Gunmage
Chapter 117: Three owls one witness

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: Three owls one witness

There was no trace of mana. None at all.

Which was strange—deeply strange. Even the dead released some residual energy. A fingerprint of their essence he could harness into magical energy. But here? Nothing. The air around Lirienne’s broken form was barren, silent.

Lugh’s eyes flicked between the crumpled figure of Lirienne and the fleeing shadow vanishing beyond the shattered window.

They were forcing him to choose.

A shame.

Lugh wasn’t a regular person.

From the canopy of the woods, three owls spiraled upward, wings slicing through the night air in practiced silence. Their golden eyes fixed on the escaping figure.

Lugh had no intention of letting the culprit get away.

But first, Lirienne.

He walked over to her body, each step echoing against the polished floors now littered with broken vases, shards of glass, and scattered remnants of once-luxurious furniture.

Her mana reserves were completely empty, like a bank account long overdrawn. Had she burned herself out trying to survive?

Lugh knelt beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was faint, so faint he might’ve missed it had he not been so precise. But it was there.

She was still alive.

But that was the only good news.

Her arms were twisted at unnatural angles. Both broken. Her elegant midnight-blue gown was soaked in patches of blood, its hem torn where she had likely crawled or been dragged. Her face—

It had been mutilated. A shattered cheekbone. Knife slashes crossing her features with surgical cruelty. Her beauty, once so untouchable, had been desecrated.

This wasn’t just a beating. It was a message.

Lugh’s eyes narrowed. Whoever had done this would regret it. Deeply.

Just then—

"What is happening!"

Gas lamps flared to life. Their orange glow casting tall shadows as a woman stormed into the hallway. It was Isolde, Lirienne’s mother, adorned in a robe of imperial violet, her presence cold and commanding.

"Lugh, what are you—"

Her words died as her eyes landed on her daughter’s mangled body, then drifted to the shattered windows, the ruined floor, the broken vases. The entire hallway had been reduced to chaos.

Lirienne couldn’t use magic.

Which meant—

"Lugh."

Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous register. Quiet thunder before the storm.

"What have you done?"

The house was fully awake now. Lugh had shattered the enchantments, the ones designed to keep the family sedated through any disturbance.

More footsteps. The first and second daughters descended the staircase in their nightgowns, faces drawn with sleep and confusion. Uncle Edrin arrived next, grim and silent.

Lugh stood in the center of it all, blood on his hands—literally. He knew how this looked.

If he didn’t speak fast, things would turn ugly.

He turned slowly, looking toward the broken window.

"The attacker has already fled"

He spoke. Voice levelled and calm.

But this time, calm wasn’t enough.

"Get away from my daughter!"

Isolde’s voice cracked like a whip through the tension.

Lugh’s eyes flickered in confusion, he tilted his head slightly.

Then there was a blur of motion. Selaphiel, the eldest daughter, lunged forward, a broken metal pipe in her hands, swinging straight at his head.

He raised two fingers. With a flick, the weapon veered violently off course, missing him by a hairs breath.

Selaphiel staggered in surprise.

Her eyes narrowed with rage.

"You can use magic."

She snarled, voice heavy with accusation.

"Capture him!"

Guards rushed in, blades and spells at the ready.

Isolde advanced, her dark hair rising as arcane energy surged around her.

Lugh didn’t move.

"Well, well"

he thought idly.

It seemed he had found himself in the presence of a crown, the highest rank among human mages.

An impressive achievement, but not a welcome one, considering his current situation.

Her shadows slithered into the surroundings, cloaking themselves in layered concealment spells. Clever tactics. They were waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But the Mawglass didn’t lie. To Lugh, they were nothing more than shapes in fog. He could see all of them. And truth be told, none of them were worth worrying about.

He scanned the room again, his expression unreadable.

Past Isolde’s fury.

Past Selaphiel’s aggression.

Past Mirelle’s confusion.

And then—

Aveline.

She had slipped in without being noticed. Small, in her nightdress, her chestnut hair still damp from a recent wash. Her hands trembled slightly.

She didn’t understand what was happening.

Earlier that night, she had played chess with Lugh. He’d let her win, she knew that now. Then she had bathed, changed, and crawled into bed.

The noise woke her. At first, she thought it was thunder. Then a crash. She’d rushed out, slippers half on, hoping it was nothing serious.

Von Heim family protocol said the servants weren’t to leave their quarters during such emergencies.

She had gone to her mother’s room first. There was no answer. The door was ajar.

She followed the sounds instead.

And found this.

Blood. Shattered beauty.

Lirienne looked almost unrecognizable. Aveline gasped, her hand covering her mouth as she staggered back. Her eyes landed on Lugh. Faint blood stains on his hands.

Did... did he do this?

Why?

His eyes found hers, steady and unflinching. He looked through her. Not cruelly, not kindly. Simply... searching.

She shook her head and took another step back.

And then, Lugh sighed.

He raised both hands in surrender.

A pause.

Then Isolde surged forward and slammed him into the ground with force. Runes flared as she shackled him with thick magical restraints.

"Take him to the dungeons" she ordered.

Her voice was like ice.

Behind them, people swarmed around Lirienne.

"She’s alive!"

"Good. That’s... good," Isolde muttered, relief cracking through her fury.

"Take her to her room. Call the physician."

Beneath the mansion, the stairs grew colder, narrower.

Stone walls swallowed all sound. Lugh walked without resistance, his arms pinned behind him in glowing chains.

Shadows flanked him. Moving with watchful silence.

They reached a corridor lined with iron-barred cells. One of the guards unlocked a door and shoved him in roughly.

CLANG.

The door slammed shut.

Lugh leaned back against the wall, unbothered.

They thought they’d accomplished something. That they had captured him.

He could break out whenever he pleased. But he didn’t.

Let them play warden a little longer.

Above, the night sky of Pyrellis churned with a slow wind.

And far overhead, three owls flew in perfect formation, tracking a figure clad in black.

Then, something strange happened.