Gunmage
Chapter 137: Masks of green and white

Chapter 137: Chapter 137: Masks of green and white

"Grandmother? Who is that?"

"Who is what?"

There was no longer anybody standing in front of Selaphiel.

The girl who had asked—one of Lugh’s cousins, around Mirelle’s age—spoke again, her voice hesitant.

"I could’ve sworn I saw someone there just now."

Selaphiel gave her a wide, almost mischievous smile.

"Did you?"

"N-no, it must have been my imagination"

The girl stammered, shrinking back nervously.

Lugh let out a breath, invisible to their eyes, and silently slipped away. There was nothing more for him to do for now.

Roaming the halls would be pointless; his plans could only unfold with time. So he chose to wait, observing through the countless hidden "eyes" he had planted around the manor.

Perhaps something truly interesting would happen during the ball.

Night came quickly.

The high-rise tiers of Pyrellis glittered to life, like a thousand tiny beacons scattered through the misty dark.

Streetlamps buzzed and flickered, their light pooling onto the polished stone roads, as a line of opulent carriages, each more lavish than the last, trailed steadily toward the Von Heim mansion.

A few families, eager to flaunt their wealth and connections, forwent carriages altogether, arriving instead in first-generation motor vehicles, early prototypes that drew both admiration and envy from the gathered crowd.

The manor was a staggering sight.

White cobblestone paths stretched across meticulously trimmed gardens bursting with exotic flora, plants Lugh had never seen outside of textbooks.

Selaphiel’s elven heritage was obvious here; the Von Heim estate felt less like a human dwelling and more like an enchanted palace plucked from a forgotten legend.

Guests arrived dressed in tailored finery, the only requirement being a touch of emerald. A sash, a hairpin, a brooch, or for the more flamboyant, entire ensembles woven through with green thread.

Some women floated by in gowns of white silk threaded with emerald embroidery. One man, not to be outdone, wore a full three-piece suit dyed an extravagant shade of green, shoes included.

Stepping into the manor was enough to make even seasoned nobles draw breath.

Massive crystal chandeliers bathed the halls in a warm, dazzling glow that banished all memory of the night outside.

Embroidered white drapes hung from the soaring ceilings, while walls lined with silvered mirrors reflected the dancing lights into an endless maze of brilliance.

Large arched windows offered sweeping, unsolicited views of the starlit sky beyond.

Carefully placed indoor gardens gave the entire space a freshness that teased the senses, blending faint floral notes with the rich, heady aroma of polished wood and fine wine.

Soft strains of live orchestral music floated through the halls like mist, adding to the dreamlike atmosphere.

After a brief walk through the radiant corridors, the guests were led into the grand ballroom.

Standing at the threshold was a butler, an imposing figure nearly seven feet tall, with fraying white hair and a back that seemed to be straighter that an arrow.

Without any device to amplify his voice, he announced the arrivals with a deep, sonorous tone that somehow carried effortlessly across the sprawling hall.

"Baron Albrecht Vornim!"

"Countess Ilianne Rosweld, accompanied by Viscount Dorian Rosweld and Viscountess Seraphina Rosweld!"

It was a gathering of the kingdom’s most powerful names. Even children were brought along, encouraged to mingle and forge bonds with their peers, alliances that could one day sway fortunes and fates.

And as expected, even among the younger generation, strict, invisible hierarchies had already formed.

Lugh leaned against a high railing on the upper floors, his red eyes narrowed in study.

The first phase of the ball—the opening pleasantries, the exchange of shallow smiles, the calculated toasts—was already well underway.

Everyone wore the same polished mask of friendliness, but beneath the surface, he could see the truth. A room full of cold calculations, measured glances, and subtle rivalries.

Humans.

They could be so... fake.

This might as well have been called a masquerade ball, for all the masks on display.

"The Seventh Prince of Ophris, Prince Vaelen Valtér!"

"The Third Princess of Ophris, Princess Clarisse Valtér!"

"And their mother, the Second Royal Concubine, Lady Elyra of House Meridane!"

A ripple of gasps and whispers cut through the ballroom like a sudden breeze.

The royal family’s presence electrified the atmosphere. Every eye turned toward the entrance.

Lugh sharpened his gaze, committing their faces to memory.

The Seventh Prince looked younger than Lugh by a few years, sharp-featured and wary. The Third Princess, Clarisse, was older, with a striking elegance that hinted at dangerous intelligence.

Their mother, Lady Elyra, carried herself with the chilling grace of a seasoned court player.

The royal family of Ophris remained an enigma to most citizens. Officially, there was only one King and one Queen.

But the King could maintain up to three royal consorts, positions of immense political power.

Any son borne by them held an equal claim to the throne. No prince, even the Queen’s own, held an advantage.

It was a system designed to ensure bloody succession wars.

And from what little Lugh knew, that chaos would come sooner rather than later.

"The hosts of the evening:

The Fourth Branch of the Von Heim Family—Baron Cassian Von Heim and Lady Renette Von Heim, accompanied by their sons, Lord Enji Von Heim and Lord Darian Von Heim!"

Lugh raised an eyebrow.

Enji, the blind boy he had met earlier, was part of this branch.

The announcements continued.

"The First Branch—Marquess Julian Von Heim and Lady Orla Von Heim!"

"The Second Branch—Duke Leontes Von Heim and Lady Sylvera Von Heim!"

"The Third Branch—Grand Duke Emeric Von Heim and Lady Callista Von Heim!"

Then a pause

"Lord Edrin Von Heim!"

The man slipped in like a specter, calm poised and... alone

And finally:

"The Main Family—the heart of House Von Heim—led by the Matriarch herself:

Lady Isolde Von Heim, accompanied by her daughters:

Lady Selaphiel, Lady Mirelle, Lady Lirienne, and Lady Aveline Von Heim!"

A hush fell over the ballroom.

They moved across the polished floors like a procession of living statues, dressed in variations of the same ensemble.

Flowing white gowns trimmed with emerald accents, delicate silver embroidery curling across the fabric like vines.

Each sister had chosen a distinct flair. Selaphiel wore a circlet of tiny green crystals atop her moonlit hair, Mirelle bore an emerald choker, Lirienne’s gloves shimmered with tiny sewn-in gems, and Aveline’s hem was dusted with a light scattering of green silk petals.

It was said that flowers stood out the most when gathered together.

Tonight, the daughters of Von Heim were the living proof.

The air itself seemed to grow heavier as they passed. Every gaze turned toward them, some admiring, others envious.

As he watched them flit through the admiring crowd, Lugh’s stare hardened.