Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 27: The Hunter And Prey

Ten days had passed.

Ian moved through the clearing with sharp, precise movements, his breath steady, his body a blur of motion. The training Eli had drilled into him was no longer a struggle—it was instinct. His footwork was cleaner, his reactions faster, and his strikes carried lethal intent.

A week ago, he would have hesitated. His perception had been slow, his body a step behind his mind. But now, he moved in tandem with his instincts, adjusting on the fly, predicting openings before they even formed.

He ducked low, shifting his weight and slicing through the air with a phantom dagger, as though slashing at an invisible opponent. A pivot on his heel, a fluid sidestep, then a reverse grip strike aimed at an imagined throat.

From the side, Eli watched silently, arms crossed, his golden eyes unreadable.

Ian had improved. Significantly.

And yet, Eli knew better than to be satisfied.

Improvement meant nothing if it wasn't enough to survive.

Suddenly, Eli's eyes narrowed. His body tensed, and a frown cut across his lips.

Ian, sensing the shift in atmosphere, halted his movements.

Eli didn't look at him, but his voice was sharp.

"What's the point of these games... come out."

The silence of the forest deepened.

Then—

A slow, rhythmic clap echoed through the trees.

Ian turned toward the sound, his grip tightening.

The claps continued, slow and deliberate, each one filling the air with an eerie finality.

Then, a figure stepped from the embrace of the foliage.

"You know, I was told of your keen senses."

A man emerged, his emerald-green eyes gleaming with amusement. His dark, shoulder-length hair swayed as he walked, and the long coat he wore fluttered behind him in the gentle breeze.

Something about him set Ian's nerves on edge.

Eli remained still, but his presence darkened. "You know who I am?"

The man smirked. "Who doesn't?"

His voice was light, conversational, but dripping with underlying amusement.

"The golden-eyed slaughterer. Plague of the western front. Kingkiller..." The man listed the names with a casual ease. "Your names are many, just as your enemies are many... and you've earned every name, just as you did every enemy."

Behind the man, deep within the treeline, Ian caught a flicker of crimson.

His blood ran cold.

Predator rank.

Its eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching, waiting.

"You know that much..." Eli said, his voice calm but lethal, "and yet you still came."

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The man chuckled. "Well, I am no ordinary man myself. I, too, have been given many titles—"

Before he could finish, Eli vanished.

The next instant, his voice was a whisper in the man's ear.

"You think that will matter?"

Ian barely processed what had happened.

Eli had been standing several feet away just a second ago.

Now, his arm was buried up to the elbow through the man's chest.

Ian's eyes widened.

Blood should have sprayed. The man should have been gasping for air, gurgling his last breath.

Instead, he simply sighed.

"How disappointing, Kingkiller... at least have the courtesy to return the same respect I have shown you. Why underestimate me like this?"

His voice was filled with smug contempt.

Eli's expression darkened. "You don't deserve my respect."

"I disagree," the man replied, a grin playing at his lips. "And I intend to prove it. Of course, that's if you have the balls to actually meet with me."

Ian felt something shift.

The man's body began to dissolve—dark wisps of smoke unraveling where Eli's arm had impaled him.

"Come deeper into the forest. I'm waiting."

And then—he was gone.

Only the silence remained.

Ian turned to Eli, heart pounding. "I know for certain you are not about to fall for what is likely the most obvious bait in existence."

Eli exhaled through his nose, then turned slightly to glance at Ian. "It's not falling for it if I know it's bait."

"Eli..." Ian muttered, worry seeping into his voice.

"Wait here," Eli ordered. "Remember what I taught you—and try not to die."

Then, in a blur of motion, he vanished.

Ian stared at the empty space where Eli had stood, before sighing and dragging a hand down his face.

"I'm screwed. I'm actually screwed."

Then—

A low growl rumbled through the trees.

A deep, guttural sound that made the air itself shiver.

Ian's muscles tensed as he turned, his breath catching in his throat.

The trees splintered apart as something massive emerged.

It was no simple beast.

This was a monster.

Its body was covered in jagged, obsidian-black scales, each one glistening like sharpened onyx. Its limbs were thick with coiled muscle, powerful enough to crush bones like twigs.

But it was the eyes that made Ian's blood freeze.

Crimson.

Predator rank.

The beast's maw parted, revealing rows of serrated fangs, dripping with saliva that sizzled as it met the ground. Its breath was hot—each exhale sending a wave of oppressive heat through the air.

It lowered its body, preparing to lunge.

Ian's heart slammed against his ribs.

Then—

With a sharp exhale, the twin daggers materialized in his hands.

The moment they appeared, Ian felt the weight of them—as though an extension of himself, rather than mere weapons.

The daggers were forged from the bones of the Hazard Rank mana beast, and they reflected that power.

Their blades were sleek, curved, and jagged along the spine, crafted to tear rather than merely cut. A dark, mist-like energy radiated from their edges, faint but ominous.

The hilts were wrapped in a deep, blackened leather that fit perfectly in his grip.

The moment he held them, his pulse steadied.

The fear remained, but something else rose within him.

A predator's instinct.

He met the beast's blood-red gaze and exhaled.

"I guess one of us will have to die here."

The beast growled.

Ian tightened his grip.

And then—it lunged.