CLEAVER OF SIN

Clinton stood off to the side, intending to observe the sparring match from start to finish. He was keen to witness the Tenth Sun’s performance firsthand, while remaining prepared to intervene at a moment’s notice to prevent either Asher or Kale from sustaining life-threatening injuries.

He had never once believed Asher stood a chance. Clinton understood the nature of genius, he had witnessed monsters in human form, and had even been the one to train them.

After all, every Sun and Moon of the Wargrave family passed through this very First training ground, beginning at the age of fifteen and typically concluding by seventeen.

But this situation was different, two years of refined experience against none. Kale was no ordinary trainee; he was a slum-born orphan who had been tempered by hardship, forced to fight and steal from an early age just to survive. His battle instincts were forged in desperation, not drills.

Without hesitation, he gave the signal.

"Begin."

Clinton observed Asher intently, tracking every movement with the intention of offering corrections later. He analyzed his footwork, the fluidity of his rapier, and the rhythm of his stance, but found nothing amiss. The Tenth Sun moved with a precision that left little room for critique.

There was a distinct light in Asher’s eyes, a quiet, calculating gleam. Clinton recognized the strategy: observe first, adapt later. But as the bout progressed, something shifted.

This wasn’t mere observation. Asher wasn’t simply learning; he was absorbing Kale in his entirety, his patterns, his movement, his very self, until the boy before him was no longer an opponent, but an open book laid bare.

Clinton watched in stunned silence as the Tenth Sun raised his rapier to block, before Kale had even launched his attack.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.