NOVPUB
Chapter 52: Power Has a Price
The courtyard was drowned in shadow.
No moonlight touched it, only the flickering dance of torches nailed into stone walls. The smell of blood had already soaked into the air like rot, thick and cloying. Steel sang through the night, blades clashing and scraping—but only from one side.
The other side didn’t scream. It didn’t struggle.
It slaughtered.
Ian stood bare-chested in the center of the blood-slick stone, his body a map of healing wounds, most fresh, some deeper than others. His arms and torso were wrapped in fading bruises and lash-like scars—leftovers from the battle with Torkas.
They knit slowly with each kill.
Around him, desperate men surged with fury and dread. They screamed with every swing—axes, daggers, spears aimed at his heart.
But none of it mattered. 𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑝𝘶𝘣.𝑐𝘰𝘮
He moved like shadow given muscle. Fluid and cruel.
A man lunged with a war cry, blade overhead. Ian ducked low and drove his dagger up through the man’s throat, twisting until blood sprayed warm across his face.
The body dropped, twitching.
Another slashed toward his ribs.
Ian caught the man’s arm, twisted it until the bones cracked like dry branches, then sank his dagger into the man’s chest—once, twice, a third time—until the heart stopped beating.
A scream. A final plea.
It didn’t reach his ears.
He pivoted and slammed a foot into another mans knee, buckling it backward. The man fell screaming and Ian buried his blade in the base of his skull.
One by one, they fell. Blood soaked the stones like spilled wine. And all the while, something changed. Something grew.
The wounds on Ian’s chest? They began to close.
Slightly.
Not all. Not completely.
But enough.
---
From the side of the courtyard, beneath the shade of an overhanging arch, Velrosa sat on a stone bench, one leg crossed over the other. A delicate porcelain cup in hand, steam rising in curls.
She sipped slowly, watching the carnage with mild fascination.
Next to her stood Eli, arms folded, face unreadable.
His golden eyes never blinked.
Velrosa swirled her tea. "Is that enough?"
Ian, breathing heavy, stood amid a ring of twisted bodies. Blood ran down his torso, but the scars had healed cleaner. Not fully. But better.
"That should do for now," he answered, wiping the blood from his mouth. He bent down, grabbed the black shirt and deep-hooded cloak prepared for him, and pulled them on.
"These men," he asked while buttoning the shirt, "who were they?"
Velrosa chuckled, eyes sweeping over the mangled corpses. "Does it matter now?"
"I guess not."
She set her cup down. "Dregs from our dungeons. Spies. Assassins. Moles. Their lives were already forfeit. You just made their deaths useful."
Eli tilted his head. "How exactly does your ability work again?"
Ian tugged the last strap on his cloak. "It’s simple. The more I kill, the stronger I get. The faster I heal."
Velrosa’s eyes flicked up. "And that beast you summoned during the match?"
"I can turn those I kill into soulbound slaves. The wolf you saw—Ashvaleth—it was once a predator-rank monster."
Velrosa blinked. Eli’s eyes narrowed.
"You’re saying... that beast was stronger dead than it was alive?" she asked.
"Far stronger," Ian said. "I’d say ten to twenty times, depending on the soul."
Eli exhaled sharply. "That’s... obscene."
Ian smiled faintly. "Wanna see?"
They turned to him like children offered sweets.
"Can we?" Velrosa asked, eyes gleaming.
Ian narrowed his eyes and whispered, "Come."
The torches flickered. The shadows deepened.
Then—it appeared.
From the ground behind Ian, the darkness twisted upward, coalescing like smoke into shape. A hulking figure formed, wrapped in shredded black armor and heavy cords of void-touched muscle. Its eyes burned a pale, unnatural violet.
And in its hands—an enormous twin-headed axe, scarred and stained.
Torkas.
Or rather, the thing that remained.
He dropped to one knee before Ian and spoke with a voice that echoed from the grave.
"My liege."
Velrosa’s lips parted. "This... this can’t be possible."
Ian didn’t blink. "It is. I bound his soul after he died."
"You’re telling me," Eli said, voice calm but tight, "this is Torkas? The man who nearly killed you?"
Ian nodded. "Stronger now than he ever was."
Eli exhaled slowly, then took a few steps away, forming distance. "Tell it to attack me."
Ian frowned. "That’s not a good idea. A soulbound this powerful costs a lot just to summon. Making him fight? That’s not a light expense."
"Just one attack," Eli said, arms wide. "I won’t kill it."
Ian hesitated, then gave a silent command with his thoughts.
The soulbound vanished.
Eli’s eyes widened—confusion, shock.
Then a presence—behind him.
The axe came down with a whistle of death.
But it met air.
Eli moved in a blur, twisting and ducking under the blow. He turned and caught the shaft of the axe mid-swing. His other arm moved like a hammer of divine fury—slam.
The hit landed on the creature’s chest.
There was no scream.
Just a burst of purple mist. The soulbound evaporated like fog shredded by a storm.
Ian staggered. Blood gushed from his mouth as he fell to one knee.
"Oh no," Eli said with a raised brow, "was that too much?"
Ian pushed himself up, coughing blood. "Great... now you’ve made me burn over half the essence I just gained."
"My bad," Eli said. "Get cleaned up. We’re going to collect our winnings. If we’re lucky, you’ll get plenty more people to kill there."
Ian rolled his shoulder and walked off, muttering,
"Yeah... sure."
---
After Ian disappeared through the arch, silence hung for a long moment.
Eli exhaled and raised a hand to the back of his neck.
His fingers came away red.
Blood. A thin line down the edge of his palm.
Velrosa turned sharply. Her eyes widened.
"It grazed you?" she whispered. "That’s... that’s not possible."
"My guard was down," Eli said softly, wiping the blood on his sleeve. "But still..."
He stared at the mist that hadn’t fully dispersed.
"That thing he summoned," he finished, "is extremely strong."
