Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 63: Blood and Conviction

The air shattered.

Ian knocked the chair back in a blur of movement, the heavy oak crashing against the floor as he twisted from the hands trying to restrain him.

His right elbow slammed into a jaw behind him—a sickening crunch followed—and the man dropped, clutching his face, blood streaming through his fingers.

Ian didn’t pause.

Not for a second.

He pivoted, grabbed the second by the collar, and yanked him forward—straight into the corner of the dining table.

Wood cracked. So did ribs.

The man dropped without a sound.

The woman gasped sharply beside him, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide in horror—but beneath it, something else flashed in them.

Relief.

The rest of the room reacted late. Maybe they hadn’t expected it to go loud so quickly. Maybe they thought the name Sanctum would inspire fear, not retaliation.

It didn’t.

Not in Ian.

The broad man, composed as one could be, took one graceful step back and drew a short blade from beneath his dark coat. Not some thug’s weapon—this was a ceremonial dagger, Sanctum-engraved with etchings of the sun and flame. Righteous steel.

The kind meant for execution.

"I warned you," the man said coolly.

Ian rolled his neck, loosening the tension.

"Yeah, that’s the problem with cults. Too many fucking speeches. Not enough listening."

They came at him in pairs—six in total now, trained, coordinated. Not random street dogs.

Their footwork was light, efficient.

They meant to capture, not kill. For now.

Ian dropped low, sweeping a leg under the first pair. One tripped, the other jumped—only for Ian to meet him midair with a shoulder to the gut and slam him into the floorboards with brutal force.

"Stop holding back! Let’s just kill the bastard!" one of the others barked.

"Well that’s not very holy,"

Ian grabbed a dropped blade and tossed it—not at the attacker, but at the hanging lantern above.

Glass exploded.

Oil and flame burst across the ceiling beam, setting shadows dancing wildly in the room.

Screams erupted from the hallway. The Sanctum agents paused, just for a heartbeat.

It was enough.

Ian blurred forward.

The third was already lifting his weapon when Ian’s knee rammed into his chin, lifting him off the ground before crashing into a heap. Ian caught the fourth’s wrist, twisted, and drove the arm backward into the man’s own stomach with a sickening crunch.

"You’re not Redwater," Ian said through his breath, blood trickling down his cheek now from a shallow cut on his brow. "You’re hunters. Sent by that bastard in white robes."

The broad man didn’t answer.

He stood calmly amidst the battle, untouched by the brawl, his dagger still clean. Watching.

"Eli warned me," Ian muttered. "About them sending dogs."

The broad man smiled faintly. "I’m no dog. I’m their hand."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "That’s cute. You’ll be a corpse in five minutes."

The man stepped forward, then blurred—too fast. Ian barely managed to dodge, the dagger slicing past his ribs. Pain exploded down his side, the cut deep but not lethal.

The man was trained. Not just trained—anointed. A Paladin of the Sanctum.

Ian moved back, blood soaking into his cloak. He needed a distraction. Needed—

A sharp clatter of metal rang out as the woman—Rat’s wife—picked up a cast iron skillet and hurled it at one of the agents sneaking toward Ian’s flank. novelbuddy.cσ๓

It smashed into the man’s temple. He dropped like stone.

Ian stared for half a second. "Good throw"

Then the Paladin lunged again.

Ian ducked low, swiping the leg, but the man leapt and twisted mid-air, his cloak flaring like wings.

His dagger sliced down again—

Ian caught it.

Barehanded.

Blood ran down his palm, but he twisted the dagger from the Paladin’s grip and used his momentum to drive him into the wall. Wood splintered. The man’s breath wheezed from his lungs.

Ian pressed the dagger to his throat.

"You should’ve brought a priest."

The Paladin didn’t beg. He didn’t scream.

He smiled.

And whispered: "We know what you are."

Ian froze.

The man’s breath was ragged, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, but the fervor in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

"You’re no champion. You’re a blight. A walking corpse in mortal skin. We’ve seen it—your Corruption. You think we don’t know about the bones you raise? The souls you steal? We see your taint."

Ian’s grip tightened.

The man didn’t flinch. "The Sanctum will not stop. Not until your soul is cleansed in flame."

Ian’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"Then send them all."

And with that, he plunged the dagger into the Paladin’s heart.

The man choked once—then went still.

Silence.

The only sound left was the crackling of the oil fire above and the shallow, uneven breathing of the two wounded agents still crawling toward the door.

Ian stood straight, pulling his cloak tighter over his wounded side.

He turned toward the woman. She stood still, shaking, tears finally breaking down her face.

"I—" she tried, voice hoarse.

Ian stepped forward and placed a bloodied hand on her shoulder. "They won’t come again tonight."

"The bodies of the Redwater members—where are they?" Ian asked, his voice low.

"They took them. Cleaned everything after they killed them."

Ian vanished in a blur.

By the time he returned to the estate, his cloak was soaked in blood, and the wounds on his body were already sealed, leaving only faint scars behind.

In the courtyard, Velrosa still sat reading, Eli lounged nearby, and Rat paced in tight, anxious circles—until he saw Ian.

"I see you had fun killing Redwater," Eli said with a crooked grin.

"It wasn’t Redwater," Ian replied flatly. "It was Sanctum goons. But yeah—I had fun."

Velrosa looked up sharply. "What?"

"By the time I got there, Redwater was already dead. Sanctum took their place and laid an ambush."

Velrosa’s gaze darkened. "They expected you to go help Rat? That means..."

"We’ve been found out," Eli muttered. "By the church."