Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 160: The Four Pillars

Ian stared at the corpse dangling limp in Fang’s grip, neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

Blood ran in thin lines across the woman’s cheek, mixing with the single tear that had fallen before her end.

He leaned forward, a bite of half-eaten pie still in his hand, and said flatly:

"I told you to leave one alive."

Fang turned his head slowly, the shadows rippling around his soulbound form like coiled serpents awaiting command.

"She knew me."

Ian’s eyes narrowed. "I needed one alive so we could get information."

Fang let the body drop, its spine making a brittle crack as it struck the cobblestones. "I killed her because no amount of pain would’ve loosened her tongue. These aren’t common thugs. They’re trained to die a thousand deaths before they speak. You’d scrape their skin from bone, and they’d still laugh at you."

Velrosa leaned back in her chair, brushing flecks of blood from her sleeve as if they were dust.

"Then who were they?"

Fang straightened, the purple rods he wielded fading from his hands into nothingness. The air around him darkened slightly as he spoke.

"They’re from the Four Pillars."

Ian looked at him, pie forgotten. "Go on."

Fang nodded. "The Imperial City is not ruled by the Emperor and senators alone. Behind the throne stand four sacred noble houses — the true architects of dominion. Each one commands a different faction, ancient in origin, sacred in purpose, and bound by oath to protect the bloodline of man. Or so they say."

He raised a finger, counting.

"House Ardeval — the House of the Eye. They lead the Inquisitors of Sight, specialists in prophecy, surveillance, and long-distance divination. No secret escapes them. Their minds are catalogues, their agents seers.

House Dravonn — the House of the Flame. They rule the Legion of Purging Flame. Knights and mages who carry sanctioned fire to burn corruption, undeath, and heresy from the world. Zealots wrapped in silver and red.

House Myrras — the House of Veils. Masters of infiltration, shadow, seduction, and assassination. Their agents are whispers, their truths half-lies. They lead the Webborn, a faction no record openly names.

And finally, House Solmere — my master house," Fang said, voice dropping to a lower register. "The House of Judgment. We command the Arbiters, who pass sentence upon the ungovernable. We are the first sword drawn, and the last to fall. Our agents are called Assayers."

Ian’s expression didn’t shift. "Assayers?"

"Assessment Squads. Elite teams formed with a singular purpose: to observe, test, and report. Each one tailored to the assignment. Some are sent to witness a rising power. Others to test a weakness in a rival House’s formation. Some simply to watch and record. But when an Assayer Squad engages directly—" Fang glanced down at the corpses, "—it’s never by accident."

Velrosa crossed one leg over the other, her tone clinical now. "And what’s the price of failure?"

"There is no failure," Fang said. "Assayers are trained with only one outcome in mind: their own death. Everything they see, feel, and even think during battle is encoded in real-time through a spellform carved into their bones. Magic runes inscribed into their marrow transmit every detail — their heartbeat, the resistance of a parried blade, the scent of blood in the air — all sent back to their House through ritual anchors."

Ian frowned. "So when they die..."

"They don’t. Not entirely. Their deaths are the final note in the song — the exclamation mark on the data they transmit. The House doesn’t mourn them. They study them. Like insects pinned in glass."

Velrosa tilted her head, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Then this wasn’t an assassination attempt. Not truly."

Ian agreed, voice low. "No... it was a performance. For someone watching. Measuring."

He looked at Fang again. "But they already assessed me. When they sent you."

Fang gave a humorless smirk. "They did. I was the Assayer they sent who they didn’t expect to die — though by design, I was never meant to return. My ’death’ by your hands was the last part of the test. But you were never the only variable. The Four Pillars rarely move for a single man. Not even the Demonblade."

Ian sat back, cold light in his gray eyes. "Then who?"

Fang looked toward Velrosa.

"Perhaps her. Or perhaps they want to know how much strength you’d be willing to give to protect someone else. To protect an outcast royal."

Ian scoffed, glancing at the still-warm pie. "Then they’ll need more than this fodder to get their answer."

His gaze flicked to the broken bodies strewn across the street like torn cloth.

Fang’s eyes darkened, his tone dropping into something that made the shadows thicken. "They know that. And that’s why every squad has a leader. Like me. Someone who they don’t expect to die. Who stays hidden until it’s too late."

Velrosa leaned forward. "And you haven’t seen the leader yet."

"No," Fang said. "And that’s exactly what should concern you."

Silence fell for a moment. Somewhere in the city a bell tolled, slow and distant.

Ian leaned forward, resting his arms on the blood-smeared table, his appetite gone. "If this was the Assayer Squad... and we haven’t seen the leader yet... does that mean he’s still nearby?"

Fang nodded once. "He’ll stay until the last breath. Watch the cleanup. Measure the reaction. Evaluate tactics. Yours. Even the emotions in your face."

"And what then?" Velrosa asked softly.

"Then?" Fang turned his eyes toward the rooftops. "He’ll test you, see how far you would really go or he will vanish. And you’ll never know his face. But they’ll have everything they need."

Ian stood, brushing crumbs from his sleeve, the motion slow and deliberate.

"Not if we find him first."

Velrosa stood beside him, her voice still calm despite the tension brimming in the air. "And if we do?"

Ian’s voice was almost a growl. "Then he’ll join his colleague fang here, as a soldier."

Fang gave a faint smile. "My liege... I’ll begin the hunt."

The air around him warped slightly — not vanishing this time, but unraveling like silk through fingers.

The street emptied again, and the tension broke as if someone had sliced through it with a blade.

Velrosa glanced back at the table. "We never did finish the pie."

Ian followed her gaze, then picked up the remaining half with a faint, sardonic grin.

"Shame. It was good."

But even as he bit into it, his eyes were already scanning the rooftops, the alleys, the moving shadows between sun and stone.

Because somewhere out there, someone was watching.

And next time, Ian intended to watch them back.