Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 38: Star Of Hope

"Plague of the Western Front..."

"The Kingkiller..."

The whispers rippled through the noble stands and across the commoners’ rows like wind through dry leaves.

Eyes widened. Mouths were covered.

That name—Eli—was not one spoken carelessly. Not in public. Not here, where politics were meant to civilize the brutish, where appearances reigned.

But the whispers did not lie.

The priest’s knuckles whitened around his staff. Even the knights behind him shifted their stances, armor clinking with tension.

Still, the priest stood firm—barely.

"You may be strong, Eli," he said, voice holding to a fragile calm, "but to go against the church is a conquest too foolish for even you."

Eli’s eyes gleamed like knives in the sun.

"Cut the bullshit."

He stepped forward, his voice as casual as it was venomous.

"You think I have a problem killing you holy fucks? If you’re so desperate to reunite with your gods, step forward. Let me grant your wish."

The priest stiffened. One of the knights stepped back instinctively. Another reached subtly toward his blade.

They were ready to die, perhaps.

But not today.

Not for this.

And then—

A voice rang out from above, calm yet commanding, brushing away the tension like wind snuffing a flame.

"That’s enough, Eli."

The princess.

Velrosa stood at the edge of the noble gallery, robes fluttering in the breeze, her expression unreadable—but her voice, steel.

All eyes turned to her.

Even Eli paused.

The princess shifted her gaze to the priest.

"I’m certain there’s an explanation. What is the issue, High Ordained?"

The priest recovered some of his composure, lifting his chin with dignity.

"This man—your gladiator—has revealed himself as a wielder of demonic magic. The signs are undeniable."

Velrosa raised an eyebrow.

"And what proof do you offer of that?"

"What proof is needed?" the priest retorted, face flushing. "We all saw it. Felt it. That beast of darkness. The flames that scorched without heat. What else could such power be, if not demonic?"

The princess’s expression hardened.

"That’s not proof. Those are assumptions born from terror. Unless you can prove this, I cannot permit you to seize my warrior."

She gestured toward Eli.

"And if you wish to try and take him by force... well, you may deal with my sword."

The priest’s lip curled with restrained fury.

"Fine then," he snapped, before turning to the knights. "Bring it forward."

One of the armored men stepped ahead, producing a gleaming golden artifact from a velvet-lined case. It was a perfect circle, adorned with pointed ends like sunrays, inscribed with sacred runes.

"The Star of Hope," the priest declared, holding it aloft for all to see.

Velrosa’s tone turned icy.

"I know what it is."

"Then you know," the priest said with a smug tilt of his chin, "none tainted by demonkind can touch it without being burned. Holy light repels the corrupt."

The princess narrowed her eyes.

"To bring such a relic on short notice..." she mused aloud. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was orchestrated. Targeted."

The priest smiled as if she’d confirmed it.

"Then tell us, Velrosa," he said, voice filled with poisonous delight. "Will your fighter touch the Star of Hope? Or will we conclude he is in league with demons—and you aware of it?"

Eli’s fingers twitched beside Ian. His posture had shifted into something feral, poised to tear through the armored men in a heartbeat.

The princess inhaled slowly.

Her eyes moved past the priest, to Ian. Still behind Eli. Standing silent and unreadable. Blood on his brow. Soul Flame fading from his dagger.

Their eyes met.

And Ian smiled.

Just slightly.

But it was enough.

Velrosa’s lips curved. Relief bloomed behind her eyes, chased by quiet confidence.

"Eli," she said, "allow them to proceed with the test."

The silence thickened.

Eli didn’t move at first.

But then, slowly, he stepped aside.

The knight came forward, holding the golden relic out toward Ian, runes glowing faintly with holy light.

The crowd leaned forward in their seats.

Ian stepped calmly toward it.

He reached down and drove one of his daggers into the sand—shhhtk—a gesture of symbolic disarmament.

Then, he peeled the glove from his hand, fingers pale against the light.

And slowly—deliberately—he reached for the Star of Hope.

The golden artifact shimmered, brighter now.

He closed his hand around it.

A single second passed.

Then a second more.

Pain never came.

Only a soft ding inside his vision.

[Strong Holy Magic in Vicinity]

[Strength has reduced by 60%]

Ian’s eyes twitched at the corner. His mind raced. Was his power truly demonic? Was that why the system reacted?

But no—his hand held firm. He wasn’t burning.

The gold wasn’t searing his flesh. Only a sense of suppression, like a weight pressing into him.

No flames. No fire. No divine punishment.

The priest’s smirk began to falter.

"Is that enough, priest?" Velrosa asked coldly. "Or would you like him baptized as well?"

A ripple of laughter stirred in the crowd, then hushed itself again.

Red-faced, the priest turned away.

"We are... done here," he growled. "Return to the Sanctum."

The knights followed him, grim and silent as they exited the arena.

For a moment, silence reigned once more.

Then—

The announcer, hesitant, lifted the horn to his lips.

"Victor... Ian! Champion of House Elarin!"

The crowd erupted.

First in tentative cheers—

Then roaring.

"Ian! Ian! Ian!"

Nobles clapped, some with amusement, others with intrigue.

The commons bellowed, stamping feet and fists.

He had done it.

He had beaten one of Duke Lugard’s chosen.

Eli’s voice cut through the noise, calm and blunt as always.

"Let’s go."

Ian nodded, sliding his dagger free from the dirt and following Eli off the arena floor, leaving behind blood, silence, and victory.

From the gallery, Velrosa watched them leave.

Her silver hair caught the light.

And a smirk touched her lips.

She turned her gaze toward the corpse of Vern and whispered to herself:

"Seems we might’ve found a monster just like us, brother."