Gunmage
Chapter 100: Royal guards

Chapter 100: Chapter 100: Royal guards

The air was thick with tension that clung like smoke.

Up high, two shadowy figures stood solemnly on a ruined monument. One of them, a woman, judging by her voice, spoke again. Her voice was colder now.

"By Royal Decree, issued by the King himself, you are to take your men and retreat. What happens here is no longer your concern."

That sentence rippled through the ranks of the Inquisition like a stone breaking still water.

The leader’s jaw clenched tight.

They had weathered mutinies, silenced heresies, executed people who strayed from the path. They did not kneel to self-proclaimed orders delivered from the shadows.

And yet... this was the King’s seal. Disobedience was no longer an act of righteousness, it was treason.

The leader inhaled slowly, lifting his hand to signal the retreat.

Then—

A voice echoed in his mind. Unseen yet undeniable. He froze. His arm trembling mid-air. The moment stretched thin.

Then he spoke.

"By the will of the Flame... we shall execute these terrorists."

He pressed his palms together. A deep crimson glow welled between them.

"Ignia."

The word landed like a hammer.

The others repeated it.

"Ignia."

A fiery orb bloomed in each hand. compressed, vibrating, unstable. Magic pooled, licked the air and bending the rain around it in curving streaks of steam.

And just as the spells launched,

The storm broke.

Rain that had been hovering unnaturally midair came crashing down all at once. The world hissed as fire collided with conjured water.

Steam exploded, briefly swallowing the square in white, scalding mist.

There was yet another impact.

A crack of thunder. A wall of heat. Light flashed like a camera from hell.

From the smoke descended a single figure.

She didn’t land, she fell like judgment. Straight between the inquisitors and their intended victims.

She didn’t wear armor. She didn’t need to. Her face, veiled and flickering, shimmered like a mirage. It was right there but they couldn’t see it.

Yet they all knew, somehow, she was beautiful. Inhumanly so.

All except Lugh. His Mawglass cut through the veil, stripping the illusion. What he saw made him pause.

Curious

There was no dialogue.

No demand.

No compromise.

Only war.

She moved like water possessed. Her limbs swerved, and the street around her came alive. Rain turned to thick serpents of churning liquid.

They crashed into buildings, shattered stone, and ripped through cobbled roads like paper.

The inquisitors scattered, robes flaring like dying embers. They regrouped with military precision.

Five mages joined hands. Flames roared. The street turned red with heat as a focused stream of fire burst forth, vaporizing a path toward her.

But when the inferno cleared, she was still there. Unaffected.

With a graceful flick, she bent the remaining water like a puppeteer. The tentacles snapped at the air, slamming into the mages with thunderclap force.

The inquisitors ducked and weaved between blasts, closing in with deadly intent.

In a synchronized movement, they formed a circle around her, five meters wide. Their palms were outstretched, glowing crimson.

"Ignia"

Again.

This time, the explosion shook the city’s bones.

Stone fractured. Glass shattered from buildings two blocks away. Heat rolled out like a tidal wave, warping the very air.

Then a chuckle.

It echoed, melodic and taunting, from the rooftops.

Their eyes shot upward, and there she was again.

An illusion? A clone? Or perhaps something worse.

The battle raged on.

Buildings crumbled. Streets caved. The inquisitors, trained for holy war, struggled to survive against a single Royal Guard.

Meanwhile.

Isolde’s heart slammed against her chest.

"Now. We run."

She turned

But Lugh was gone.

"Lugh!"

Her heart rate spiked.

"Find him!"

...

In a narrow alley not far from the chaos, one of the mercenary mages hired to assassinate the Lady of the Von Heim family staggered through the rain-soaked street.

His concealment magic, honed over years of shadow work, had saved his life. Now he just had to get out, report back to the boss, collect his reward and disappear.

Then he froze.

A figure was suddenly there. No sound, no warning. One heartbeat, the alley was empty. The next, something stood in his path.

Human?

Maybe.

But it stood like a phantom wreathed in darkness, a wet veil of deep royal blue clinging to its face, its edges rippling despite the stillness of the air.

The mercenary had seen monsters—real ones—but this thing made him step back involuntarily, he gulped in fear.

Its eyes gleamed beneath the veil, locked onto him, unblinking.

Lugh stood silent, motionless, like something carved from still water and nightmares.

The mercenary’s blood ran cold when the realisation hit. This thing had followed him when no one else could.

Now it stood between him and escape. If he had any hope of surviving, he had to kill it. Right here. Right now.

He didn’t hesitate.

With a sharp inhale and a grunt of effort, he lunged forward, blade slicing through the rain.

The figure didn’t move. Lugh remained perfectly still, like a stone statue. That unsettled the man more than any counterattack would have.

Panic rising, the mercenary veered off, abandoning brute force for speed.

He whispered an incantation and his skin shimmered as he melded into the environment.

Camouflage.

He moved like a ghost, circling silently to Lugh’s side.

With a fierce exhale, he struck.

But Lugh tilted his head just enough for the blade to whistle past his cheek.

Then, with great speed, his arm shot out, clamping onto the attacker’s wrist with crushing force. The grip was inhuman.

Crack.

The mercenary stifled his scream.

Pain shot up his arm like lightning as it spasmed in Lugh’s grip, already limp and useless.

"Please—stop! I’ll tell you everything! Anything! Just—just—!"

Lugh’s expression didn’t change. His grip only tightened.

"Arghhh—!"

Tears streaked down the man’s face, more from fear than from pain. His body trembled uncontrollably.

Pain. Sorrow. Terror. They all painted themselves clearly across the human form. Lugh watched with curious detachment.

’So fragile’

he thought.

’So predictable’

He tilted his head slowly.

The man was breaking. That was the word. Breaking. Humans broke so easily.

Then Lugh lifted the veil.

A faint shimmer ran across his features, revealing skin too smooth and a face too perfect

The Mawglass flared to life and the man was gone. In his place, Lugh stood side by side with himself.

One turned left. The other turned right. They moved.

But he hadn’t gone far before the sky split open.

A figure dropped from above, boots cracking the cobblestone beneath.

A Royal Guard...

"Where do you think you’re going?"