Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 15: Do You Bleed?

Ian stood frozen, his eyes locked onto the woman before him.

Her braided white hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of molten silver, the flickering candlelight catching in its strands.

But it was her eyes that unsettled him the most—icy blue, piercing, as if they could peel back the layers of his soul and lay him bare.

Her gown of deep crimson shimmered with every movement, fabric woven so finely it seemed to drink in the light. Everything about her was deliberate—each step, each flicker of her gaze carrying an air of practiced authority.

For a moment, Ian found himself at a loss for words.

His mind struggled to process the shift in his circumstances. Just hours ago, he had been a prisoner of the pits, no more than a beast thrown into the sand for the amusement of others.

And now, he stood in the presence of such a woman...she was far from ordinary, he could tell

And hearing the woman who had brought him call her "princess" confirmed this suspicion.

Then, a sharp, sudden pain exploded in his shin, yanking him back to reality.

He inhaled sharply and turned his glare on the woman beside him—Elise, as the princess had called her.

Her expression was stern, her sharp features set in irritation.

"Bow, slave," she commanded, her voice cold and unyielding.

Ian clenched his jaw, his pride bristling at the word.

A lifetime of letting people have their way had forced submission upon him, but something inside him recoiled at the demand. He had bled, fought, and killed to survive. And yet, here he was, expected to bow like some broken mongrel.

Before he could decide how to respond, the princess's voice sliced through the tension like a well-honed blade—smooth, dangerous, and laced with amusement.

"It's no matter, Elise." She waved a dismissive hand, never taking her eyes off Ian. "Let him be."

Elise hesitated, lips pressing into a line, but she obeyed, stepping back with a stiff nod.

Ian took note of that. This woman—this princess—held unquestioned authority here. Even the ever-composed Elise yielded to her without hesitation.

The princess rose from her seat in fluid motion.

The heavy silk of her gown trailed behind her as she crossed the room, each step measured and intentional. She circled him like a predator inspecting potential prey, her critical gaze sweeping over him.

"So, this is the costly slave," she murmured, the faintest trace of amusement lacing her voice. Her expression remained unreadable, but Ian could feel the weight of her scrutiny.

"He doesn't look like much."

Ian remained silent, his face impassive.

He knew what he looked like—filthy, battered, and scarred. Blood matted his dark hair, some of it dried, some still fresh. His tattered clothes were barely holding together, stained with dirt and sweat.

He was a pit fighter now, a man seemingly accustomed to suffering.

But his eyes—gray, sharp, filled with a quiet, unyielding fire—told a different story.

"He's not," Elise said, her voice firm. "But he has great potential to be. He possesses some form of rapid self-healing ability. That alone makes him a valuable asset in the arena."

The princess's brows lifted, her amusement giving way to intrigue. "Oh?" She turned her gaze back to Ian, the air between them thick with curiosity. "His name?"

"Ian," Elise answered before he could speak.

The princess smirked, stepping closer. "Tell me, Ian," she said, her voice smooth and deliberate, "what level was your magic affinity?"

Ian met her gaze, his voice steady. "None." He let the word hang in the air for a beat before continuing, "I was assessed and found to have no affinity. That's why I was sent to the pits."

The princess's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing as she flicked a glance at Elise.

"That's not possible," Elise said, a note of certainty in her voice. "I saw him heal with my own eyes."

The princess turned back to Ian, her gaze thoughtful. Without hesitation, she closed the remaining distance between them, stepping so close that Ian could feel the warmth radiating from her.

Then, without warning, she reached for his left hand.

Her touch was light, but her grip was firm as she lifted his palm between them. Ian didn't resist, though his muscles coiled with readiness. His instincts screamed at him to prepare for whatever was about to happen.

The princess reached down and drew a dagger from the sheath strapped to her thigh. The blade gleamed in the candlelight, wickedly sharp. Ian's pulse remained steady as he watched her bring it to his palm.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she pressed the tip to his skin and dragged it across his flesh.

Pain flared, hot and sharp, but Ian didn't flinch. He merely watched as blood welled from the wound, spilling over his palm and staining both of their hands red.

The princess studied him intently, searching for a flicker of fear or hesitation.

"Well, Ian," she murmured, her voice a whisper of curiosity and challenge, "what happens now?"

Ian remained silent for a moment, then exhaled softly and glanced down at his hand. The bleeding slowed. Then, right before their eyes, the gash began to mend. The torn skin knit itself back together, the wound sealing shut within seconds. All that remained was a faint scar.

The princess inhaled sharply, her fingers brushing over the barely-there mark as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

"Well, I'll be damned," she whispered, her voice tinged with awe and something darker—something that made Ian wary. She lifted her gaze to his, and for the first time, he saw the wheels turning in her mind, calculating, scheming.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" she mused.

Ian said nothing. He could already see what was happening. She wasn't just impressed—she was interested. And that meant she was going to use him.

But for now, he was alive. And that was enough.

A slow, knowing smile spread across the princess's lips. "Elise," she said without looking away from Ian. "Prepare the documents. He belongs to House Elarin now."

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Ian's stomach coiled with unease.

He didn't know much about noble houses, but he knew enough to understand that he had just exchanged one master for another.

However none of it mattered, he saw all of them as nothing more than opportunities for growth...for power.

And when he had enough of it, he will bow to no one.