Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 76: Flames of Justice

Ian stepped barefoot from the ruined chamber.

The corridor outside was soaked in blood, its silence interrupted only by the slow drip of crimson pooling between the stone tiles.

The scent of death clung to the air like perfume at a noble’s banquet—iron-rich, warm, and final. The bodies of the Sanctum’s agents lay where they had fallen, some with their throats ripped out, others blackened from within, charred by a flame no cleric had ever prayed for.

His bare chest rose and fell slowly, though there was no exhaustion in his breath.

Just stillness. Calm.

From his hand, black wisps of Soul Flame evaporated into nothingness.

Elise followed behind, untouched, not even a hair out of place.

---

Esgard’s city bells rang with grim authority.

Not for victory. Not for celebration.

They rang for judgment.

When a noble committed a crime in the eyes of their own—when a high law was broken—they were summoned before the Council of Nine and the houses of Esgard.

It was not a simple tribunal, nor a commoner’s court.

This was a theater of power and tradition, where perception held as much weight as truth.

The High Laws governed nobles like chains of gold—binding, but always glittering. To be summoned under suspicion of breaking one was no small matter.

Theft, treason, demonic consort, heretical rites, and unlawful slaughter of another noble bloodline—these were not whispers the court ignored. When such claims were made, the Council would call for the ancient rite:

The Noble Trial.

The noble under accusation stood before the Council and the great houses, given chance to speak in their defense.

They could present facts, evidence, character witnesses. Meanwhile, those who pressed charges—either Council members or other noble houses—had the right to present their own claims and counterevidence.

The Council held majority vote in all verdicts.

But even their power could be dulled.

For if enough noble houses stood in defense—if their numbers dwarfed those who pressed charges—it became politically and publicly near-impossible to pass a guilty verdict.

Justice in Esgard had always been a beast of influence.

You could bribe it. Threaten it. Feed it names.

But to defeat it outright?

That took fire.

---

In the tallest tower of an estate, Velrosa stood alone, a glass of wine in her hand and dusk spilling across her skin in perfect golden.

Below her, the city moved with frantic anticipation.

Bells echoed across marble streets. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Messengers darted like blood cells through a vein, carrying invitations, summons, whispers, and bribes. And in the heart of the city, preparations were being made for the trial—seats arranged, banners raised, and wards renewed.

Velrosa raised the glass and took a slow sip.

"They are persistent in their schemes," she murmured. "I’ll give them that."

Her voice was quiet. Calm. Like one observing a chessboard just before the killing move.

Behind her stood a woman of commanding presence, clothed in shadow the way others wore silks. Her hair was long and dark as ink, cascading over her shoulders, and her black dress shimmered with patterns only visible when the light bent just right.

It clung to her generously, barely concealing the temptation it framed.

Mistress Thalia Virex, Ninth Chair of the Council of Nine. The Keeper of Secrets. The Mistress of Shadows. The Unseen Fang of Esgard.

She answered to no one.

Not even the gods, some whispered.

"I take it the Council has already begun murmuring?" Velrosa asked, not turning from the view.

Thalia’s voice was almost like seductive whispers.

Like wind slipping through keyholes.

"They’ve done more than murmur. Some noble houses are already preparing to press claims against you. House Lugard and Volmir leading the charge."

Velrosa chuckled. "The usual suspects."

"The charges will be layered," Thalia said, stepping closer, "consorting with the demonic, breaking of pacts, and the assassination of Lord Faren Volmir’s envoy."

"Mm. Tragic that the envoy tripped and fell onto his own sword sixteen times." Velrosa took another sip of wine.

"You’ll need a defense strong enough to tear through fabrications that have been in the making for years."

"Do you think I can win?" Velrosa asked, finally turning.

Thalia smiled, showing no teeth.

"Truthfully? No. Not in the court."

Velrosa raised a brow.

"But you," Thalia continued, "you have a way of crawling out from under mountains the rest of us would be buried by. So who knows? You might just make a fool of them all."

"Luck," Velrosa said, swirling her wine. "The gods were kind when they gave me Eli."

"And crueler still when they gifted you the Demonblade," Thalia murmured.

Velrosa’s lips curved into a smile, slow and proud.

"Yes. The most perfect of curses. How lucky I truly am."

Silence settled between them.

A storm brewing in stillness.

"You know I cannot publicly side with you during the trial," Thalia finally said, turning toward the shadows once more. "The moment I show favor, the other Council members will suspect the neutrality of my seat."

"I don’t want your support," Velrosa said, eyes narrowing. "I want your information."

Thalia tilted her head.

"I want names. Sins. Secrets. If they intend to raise the fires of retribution against me," Velrosa continued, stepping toward her, "then let them know we will all burn in the blaze."

Thalia’s smile was slow, thoughtful, almost pleased.

"And if I gave you that?"

"Then I’ll give them what they truly fear—not just a trial, but a reckoning. You know what the nobles truly hate, Thalia?"

"What?"

"They hate when the poor find power. But more than that, they despise when another noble drags them into the mud. So let’s all roll in it together."

Thalia’s voice was a whisper now, colder than ever.

"Some of the sins you’ll expose won’t just cost reputations. They’ll provoke vendettas. Blood feuds. Assassination orders."

Velrosa turned back to the window, where the bells continued their chorus. She drained the rest of her glass and set it down with a gentle clink.

"Good," she said. "What’s more pleasing than the sight of the pigs slaughtering one another."

---

Outside, in the streets of Esgard, carriages bearing crests of gold and obsidian rumbled toward the tower of trials.

The Council’s banners waved high—nine emblems for nine thrones. But it was the noble houses arriving that would decide more than any law.

House Volmir.

House Lugard.

House Morravel.

House Kaelthorn.

Even House Xavier.

Each came prepared with their blades sheathed and their speeches sharpened.

But in a world where secrets had power—

And justice wore many masks—

The only certainty was this:

The trial would not be clean.

It would be war wrapped in velvet.

And Velrosa Lionarde?

She was already sharpening her smile.