Absolute Cheater
Chapter 346 - 346: Ambush II

Veyra spoke, but there was something strange about her face—an ethereal blush spread across her features, and she looked away from Asher. That night, Asher accepted her, and they shared their first night together. She drank his blood and clung to his sword—craving more and more—until what began as a moment of passion turned into a full week of nights spent in each other's arms.

Valeris, this time, quietly allowed Veyra to enjoy Asher without interference. And now, Veyra is blooming like a beautiful flower as she speak of World Heart City.

Asher walked calmly beside her, scanning the horizon with ease. "Sounds like the perfect place for a fight."

Valeris chuckled under her breath. "You just want to test yourself against the so-called legends."

"I might," he said. "Depends on how arrogant they are."

"They are," Veyra said, half-laughing. "Some of them are ancient, others newly ascended. But all of them think they're gods."

"You'll fit right in," Valeris added dryly.

But Veyra turned serious. "You'll make a great impression, Asher. I'm sure of it. If anyone can walk into the World Heart and not bow, it's you."

They had moved about thirty kilometers from the edge of Evolver's Paradise, the tall sapphire peaks behind them now reduced to slivers on the horizon. The terrain grew rougher—scarred by past battles, dotted with ruined obelisks and twisted trees that grew without sunlight.

That was when the air… shifted.

A sudden stillness. The wind dropped away. The birds, insects, ambient hum of the realm—all ceased.

Valeris's eyes narrowed. "Did you feel that?"

Asher had already stopped walking.

Veyra's smile faded. "We're not alone."

The road ahead shimmered once… then bled shadow. From the warped edge of a half-collapsed monolith, he emerged—his footfalls heavy, echoing like drums in a crypt.

An old man, but only in face. His long white hair was braided with thorns of obsidian, his skin dark like volcanic glass veined with green fire. He wore a cloak of living night, stitched with soul-silk and shadowbone. Eyes like twin eclipses stared out, unblinking.

A World-Rank aura descended like a tidal wave.

Asher and Valeris didn't feel anything, as they were both World Rank, but Veyra felt the pressure—until Asher shielded her.

"Your face is familiar," Asher slowly. "You're related to the one I killed."

The old man or dark elf's smile was bitter and vast. "You killed my son in a humiliating way. Did you not think there might be consequences for your actions?"

Valeris shifted, her golden eyes glowing faintly. "That boy was an idiot who dared to disrespect Asher."

"Hmph. He was just a child. Did you have to be so heavy-handed?" the old man snorted.

Asher looked at him strangely. The dark elf he had killed was over 1,500 years old, yet the old man called him a child.

"This attitude of yours toward your child is the reason he was killed," Asher said, shaking his head. "If you had taught him to be humble and not overbearing, he might still be alive."

"My son had every right to be arrogant—with me alive. Now you all will atone for my son's death with your lives!" the old man said as he raised his head—and four more World-Rank auras pressed in around them.

"Now, this will be your burial ground," the old man said as the other four dark elves also released their pressure.

"Just stand aside—none of you are my match," Asher said, as a blood-red scythe came into his hand. He spun and leveled it at the old man. "Come, old man, my scythe is hungry for blood."

The old man sneered as a dark sword formed in shadows. He darted toward Asher, along with the four others, their weapons drawn, rushing at Asher together.

The five dark elves descended like a black tide.

They came not with battle cries, but with silence—eerie, absolute, and murderous. Their bodies blurred, leaving afterimages of shadows soaked in dread. Each one drew upon their innate skill, Weapons of Darkness, and from the void between moments, weapons forged of night itself erupted into being.

The first to strike wielded a thorned whip made of screaming shadow-veins, alive with writhing curses. It lashed at Asher from thirty meters, splitting the air with banshee wails.

The second held a crescent glaive, its blade serrated and weeping black ichor that hissed as it touched the ground, devouring stone and light alike.

The third's body split at the chest, revealing a chain-blade coiled within like a serpent. It launched outward, its every link made of jagged obsidian, spinning toward Asher with devouring intent.

The fourth summoned a massive spiked gauntlet, as if their very arm had been consumed by a demon. They struck the earth—sending up a shockwave of darkness that swallowed sound.

And the old man—the fifth—manifested a twin-edged greatsword, forged of eclipse-metal and wrapped in threads of ancestral curses. It pulsed with the pain of a thousand executions.

But Asher didn't flinch.

He moved.

His body blurred with vampiric speed—Crimson Initiate, the First Vein of the Sanguine Supreme, activated in full bloom. Veins of glowing red etched across his skin, and the world slowed around him.

The whip cracked—he ducked beneath it, his body low, breath calm. The chain-blade shrieked—he twisted mid-air, its links grazing the trailing edge of his cloak. The glaive came sweeping for his neck.

He caught it.

Asher's hand closed around the blade with a hiss of flesh against forbidden metal. Blood trickled, only to boil and re-enter his veins, empowered by Bloodlit Dominion, the Second Vein. His strength surged.

He wrenched the glaive from its wielder and shattered it with one overhead swing of his blood-red scythe. The impact created a shockwave of crimson mist.

"You're already too slow," Asher murmured.

The glaive-wielder flew back, ribs broken, blood trailing in arcs.

The one with the whip roared and launched again. But Asher flicked his fingers—Sanguine Threads burst from his palm, sharp, red, and hungry. They intercepted the whip mid-lash and consumed it, the shadows shrieking in protest.