Gunmage
Chapter 138: Cracks in the marble

Chapter 138: Chapter 138: Cracks in the marble

Lugh’s expression hardened as they walked through the grand, echoing hall. Now that his father was gone, he had no place in that procession.

Not that he ever truly did, even when the man was alive.

The late patriarch of the Von Heim family had been complicit in hiding Lugh’s existence. Not cruelly so, not with the viciousness Isolde had shown, but enough to keep him tucked away like an inconvenient secret.

It wasn’t like he cared. Why should he? He was no longer like them.

He was a survivor of the Devil Sea, a graveyard of countless souls, an enigma of magic, a force reborn.

He was Lugh.

And yet...

Something still needled at the edges of his mind. A strange, gnawing sensation he couldn’t quite cast off.

How strange.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought he was becoming... more human.

"The acting patriarch of the Von Heim family,"

The announcer declared, voice straining to maintain decorum.

"Lord Cedric — and his beautiful, gorgeous, absolutely glamorous, smart, and incredibly wealthy wife."

Lugh let out a sigh of exasperation, noting that many guests shared his sentiments.

From the faint tinge of pink crawling up the announcer’s otherwise stoic face, it was clear he was forced to do this.

"A woman whose beauty shines brighter than the stars! A being of ultimate grace and perfection, the peerless, the genius, the unmatched—!"

Okay,

Lugh thought grimly.

Maybe he’s getting a little too into it.

"The glorious—Lady Selaphiel Von Heim!"

The couple strode in.

Lord Cedric, an aging man with dignified white hair slicked back, his formal robes of dark navy and gold cut in traditional, rigid lines that tried (and failed) to make him seem imposing.

But truly, even if he wore a simple servant’s tunic, no one would have spared him a second glance.

Every eye was drawn to the woman beside him.

Selaphiel Von Heim.

She wore a veil of delicate silver-threaded silk, an attempt to hide the tapered points of her ears, a half-hearted concessions at best.

Her gown, however, was another matter entirely:

A river of pure decadence trailed behind her, an abomination of extravagance.

It glittered violently under the chandeliers, stitched from velvet darker than midnight and encrusted with an obscene number of precious gems—

—gems which caught the light and scattered it cruelly, almost blinding the onlookers.

The gown trailed behind her like a river of blood and starlight, pooling on the marble floor in an absurd display of opulence.

She was flanked by a procession of servants carrying full-bodied mirrors angled to offer her a constant view of herself from every direction, adjusting at every turn to catch the best light.

Lugh’s eye twitched... violently.

This was—this was insane!

Utterly ridiculous. What the hell did she think this was?!

Amidst the swelling sound of violins, Lady Selaphiel glided through the ballroom with an almost supernatural grace, eventually peeling off from Lord Cedric, who looked far too relieved to be rid of her.

She ascended the grand staircase in slow, measured steps, her mirror bearers struggling to keep pace without tripping on the endless train of her gown.

From the crowd, a figure had already emerged, seemingly from nowhere, offering her a glass of wine with the stealth of an assassin.

Lugh squinted, trying to catch a glimpse, but the figure had already vanished, swallowed by the sea of guests.

Selaphiel spoke, her voice calm and steady, reverberating off the high vaulted ceiling:

"Thank you all for attending."

The ballroom fell into a hush.

Then, with a smooth motion, she raised her goblet.

"And now," she said, "we toast."

One by one, the guests lifted their glasses in unison.

Her voice, rich and clear, rang out

"A toast... to my beauty."

A ripple of suppressed laughter ran through the crowd.

"A toast... to my wealth."

Lord Cedric almost covered his face with his hand.

"A toast... to my family."

The members of the Von Heim household averted their eyes, pretending to admire the chandeliers.

"And finally..."

She paused.

"A toast to Ophris."

This time, the room erupted into cheers, desperate for some semblance of normality.

Beneath her veil, Selaphiel smiled with a contented air and moved to sip her wine. A precarious maneuver, given the silk clinging to her face, but one her centuries of practice had mastered without a hitch.

Just then, a commotion stirred near the entrance.

Just then, the announcer, busy gulping down throat syrup, was jostled by a sudden presence.

Blinking furiously, the man stammered into speech.

His voice cracked out

"We... we have a late arrival from the Church!"

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd like a shockwave.

The Church?

But their representatives are already here...

The announcer continued, voice tight

"High Cardinal Draque’sill... and members of the Inquisition!"

Selaphiel’s eyes narrowed behind her veil.

This time, the murmur that rippled across the ballroom verged on panic.

"Goddamn it. I knew this was a trap"

Vex, founder of the Broken Flame Order clenched his teeth as his eyes sized up the exits.

He wasn’t the only one.

Pirate captains, exiled sorcerers, and criminal warlords tensed up around the room, some subtly gathering into clusters.

The royal family might have promised them safety, but the Church hadn’t.

The Inquisition was infamous for acting according to its own law, or lack thereof.

If a fight broke out, they were confident they could escape, but...

Standing at the head of the group, a towering figure loomed, the High Cardinal himself.

A man as old as cracked stone, his spiky grey hair spilled down to his knees like a frozen waterfall.

His robes were a clash of deep crimson and void-black, embroidered with ancient holy symbols that seemed to writhe when one stared too long.

His sharp, hawkish features were drawn tight over high cheekbones, with a gaze like twin burning brands that pinned every soul in the room to the floor.

He was old, painfully old, but he stood like an iron pillar, unmoving and unbreakable.

High Cardinal.

Only one step below the Pope himself.

There was no certainty of survival against him.

Some in the crowd, better informed than others, let their gaze flicker toward Selaphiel.

They knew her secret.

An elf.

And no matter how powerful Draque’sill was... he was still just a human, right?

Lugh’s face darkened as the Inquisition filed into the room. His fingers clenched involuntarily.

Were they here for him?

He hadn’t expected the strange gardener he had met on his second visit to the Church to be a High Cardinal in disguise.

Things are about to get interesting, he thought grimly.

Just then, Selaphiel’s voice, cold as a blade in winter, cut through the rising tension

"Members of the Church"

She said

"What do you think you’re doing, invading my party uninvited?"