CHAPTER 48: LITERAL AND FIGURATIVE

Originally, Asher would have exchanged attacks with his opponents, trying to gain as much battle experience as possible, if there was any to gain.

But not this time. If there was anything Asher hated, it was stupid people, people who couldn’t mind their own business or simply shut their mouths when it was clearly the better option.

He had ignored Ryan, not because he couldn’t respond, but simply because he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t have the time to argue or fight with someone over a woman he had just met. It wasn’t worth his attention.

Asher wasn’t someone who allowed his emotions to be manipulated so easily.

Even as they were about to spar, Asher could feel Ryan’s gaze and smug smile. He knew exactly what Ryan wanted, to make him scream, to make him beg, and to make him bleed.

So Asher returned the favor, not with a smile or a word, but with his actions. He had no plans to waste his precious time by dragging out the match or allowing Ryan to attack for a while just for show.

He simply ended things from the very beginning, with overwhelming, brutal precision.

He didn’t care if people doubted him or speculated about how strong he actually was.

Asher wasn’t going to hide his abilities. Though he would naturally conceal a few things as a trump card, he wasn’t going to act weak or try to match Ryan evenly just because nobles were watching.

He wasn’t here to play that kind of game.

If he had transmigrated into this world as a commoner, that would have been one thing. But he was born as a Wargrave, someone with the backing of monsters, both literal and figurative.

There was no need for him to play the "strong acting weak" role. That wasn’t his style.

The entire clearing had descended into absolute silence. Every single conversation had ceased. No whispers, no murmurs, only wide eyes and gaping mouths as everyone stared on in extreme disbelief.

Asher was supposed to be crushed. That was what they expected. But here he was, doing the impossible right in front of their eyes.

He overpowered his opponent with speed, strength, precision, and terrifying efficiency. They watched him flow from one attack to another, like a ceaseless tide.

Even when Ryan dodged or blocked, it was as if Asher had already seen it coming, like he could peer a few seconds into the future and adjust accordingly.

At this moment, only the sound of bones breaking thundered in their eardrums. They heard Ryan scream, but then they saw Asher cut off his screams as easily as he had landed the first blow.

The sounds of bones snapping, crunching, and breaking continued, without pause, without hesitation, without remorse, and without an ounce of mercy.

Many people swallowed hard. Their bodies reacted involuntarily, a jolt of cold fear running down their spines as if they themselves could feel just a fraction of Ryan’s pain.

But none moved.

They stood as if frozen in time.

This was the failed heir?

This was the ruined heir?

The disgrace of the Wargrave bloodline?

The dim Sun?

’If he was a failure... then what were they?’ they couldn’t help but think, the question hammering into their minds.

They watched as Ryan, the son of a Duke, lay half-dead on the ground. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest served as proof that he was still clinging to life.

Asher’s hands moved with calculated grace. He pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of his chest coat, calmly wiped the blood from his hands, and dropped the cloth beside Ryan’s broken body.

Without a second glance, he turned and walked away. He didn’t wait for the Emperor to declare a winner. He didn’t need to. Even the Emperor hadn’t moved, just stared at Asher as he approached.

Squish. Squish.

The sound echoed softly from Asher’s shoes, soaked in blood, as he walked.

His right hand was gently placed across the left side of his chest. His left arm folded behind his back in an elegant, respectful posture as he greeted,

"I greet His Royal Majesty, the Emperor."

At the sound of his voice, the Emperor smiled. He reached out and patted Asher on the shoulder.

"You’ve done well," the Emperor said with a nod.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Asher intoned respectfully.

His gaze then turned toward Azeron, who simply stared at him with golden eyes, expressionless as always.

"I hope I was able to please the Primarch," Asher said, bowing once more.

"You did good. You may return, as you had planned," Azeron replied calmly, his voice as devoid of emotion as ever.

Asher nodded, turned without hesitation, and walked past them. Virelass floated behind him, its body humming softly like a lullaby.

Once outside, Asher stepped into the awaiting carriage and left the Royal Palace, this time, without any obstructions.

Duke Rhydion Silvershade appeared beside the unconscious Ryan in a flash. He bent down, scooped up his son’s broken body, and vanished just as quickly.

The nobles began leaving one by one, each with their own thoughts swirling in their minds. Some were already itching to gossip about what they had just witnessed, unable to keep such juicy news to themselves for long.

But one thing remained undeniably true: the Silvershade family had suffered immense losses today.

They had shot themselves in the foot.

Emperor Zolthemir and the rest of the Dukes had already vanished from the viewing arena, reappearing within the room they were previously in.

"Azeron, are you sure that Asher kid failed his awakening?" Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft asked as he sat down gently. A bird flew in from the window and landed on his head like it was nesting, but Mauvrek didn’t react. It seemed completely normal to him.

"Indeed. It seems you fooled Rhydion into suffering these losses," Duchess Syvrein Stormveil intoned.

"Let’s be clear. Nobody was fooled into anything," Emperor Zolthemir said, his voice even. "Rhydion was the one who proposed the bet himself. The damage is already done."

"But I have to say, your son is a monster,"

Zolthemir added, nodding thoughtfully. "His hand-to-hand combat techniques are flawless. If his fists are that good, I wonder how terrifying his sword skills must be."

Still, Azeron said nothing. He simply sat in silence, but his mind was elsewhere, counting platinum coins.

’I should probably return and tell Zarek,’ he thought, already planning how he would brag about this moment later.

"Don’t you have anything to say, Azeron?"

Mauvrek asked, lifting the bird from his head and gently petting it. "I’m sure Rhydion is already rushing home to get his son healed."

Azeron’s golden gaze turned lazily to Mauvrek.

"There’s nothing to say. This much is expected of all Wargraves."

"Sigh... What did I even expect from you?"

Mauvrek said with a helpless sigh.

"Who would’ve thought your son’s confidence during his conversation with the Princess wasn’t unfounded?" Duchess Syvrein said with a soft smile. "He simply didn’t know her well enough to fight her, as he had claimed."

She generally approved of men who didn’t think with the equipment between their legs, which was why she found herself liking Asher more and more.

"You really made a killing this time," Zolthemir said with a chuckle. "When do you plan to collect the coins?"

Azeron seemed to pause in thought for a moment before replying monotonously,

"Today. I don’t have time to be moving around tomorrow."

The rest of them nodded. As Dukes and people of great power, their schedules were packed beyond belief.

And so, their conversation continued without Duke Rhydion Silvershade, who at that very moment was rushing desperately to the Silvershade estate, trying to save his son’s life.