Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 153: Velvet Chains

The halls of House Berreth, at a time was alive with the clamor of coin and ambition, but now it only echoed with whispers and rusted pride.

Dust clung to the corners like old secrets.

The servants walked slower, as if the air itself had grown heavy with the scent of failure.

The lamps were dimmer. Even the fire in the hearth crackled like it feared being extinguished next.

In the grand study, Lord Halric Berreth sat stiff-backed in his carved obsidian chair, trying to look like the man he used to be.

His clothes still bore the trappings of wealth—dark velvet, gold clasps—but the tailoring betrayed a hurried hand.

He hadn’t slept.

His eyes were bloodshot, and his fingers shook where they gripped the arms of his chair.

Across from him, calm as the eye of a storm, Velrosa Lionarde sipped from a thin porcelain cup.

Her gown flowed like ink, clinging to her bronze skin in shadows and silk. Her silver hair was bound back in a regal twist, and her piercing blue eyes never left him.

"Lord Berreth," she said, her voice like a slow knife through velvet. "You know why I’ve come."

Halric said nothing. Pride and silence were the only coins he had left.

She set her cup down with delicate finality.

"I’ll be blunt. You’ve been gutted. The Consortium owns your veins. Your fleet has been frozen. The Council has already begun discussing who will devour the corpse. And the wolves have teeth."

Still, he said nothing.

Velrosa leaned forward, resting her hands on the table between them. Her gaze sharpened like a blade.

"I’m not here to finish you off. I’m here to offer something."

Behind her, Eli stood with arms folded, a quiet titan in black and gold.

His golden eyes flicked across the room, marking every tremble of Halric’s hands, every twitch of his jaw. In the shadows behind him, two more Elarin men flanked the doorway, silent, armed.

Velrosa’s voice softened.

"You don’t need to die a Berreth."

The words hit the air like a curse.

Halric flinched. "You want our name?"

"No," she said coolly. "Your loyalty. Your future. The name can remain, if you choose. A minor branch of House Elarin. A vassal. You’ll have protection. Trade routes. Stipends. Soldiers, if need be."

"You want us on a leash."

"I want you useful. And you want to survive."

He looked at her then—truly looked—and saw the truth behind her calm exterior. There was no pity in her eyes. Only calculation.

"You destroyed us," he rasped.

"No," she corrected. "You destroyed yourselves. We simply gave the blade to the one you bet against."

Halric’s fists clenched. "We bet on strength."

"And you lost," she said simply. "Because you didn’t understand the game."

Maela Berreth stood behind her father’s chair, saying nothing, but her gaze never left Velrosa.

Her mind was already racing through the implications. A vassal house. Resources. Access. Relevance.

"Why help us?" Maela asked quietly. "There are others with better standing."

Velrosa turned to her.

"Because we need allies who understand desperation. Who know the cost of failure. And because when the next flood begins, I want the Berreth to remember who gave them breath."

Silence settled in the room like ash. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Finally, Halric stood. He moved slowly, like an old statue rising from its pedestal.

His voice was hoarse. "And what do you ask of us?"

Velrosa stood as well, the full force of her presence washing over him like a storm tide.

"Swear fealty. Publicly. Declare House Berreth under the Elarin banner. Cast your vote on the Council accordingly."

Halric looked to his daughter. She met his gaze without hesitation.

"Do it," Maela said. "It’s the only way."

He nodded once, stiffly. "Then we submit."

Velrosa smiled—but it was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a queen who had won another piece on the board.

"Good," she said. "Then your bloodline will endure."

As she turned to leave, she paused at the threshold, her voice low and cold.

"The easiest lies to tell," she murmured, "are the ones we tell ourselves. Remember that when your pride whispers that this was your choice."

---

That night, Esgard’s noble quarter buzzed with rumors.

Berreth bows to Elarin.

The once-proud miners now wear silver collars.

The Lioness gains another fang.

But in the back rooms of the betting halls and the black markets, the implications were clearer.

Blackrat heard the news in a candlelit lounge beneath the Crimson Dagger Tavern, a wine glass in one hand, a ledger in the other.

"They folded faster than I expected," he murmured, swirling the crimson liquid.

Kessa, seated across from him, glanced up from her own scroll.

"You expected them to hold out?"

"No," he said. "But I did expect them to lie to themselves a little longer."

He chuckled, tapping a pen against the side of his glass.

"That’s always the last stage. Denial. Rage. Bargaining. Then they crawl to the ones they used to spit on."

He leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

"This is how empires are built. Not with armies. With debts. With need."

---

Elsewhere in Esgard, in a smoky hall behind the rowdy betting house, a young fighter watched the news with wide, gleaming eyes.

He was lean, scarred, fresh from the outer pits—name barely known, record fresh and untested. But his gaze was locked on a wooden board where Ian’s victory had been carved in bold, black runes.

He watched the name "Demonblade" beneath it.

He whispered it like a prayer.

"That’s the one," he muttered. "That’s the mountain I’ll climb."

Around him, fighters laughed, drank, spat blood into gutters.

But he saw only the shadow of Ian walking out of the arena, hands drenched in blood, unmoved by glory or praise.

And he smiled.

Because every mountain needs a fool to try and climb it.

---

In her private estate, Velrosa stood at a balcony overlooking Esgard’s lower city. The wind caught her hair, silver strands dancing like moonlight.

Eli approached from behind, his footsteps silent.

"They’ve pledged," he said simply.

"I know," she replied. "They’ll bleed accordingly now."

"And when they realize what that means?"

She turned slightly.

"Then it’s too late. You don’t ask the lion if it’s hungry once you’ve walked into the den."

Eli nodded. "And the others?"

"They’ll fall. One by one. Or come crawling. Either way, Elarin will rise."

She looked back out over the city, where flickers of torchlight glimmered like dying stars.

A terrible beast had returned to Esgard.

And House Elarin didn’t just control it.

They were building it an empire.