Gunmage
Chapter 147: Courtesies and crosshairs

Chapter 147: Chapter 147: Courtesies and crosshairs

Lugh’s chest burned. He wasn’t sure why, but it did. The accolades, the medals, the applause—all of it did nothing to quell the frustration rising in his gut.

It was... confusing. Even to him.

With the number of lives he’d lived, the emotions he’d been forced to endure, he should’ve been completely indifferent by now. And yet, he wasn’t.

It was strange, really. Isolde flashed through his mind like a flicker of light behind closed eyes. He would get his answers today, not tomorrow.

If she was unwilling to talk, then he wouldn’t hesitate to use force. Even if it meant crossing Selaphiel, the elf... his grandmother.

While Lugh’s inner turmoil brewed, the atmosphere outside simmered with tension.

They should have expected it. But they didn’t.

Lovainne had claimed the boy joined his division in the Siege of Drakensmar as a sergeant. Everyone expected a hardened young man, or at the very least, someone in his early twenties. What they got was something else entirely.

He didn’t even look older than sixteen. Some speculated him being much younger.

Not that most could stare for long without looking away. But still, whispers began to circulate. Some claimed Lovainne was exaggerating, conjuring a clever illusion to make Isolde give up the boy.

Because Lugh wasn’t just young. He had served in the military as a minor. And that was a scandal. The Ashborn Corps did not allow anyone under the age of eighteen to shed blood—whether theirs or the enemy’s.

It wasn’t until the bestowal of medals, and the Third Prince’s pointed use of the word stowaway, that the pieces began falling into place.

The prince had even offered Lugh a place in the military, should he ever choose to join "properly." A strategic move, meant to pull him from the claws of his murderous stepmother.

A pity. Lugh had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

He felt the weight of the revolver in his hand, snapping open the chamber with the ease of a veteran. It was fully loaded. He gave Lovainne an unreadable look.

The man winked in response.

Then there was the folded uniform in his arms—heavier than expected, with telltale bumps along the pockets.

Bullets. Securely stuffed in the pockets.

Hmm.

Extra protection.

Considering how strict the firearm bans were in Pyrellis, Lugh wasn’t sure what Lovainne had risked to prepare this.

He bowed his head in ceremonial appreciation.

"I humbly accept."

Then, without wasting any more time, he turned and began to leave, ignoring the curious gazes of the guests. Lovainne’s mission was completed, there was no reason for him to remain here.

"He’s leaving, boss. Should we make a move now?"

"Wait just a sec. Everyone acts on my command"

Mike whispered to his comrades.

"Ah. Leaving so soon?"

The voice cut clean through the murmurs.

Lugh turned. It was the Queen.

He stiffened.

Did she recognize him?

No—that was impossible. But... as the dangerous existence she was, she must’ve sensed something. Something others couldn’t.

Lugh raised his guard, prepared for the worst.

She was already within arm’s reach. Her voice dropped to a murmur.

"Were you actually planning to leave? That’s quite rude, don’t you think?"

Lugh replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

"Sorry if that offended you. But having been isolated so long, I haven’t been trained in courtly etiquette."

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

He had the memories of Lieutenant Dain—a minor noble. He knew exactly what he was supposed to say.

What posture to adopt. What gestures to make.

But right now, Lugh only cared about two things. Escaping this place. And questioning Isolde.

The latter could wait. The former couldn’t.

But the Queen wasn’t letting go so easily. Her voice rose just enough for others to hear.

"You can’t leave just yet. You still haven’t danced. Why don’t you pick a partner?"

The crowd perked up.

Who he picked would mean something. Another power play.

Lugh sighed, casting a glance at the Queen.

She blinked, surprised.

"Me?"

She asked, feigning innocence.

"I’m sorry, but... you’re not qualified enough."

Her voice was sly, almost playful.

Another immortal who’s lived too long to take anything seriously.

Lugh turned to the crowd. Noble girls his age fluttered nearby, some hiding behind fans, others trailing their eyes toward him like shy fawns.

The older generation encouraged it, hoping to spark a connection.

After all, by blood, Lugh was the orthodox successor of the Von Heim family.

A blank slate. Untied to any faction. Untamed.

Bonding him to one of their daughters could be... beneficial.

Lugh, on the other hand, felt like a window shopper. Every choice today would be interpreted, twisted, and weaponized.

What a pain.

He handed his uniform and medals to a servant and briefly glanced at Lirienne’s distant figure—alone, as always.

Then he moved to the edges of the hall. Not toward Lirienne, but toward the royal guards.

He stopped in front of Vaelith.

"Can you dance?"

He asked, voice flat.

"..."

"Yes or no?"

"...Yes."

"Then let’s dance."

He extended his hand. She hesitated—then took it, reluctantly.

Gasps spread through the hall like wildfire.

Bold!

How very bold!

He had ignored the noble daughters completely. Worse still, his method of asking was unrefined. Where was the etiquette?

"May I have the honor of taking you for a dance?"

That was the proper way!

Had no one taught him? Perhaps not. His existence had been a tightly kept secret after all. There would be no chance to get him proper teachers.

Some began to realize how troublesome this boy could be.

The more experienced opportunists saw an unrefined, arrogant, potentially manipulable heir. One who might easily fall for their traps. Or those of their children.

The music shifted—a slow, steady waltz.

Everyone partnered up.

But as their bodies began to move, their minds moved faster—plotting, scheming, adjusting their strategies.

And none of them knew...

They were all dancing into his hands.

Lugh stepped forward, twirled, and faced Vaelith who was half a head taller than him.

His voice was soft, nearly a whisper.

"I see you’re as good at dancing as you are at shooting."

Her body jolted