Jane continued, her tone casual yet authoritative, “those of you who specialize in hand-to-hand combat, pick a weapon.”

At her words, she made a simple motion with her hand, and a wooden rack materialized in midair, floating before them. It was lined with weapons of various shapes and sizes, sabres, swords, spears, daggers, staffs, all crafted from reinforced metallic material.

“Be fast. I don’t have all day,” she said with a lazy tone, though her eyes remained sharp. Without hesitation, a handful of students stepped forward, their movements filled with either excitement or quiet resolve. Each selected a weapon that resonated with them before returning to their previous positions in the formation.

Once the selection was completed, Jane waved her hand once again, and the rack vanished into her space ring, disappearing without a trace.

“Now, for today’s session, all of you will be sparring with me,” she declared calmly. “The only means of attack permitted will be the weapon in your hands, nothing else. No sneak attacks like throwing sand, no abilities, no Astra energy, no tricks. Every strike you make must be done through the weapon you hold.”

She spoke slowly, ensuring each word was absorbed.

“The purpose of this spar is to test your current level and your natural compatibility with the weapon you wield. Through this, I will identify your flaws and the areas where your weapon arts require correction.” She paused, letting silence rest for a moment. “Attack me with everything you have, and what I mean by that is attack me as though I am your greatest enemy. Strike with the intention to kill.”

At those words, not a single student flinched. They weren’t foolish enough to believe that any of them could actually harm her, much less kill her. Still, her words set the tone, it wasn’t a casual spar. It was a test of mentality just as much as technique.

“Also,” she continued, “do not assume I will stay on the defensive the entire time. I will attack you to gauge your sense of defense and maneuvering. You will get injured, of course, not lethally or critically. I will also suppress my strength and combat speed to match your general level, so do not worry about being overwhelmed instantly. That would be pointless.”

She glanced across the gathered students, her expression unreadable. “Are you ready?”

The students did not respond verbally. Instead, they silently shifted into their stances, raising their weapons, eyes widening with focus and tension.

Instructor Jane unsheathed the sabre hanging at her waist. The sound of metal sliding against its scabbard echoed faintly, sharp and clean. She held the blade with a relaxed posture, her black eyes devoid of emotion as she gazed at the students before her. Time seemed to stretch thin, tension coiling in the atmosphere like a drawn bowstring. Several students unconsciously held their breath as their heartbeats grew loud in their chests.

A single leaf drifted down from a nearby tree, dancing gently through the breeze. The moment it touched the rocky ground beneath their feet, Jane vanished.

She moved with such speed that her form blurred, leaving a faint afterimage behind. Several students blinked, startled, their eyes widening in shock. They had assumed she would at least give them the courtesy of striking first.

In the next heartbeat, she appeared directly in front of a female student, her sabre slicing through the air toward the girl’s neck in a brutal, clean arc, an execution strike. The girl reacted instantly, instincts flaring to life. She twisted her body with desperate precision, her weapon rising just in time. Steel met steel with a sharp ring, sparks flashing between the blades.

The impact rattled through her arm, a crushing force threatening to drive her to her knees. Before she could steady herself, another student lunged forward to assist, the sound of air tearing apart signaling his hurried strike.

Jane didn’t need to look to know another attack targeted her neck from behind. She could feel it, the faint shift in air pressure, the killing intent, however faint. Before she moved, she also sensed two more students closing in from her left and right.

Four attacks. Four directions. Four intentions to strike.

She didn’t even blink.

With minimal movement, she shifted her head, letting the first strike whistle past. Her sabre traced a clean arc, parrying the incoming blade from the left, deflecting it effortlessly. Without pause, she altered the motion seamlessly, flicking her wrist and diverting the third strike coming from the right. The precision was almost casual, like swatting away flies.

Before the three new attackers and the first girl could respond, her arm blurred again. In that instant, shallow cuts bloomed across their bodies, clean, controlled slashes that parted flesh like a knife through butter. Thin trails of blood sprayed into the air.

But she didn’t grant them a moment of reprieve.

Dozens of students surged forward, weapons raised, determination burning in their eyes. Jane glanced at them briefly, then shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her sabre became a streak, slicing through their formation.

Before most could even swing, she was upon them, her blade cutting, deflecting, striking with efficiency that bordered on artistry. She did not fight like someone merely strong, she fought like someone who was born to wield weapons.

Her transitions were flawless. Attack flowed into defense, defense into counter, counters into redirection. Her black eyes shifted from student to student, reading each of their moves effortlessly. She wasn’t pressured, she was observing, dissecting, evaluating.

A clash of steel sent dust bursting into the air. Through the haze, she moved like a phantom. The butt of her sabre suddenly slammed into a student’s chest, the impact brutal. The air was knocked from his lungs in a violent gasp.

She had lowered her strength to their combat level, yet even so, the gap between their technique and hers was immeasurable. It wasn’t simply power, it was refinement, efficiency, a mastery they could not hope to mirror. She saw through every swing, every stance. To her, they were open books, children wielding weapons they did not yet understand.

Suddenly, a kick cut through the air toward her head, a high, swift strike. Jane had already seen it before it even left the student’s leg. Her left hand rose and met the attack. The impact collided with her wrist, but she did not move an inch.

Her gaze fell on the student who had kicked, disobeying her earlier command restricting them to weapon use only. Realizing his mistake, the student attempted to retract his leg, but she was faster. Her blade moved with viper-like lethality, and in a clean motion, it tore through the back of his ankle. His Achilles tendon severed instantly.

Before a scream could escape his throat, the butt of her sabre crashed into the side of his head. He collapsed instantly, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Then, without pause, she continued, shifting back into the offensive, then back into defense, flowing like water between forms. Each injury she dealt was intentional, enough to hurt, enough to teach, but never enough to cripple. Her gaze swept across them all continuously, evaluating, judging, committing their flaws to memory for future correction.

For the few students who clearly had no knowledge of weapons at all, Jane merely disarmed them with a single flick of her blade, sending their weapons flying from their hands. Yet she did not criticize them, not yet. They lacked ability, but that was why they were here.

Their blood stained the ground in small streaks, their breathing heavy, but their eyes still burned with determination.

And Jane… Jane looked almost bored.