Gunmage
Chapter 118: She called him Lucas

Chapter 118: Chapter 118: She called him Lucas

Above the skies of Pyrellis, three owls glided in the night, their wings cutting silently through the air.

They trailed a shadowy figure darting below, weaving through the maze-like alleys of the lower city.

The figure made an abrupt turn, then another, backtracking and shifting directions in rapid succession, clearly trained in counter-tracking.

Every movement was precise and deliberate. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, the figure disappeared beneath an overhead structure, swallowed by the night.

From above, Lugh’s eyes narrowed as two of the owls swooped down, gliding dangerously low over rooftops and hanging lanterns.

The third and largest owl remained high in the air, its keen vision piercing the darkness like a blade through cloth.

But their quarry was slippery, almost supernaturally so. She slid through narrow spaces, dashed under makeshift bridges, and vanished between closed market stalls like smoke.

Then, without hesitation, she dropped into an open manhole, leaving not a single trace.

Lugh exhaled sharply. He should’ve sent a rat.

Given her evasive maneuvers, she was clearly trained to avoid both human and non-human pursuers.

That kind of awareness wasn’t natural. Perhaps she had experience dealing with familiars, many mages used them for surveillance and hunts.

Her movements suggested she had prepared for exactly this kind of chase.

Which meant the trail had gone cold. For now.

But Lugh was patient. He would find her, sooner or later. All he needed was time.

With a silent command, he directed the owls away from the city’s labyrinthine core and back toward the quiet heights of the bourgeois district, where the Von Heim Manor loomed with its wrought-iron gates and ivy-covered stone.

Lugh remained locked away underground.

No one had come to see him. Their attention was likely fixed on Lirienne—what was left of her.

Her injuries were grotesque, bordering on mortal, but Emrys’ arts could heal anything. That wasn’t the problem.

Lugh also had the Ring of Nyx. A relic of terrifying power. It devoured ambient mana like a starving beast and filled a bottomless well within him, overflowing with arcane potential.

With it, he could bend even elven magic to his will. Healing Lirienne was well within his capabilities.

But repercussions would follow.

That spell was beyond what a human should wield. Casting it would draw unnecessary attention from eyes better left blind.

Lugh could have accepted that risk. He truly could have.

But this wasn’t just a consequence, it was a trap. An enemy’s trap.

He had considered whether the entire misunderstanding had been orchestrated to corner him.

But no... they didn’t know who he was, neither did they know anything about him.

No one did.

The misunderstanding had just been a by product.

Lirienne remained unconscious, the enemy had already started making their moves. The conclusion of their ’grand’ plan was drawing close.

From where he sat in his cold, stone cell, he spread his consciousness outward like tendrils.

Hundreds of eyes, feathered, scaled, and furred, watched the world for him.

Rats crept silently through the walls and rafters, coordinated in careful formations. Birds perched on windows and rooftops, eyes gleaming with unnatural intellect.

He waited.

Hours passed.

Dawn broke across the skyline in soft hues of crimson and gold, and with it came a procession of doctors, pharmacists, and medical officials, arriving to inspect the wounded Lirienne.

Meanwhile, Isolde’s shadows had scoured Lugh’s room.

The wrapped, enchanted sword had been taken, the legendary artifact that whispered of ancient power. They would be forced to return it later, of that he was sure.

The manuscripts had been left untouched. His blueprints for the Rhy Wing remained undiscovered.

There was no evidence of his involvement with another house or organisation, no clues pointing to why he would attack Lirienne.

A bird, sipping calmly from a marble fountain, watched as two guards discreetly passed a folded piece of paper between them. Lugh noted it, but ignored it.

Then—he heard footsteps.

Not through his puppets. Through his own ears.

Someone had come down to him in person.

The rats near the dungeon scurried to get a better view.

It was Isolde.

No guards, no shadows, she was alone.

’How odd’

She stopped in front of the cell bars, the light catching her stern features and tired eyes.

"Why did you do it?"

She asked, voice sharp and accusing.

Lugh didn’t look up. His gaze remained on the floor. Calmly, he spoke.

"I didn’t do anything."

"Don’t lie to me!"

She snapped, slamming her palms against the metal bars. The sound rang out like thunder in the quiet dungeon.

That surprised him. Isolde had always been calm and level-headed. Enough time had passed. She should’ve known he had no reason to hurt her daughter.

"Why did you do it?"

She repeated, softer this time.

He said nothing.

"Answer me!"

Lugh sighed, then replied flatly

"Leave. Come back when you’ve calmed down."

He closed his eyes, refusing to give her any more of his attention. He understood her anger. But he wasn’t about to indulge it.

They should be grateful for his cooperation, not accusing him like a criminal.

Then Isolde exhaled slowly. Her body stopped trembling. Her composure returned like a mask sliding into place.

Click.

The cell door opened.

"I know you didn’t do it"

She said with eerie calm.

Lugh raised an eyebrow as he turned to look at her. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and sat beside him on the stiff, narrow bed.

Then—she took his hand.

She laced her fingers with his.

Lugh stiffened, caught off guard.

"I know you wouldn’t hurt our child, Lucas."

He froze.

Lucas was ...his father’s name.

She leaned closer, her fingers brushing through his hair with unsettling tenderness.

"I’m not Lucas"

He said flatly

"I’m Lugh."

"Shut up!"

She hissed, venom dripping from her tone. Then just as quickly, her demeanour changed again.

"Oh, Lucas"

She whispered, misty-eyed,

"I knew you’d come back to me."

Her expression was far away, drenched in delusion. Her misted eyes reminded him of Mirelle.

It clicked.

So it was true. The old saying. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree... a dog doesn’t birth a cow.

It took him a moment longer to fully process what was happening.

"I see..."

He whispered.

A pause.

Then—

"You’re a lunatic."