Gunmage
Chapter 127: No room for mistakes

Chapter 127: Chapter 127: No room for mistakes

Her body streaked through the air like a comet, aimed straight at Lugh.

Between his countless years of inherited combat memory and the Mawglass’ ability to glimpse a few moments into the future, predicting her movements wasn’t difficult. It was child’s play, he didn’t even blink.

She struck the ground hard, like a meteorite. Her magically reinforced frame cratering the garden floor. The resulting shockwave rippled outward, hurling Lugh several meters back.

He didn’t stumble or falter, his retreat looked almost choreographed, like part of an elegant, well-rehearsed dance.

Without any delay, she transitioned, darting toward him while keeping low to the ground. She didn’t lunge—she pounced, like a wild predator mid-hunt.

Her claws gleamed in the light, slicing toward his throat, a single swipe meant to sever his trachea and silence him forever.

Lugh twisted aside, evading effortlessly with ghostlike precision, his blade already moving into position.

She abruptly swerved to the side mid-attack, narrowly avoiding impaling herself on the blade.

It was now his turn.

The longsword spun in his hands, a blur of steel gathering speed and momentum.

He charged.

A diagonal slash. A vertical cut. A horizontal sweep—all executed within a heartbeat.

Too fast.

She couldn’t block even one.

Three ghastly wounds and red bloomed across her midsection.

Lugh drew first blood.

The beastkin grunted as pain jolted through her, but instead of falling back, she surged forward, aiming to close the gap and nullify the sword’s reach.

Bad choice.

She was rewarded with a brutal pommel strike to the skull. Her vision blurred, staggered by the blow.

Lugh’s blade arced toward her neck—merciless, clean. But it halted just shy of flesh.

She didn’t understand why he stopped. But she didn’t waste the moment. She leapt back, breathing hard, hand rising instinctively to her throat.

That was too close. One fraction of a second slower, and she’d be dead.

She hadn’t been sure, was he really going to kill her?

He didn’t answer the question burning in her eyes.

She growled low, voice hoarse.

"What are you doing?"

Lugh offered no response. He crouched slightly, both hands on his hilt, raised just above his shoulder, blade pointing forward, tip low. Another unfamiliar stance.

One she couldn’t read.

The beastkin steadied her breath. She couldn’t be reckless again. A single mistake could see her head rolling across the garden floor.

With a deep inhale, she drew on her reserves. Mana flooded her limbs. Bones popped and restructured with sickening cracks.

Muscles thickened, fur surged forth, claws lengthened, growing larger and heavier. Her entire body shuddered.

Partial transformation.

Lugh noted it silently. He had seen similar forms in ancient memories. Which memory, he couldn’t say, but the pattern was familiar.

She approached. This time not in a sprint, but in a measured gait, raising her massive arms.

When within striking distance, she swung with sudden violence. Fast and heavy.

Lugh parried, deflecting rather than blocking. Still, the force of the impact jolted through his body like hammer strikes.

She smirked and swung again, faster this time. Then again. Again.

Her claws blurred. Her arms became shadows.

Steel met claw. Sparks scattered like fireflies.

Lugh moved with surgical precision, parrying each strike with machine-like rhythm.

For a moment, nothing existed but flashes and the ring of steel on bone.

Watching from the garden’s edge, one of the maids—Isolde’s shadow—let her jaw go slack. She wasn’t alone. Others stared in stunned silence.

"S-should we help him?"

The maid whispered.

Isolde didn’t take her eyes off the fight.

"Can you?"

The maid went silent.

Meanwhile Isolde’s mind whirled. She had known Lugh held some secrets. She had hoped to glimpse some hidden magic, perhaps a natural awakening.

Even if such a thing was a myth, it was still the most plausible theory she had.

But Lugh hadn’t used a trace of magic since the beginning of the fight up till now.

No spells. No incantations.

Just pure skill—inhuman in its perfection.

The beastkin continued her assault, but Lugh guided the battle like a puppeteer, every step and counter smooth, efficient and elegant.

His footwork danced across the grass, each motion transmitting the perfect amount of force, like he had practiced this dance for years.

They’d already moved far from the wreckage.

The beastkin maintained her offensive, but it was obvious to everyone who truly controlled the rhythm of the fight.

Then, an opening. Her persistence broke through. Her claws grazed his cheek.

No blood. No mark.

She blinked.

All her claws... were gone.

Neatly filed off.

Her eyes widened.

Then came the blow—a sharp, brutal impact to the abdomen sent her hurling back.

Lugh stepped forward.

"It’s time to finish this"

His voice was cold as ice.

He had already learned what he needed. There were few alive who could challenge him in close combat now. This fight had served its purpose.

"Lugh!"

The warning came too late.

The Anchor, thought long defeated, had dragged his shattered body up for one final attack. He wasn’t aiming at Isolde, he was aiming at Lugh.

If that monster in human skin was slain, nothing would stop the beastkin from claiming victory.

The Anchor raised his blade—

A bird shot through the space between them, breaking his line of sight for a split second

A blur of black. A glint. A glimmer of steel placed at just the right angle.

The Anchor felt a sudden weightlessness. His vision spun.

Then darkness.

His head hit the ground before he even realized it was no longer attached.

...

The beastkin didn’t think, she acted. Her body surged forward, reckless, trying to seize the unexpected moment.

But a sudden flock of birds engulfed the space around her. Visibility vanished in a storm of wings.

By the time the air cleared, Lugh stood before her.

Calm. Unflinching.

Behind him, the Anchor’s corpse lay headless.

That had been fast. Too fast.

A chill crept up her spine.

Lugh tilted his head slightly.

"If you want to run, you can"

He said softly.

"Whether you’ll get away... is a separate matter entirely."

Her jaws clenched. Her eyes reddened with rage.

She let out a feral roar—and charged.

But this time—Lugh wasn’t messing around anymore