Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 42: Odds and Ends

Velrosa sat poised in her study, a fine-boned porcelain teacup cradled between her fingers.

The golden liquid in it shimmered faintly in the soft light of the oil lamps. Across from her sat Eli, relaxed but ever alert.

The low murmur of conversation faded the moment the door creaked open.

Ian strolled in—slow, casual, but utterly painted in red.

His cloak was stiff with dried blood. His sleeves were soaked to the elbows. The metallic scent followed him like a fog of death.

"Your Highness," he said with a slight nod, continuing his steady approach.

Velrosa set her teacup down with calm precision, her expression unreadable.

"I see you definitely encountered them. But did you succeed?"

Ian’s lips curled into a wolfish grin. He stopped before the round table they sat at and spread his arms slightly.

"Watch the hands," he said.

Then, with a theatrical wiggle of his fingers, pouches began to materialize one by one from thin air—drawn from his system inventory. They thunked against the polished oak surface, spilling over each other like tumbling boulders.

One.

Another.

Another.

Gold-stitched bags with the insignias of various things that told stories of ill acquired wealth. Stacks upon stacks. The glitter of gold rapidly overtaking the table.

By the time he was done, there were a couple dozen heavy sacks piled before them.

"They paid all of it?" Eli asked, eyes wide with disbelief as he leaned forward.

"They were about thirty thousand short," Ian said with a shrug. "But I’m sure they didn’t have it even if they wanted to."

Velrosa reached forward, lifting one of the pouches, its weight evident in her small hands.

The clink of coin was a chorus of success. Ian didn’t need to say the number. He already knew it from the system panel:

[Inventory: 390,788 Gold Coins]

She turned the pouch over once, then looked up at him, her blue eyes sharp. "What of... that other matter?"

"He’s been persuaded," Ian said, folding his arms. "Now he’s just waiting for the greenlight. I told him we’re going to be taking the city’s bookies for all they’ve got. He doesn’t know the plan yet... then again, neither do I."

Velrosa nodded and sat back, looking from the gold to Ian, then to Eli. Her face softened slightly, an unfamiliar glimmer in her eyes.

"You know," she began, voice quiet, "I sent Elise to the pits that day as a last-ditch effort. A final, desperate move. When she came back talking about a slave who could heal, I thought... well, that’s better than nothing."

She stood, walking slowly around the table, her gaze lingering on the blood that still clung to Ian like warpaint.

"But who knew..."

"Who knew what?" Ian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That we’d hit the bloody jackpot," Eli interrupted with a grin, leaning over and rubbing Ian’s head like he was roughly petting a dog.

Velrosa cleared her throat and added quickly, "Yeah. What he said."

Ian shot Eli a glare, trying to push his hand off. "Get off me."

Eli snorted. "Fine. You smell like the slums and dead men anyway."

As Ian straightened his cloak, Velrosa returned to the table with a large scroll tucked beneath her arm.

She unfurled it in a single dramatic motion, revealing a detailed map of Esgard’s inner districts and its various betting establishments marked in red ink.

"Okay," she said. "This is going to be our next play."

Eli leaned forward, already intrigued. Ian crossed his arms, listening intently.

"In this city," Velrosa began, "the betting system doesn’t run on magic or fairness. It runs on odds. Odds that are calculated before betting even begins—odds that are determined almost entirely by information."

She tapped the map, specifically the districts marked near the docks, markets, and pit houses.

"The bookies have ears everywhere. Informants in taverns, whorehouses, mines, even among the dockhands. They listen to who the people are talking about, who they believe will win. The more popular a fighter is, the lower the odds for their victory—and thus the lower the payout. The less confidence in a fighter, the higher the odds, and the more gold a winning bet earns."

Eli scratched his chin. "So the trick is... making them believe Ian’s going to lose?"

"Exactly," Velrosa said, pointing at Ian. "You may have won your first battle, and people certainly took notice. But your fame isn’t solid yet. You’re a mystery. Some think your win was luck. Others think your opponent was having a bad day."

Ian nodded slowly. "So I’m still a wild card. And that... is valuable."

"Very valuable," Velrosa said. "Our job is to inflate that vulnerability. We flood the streets with misinformation. Doubts. Whispers. Have the bookies’ informants convinced that public sentiment is turning against you." freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"And that’s supposed to change the odds?" Ian asked.

"Not just change them," Velrosa said. "It’ll skew them heavily. If the people think you’re going to lose, they’ll bet against you. And when we bet for you—quietly, strategically—the payout will be massive."

Eli raised a brow. "Won’t the bookies catch on? If only a handful of people bet for Ian?"

"They would," Velrosa said, "if we didn’t manipulate volume."

She slid a small side scroll across the table, revealing a simple diagram. "We have our own people place small bets for Ian. Dozens of them. One copper here. Two coppers there. All fake bets to inflate the bookies perception. It’s the number of bets that matters, not the amount."

"And at the end," Ian said, catching on, "there’s a mountain of bets against me. And only a few of us betting for me. When I win..."

"The bookies bleed," Velrosa finished with a smile. "And we get rich."

Ian leaned back, grinning. "But who can pull that off? That kind of misinformation network?"

"The man you spoke with—Black Rat," Eli said immediately. "The damn slum king himself."

Ian nodded. "He’s already in. He just needs the word."

"Perfect," Velrosa said. "He has the resources to spread the lies, control the narrative, and orchestrate the fake bets. He’ll have people whispering that Ian’s cursed, injured, terrified—whatever we want. That the next opponent is a monster."

"They won’t just believe it," Eli added, "they’ll feel it."

Velrosa rolled the map back up and fixed her gaze on Ian. "If this works, we take hundreds of thousands from the bookies. And more importantly, we shake their hold on the Arena economy. That’s power."

Before Ian could respond, the door to the study opened.

Elise entered, her dark cloak damp with rain, her expression serious.

"Your Highness," she said with a slight bow. "The Fourth Chair of the Council is here. He requests your presence."

Velrosa’s smile vanished. She straightened, regal once more.

"Very well," she said, smoothing her coat. "Eli—handle the gold. And prep our people. If we’re going to rob this city blind..."

She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder with fire in her eyes.

"...we do it properly."