Gunmage
Chapter 133: Gifts and consequences

Chapter 133: Chapter 133: Gifts and consequences

The bandages were off.

Lirienne’s face was fully revealed.

Her nose had been shattered into a crooked mess, her skin scuffed and stretched with uneven healing, and her cheekbones were visibly crushed inwards like crumpled glass beneath flesh.

Her lips drooped unnaturally on one side, forming a twisted frown that never left. The damage was grotesque—surgical precision wrapped in brutal cruelty.

The wounds were not just disfiguring. They were devastating.

She knew this. She had cried for hours the first time she saw herself in the mirror.

Now, with a dozen eyes silently judging, she raised her trembling hands and covered her face, shrinking into herself like a child afraid of the light.

But her grandmother was here now. Selaphiel, a real elf. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a sliver of hope.

That sliver was crushed immediately.

"The injuries are too complex"

Selaphiel said gently.

"Too deliberate. I’m sorry... I can’t do anything about this."

Lirienne froze. Slowly, her body began to tremble, her hands fell from her face in silent despair.

"Oh, don’t fret, child."

Selaphiel cooed softly, stepping closer.

"Let me tell you a story. Deep in the elven kingdom of Jazeer, at the heart of the sacred tree, lies a goblet filled with holy water. A single drop from it is said to restore youth and heal any wound, no matter how grievous."

Her voice was dreamy, almost soothing.

"So don’t worry, there’s still hope."

Lugh nearly scoffed aloud. What the hell kind of fairytale was that?

Still hope? Even he wouldn’t dare step foot in Jazeer, much less try to plunder the sacred tree. That was less a mission and more a suicide note.

Lirienne, no fool herself, clearly knew how futile it was. Her expression soured further.

Selaphiel frowned when she noticed.

"Didn’t I tell you not to fret?"

She said, voice soft but firm. Then, her face hardened.

"I’ll be leaving soon—and I won’t return until I’ve secured a drop of it for you. Don’t worry, your grandmother will get it... no matter the cost."

For the first time since entering, Lirienne spoke.

She forced a smile, though with her face still in ruins, it looked like a grimace torn from a nightmare.

"You just came back. You don’t have to leave again because of me."

Her voice wavered, then brightened slightly.

"Actually... it’s not all that bad. I may be injured, but I can use magic now!"

She turned to Lugh, eyes glimmering, proud of herself.

"What did you just say?"

Isolde’s voice cracked. Her disbelief echoed through her three stunned daughters.

Lirienne gave a nervous laugh and lifted her hand.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the nearby cabinet rattled. The teacups inside clinked in a crescendo. With a smooth, invisible force, the entire wooden fixture lifted off the ground by several inches, levitating as if suspended on a string of wind.

Selaphiel almost held her breath.

"My, my... with no chant? At just sixteen?"

She whispered, eyes wide with something between awe and alarm.

"It seems we have another genius in the family."

The cabinet hovered for a moment before she slowly lowered it back into place. She let out a breathless sigh, clearly still unaccustomed to the sensation.

The wood creaked softly as it landed, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Isolde and her daughters stared at Lirienne like they’d never seen her before.

In the corner, Edrin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable. He watched everything with the air of a bored scholar forced to sit through amateur theater.

Honestly? He didn’t give a damn.

Isolde had rejected his advances one too many times. As far as he was concerned, they could all be purified by the Holy Flames and he’d light the match.

These weren’t even thoughts anymore. They were hopes.

Selaphiel’s voice cut through his spite.

"All the more reason not to let such talent go to waste."

Then she added

"I’m sorry, Lirienne. You may have to wait another decade or two for me."

Lugh stepped forward before anyone else could react.

"We don’t have time for that."

Everyone turned toward him, startled.

He reached forward and grabbed Lirienne’s face.

"Wha—what are you doing—"

A blinding green light surged from the point of contact. The room filled with warmth and brilliance, forcing everyone to squint.

When it faded, Lugh lowered his hands.

Lirienne blinked. The dull, ever-present aches in her cheeks were gone. She touched her skin—smooth. Soft. Whole.

"Wha—how did you—"

She darted to the mirror, leaving everyone frozen, even the cynical Edrin.

In the silver mirror, a stranger looked back at her. A beautiful, budding sixteen-year-old with delicate freckles across her nose and unblemished skin.

Her eyes widened.

Tears welled, then slipped down her cheeks.

She turned and hurled herself at Lugh, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace.

"Lugh! Lugh!"

She choked back sobs.

"I—I love you!"

Lugh froze, eyes narrowing slightly.

Love?

The word echoed in his head, foreign and invasive.

He didn’t know what it meant. Not really. Not deeply.

He pushed the distracting thoughts aside and leaned down, whispering in her ear.

His tone was cold, but quieter. More intimate. And terrifying.

"Listen closely"

He murmured.

"You owe me now. And one day, I’ll come to collect. You won’t know when, you won’t know why. But when I ask—whatever I ask—you will obey. No hesitation. No questions."

Lirienne shivered.

His voice wasn’t threatening. It was calm. Too calm.

She nodded slowly.

"Good."

Lugh pulled back, completely composed, as if nothing had happened.

It took a moment for everyone else to breathe again.

"...That was elven magic, wasn’t it?"

Selaphiel asked slowly. Her voice was quiet but urgent.

"Where did you learn that?"

She stared at Lugh. What he had done was beyond her abilities.

Lugh tilted his head.

"I didn’t"

He said simply.

"I just... know it."

Not the answer she wanted, but she said nothing—only exhaled and nodded to herself, already building her own theories in the back of her mind.

’Holy shit.’

This little freak’s some kind of monster.

That was all Edrin could think.

Fck Isolde. Fck the sisters. F*ck the whole room.

His father had to hear about this. The Church had to hear about this.

If he kept this secret, then his name wasn’t Edrin Von Heim!

"Edrin."

Selaphiel’s voice snapped him from his thoughts.

"Uh—yes, mother?"

"What happened here must not leave this room."

"..."

"Understood?!"

"Yes, mother."

’Goddammit!!’

Then Selaphiel clapped her hands together.

"Well, such a joyous occasion deserves a proper celebration. I say we throw a ball!"

Follow current novels on freewe(b)novel.c(o)m