Gunmage
Chapter 148: Waltz of knives

Chapter 148: Chapter 148: Waltz of knives

Vaelith jolted—she almost stumbled, but Lugh caught her. His movements were seamless, shifting his weight as if guiding her into the next dance step.

"H-How did you know it was me?"

Lugh adopted a thoughtful expression.

"Hmm... I can smell you."

"What?!"

"Oops. I mean—I recognized your scent."

"What are you? A dog?"

But she’d already calmed down. Beneath the music, her breathing slowed as they glided past another couple.

"So why are you among the royal guards?"

Lugh asked lightly.

"Planning a mutiny, perhaps?"

She grunted before replying, her tone low and sharp.

"Mind your words."

"Why?"

He continued, unbothered, not missing a beat.

"Is it because you think others are eavesdropping? Don’t worry, they can’t."

Then his gaze sharpened, and his tone took on a pensive edge.

"Unless, of course... there’s an elf here. After all, those guys have really, really long ears."

Vaelith’s grip tightened. Beneath her veil, he could see the scowl forming—thanks to the Mawglass.

He chuckled. Insincerely.

"Why so mad? Don’t tell me, are

there elves among the royal guards?"

His eyes slid across the ballroom, calmly surveying the royal guards and the figures around them.

"I wonder how many secret elves are here. Is that why you all wear veils?"

Vaelith’s voice dropped to a bite.

"Don’t make careless assumptions."

Lugh laughed again. It was artificial, hollow, just like the rest of the crowd.

"I guess you’re right. There can’t be elves hidden in the royal family of a HUMAN kingdom."

He made that word ring, clear and sharp.

"And even if there were"

He went on, voice casual but with surgical aim

"They wouldn’t be eavesdropping on this conversation... because that would make them pathetic cowards."

Vaelith twitched.

He almost smiled, lips parting again.

"All except for my beautiful grandmother, of course."

"I told you to watch your tongue, didn’t I?"

Her voice lowered into a threat.

"Oh no"

Lugh said with mock concern.

"Why are you angry? I’m not insulting you, I’m insulting the hypothetical existences in this crowd who may or may not be listening through magic enhancements or, in their case, their absurdly, unnecessarily long—long—ears. I mean, really. Save some sound for the rest of us."

Then he grinned.

"Except for the gorgeous Lady Selaphiel, of course."

Lugh knew exactly

what he was doing. Not just the elves, there were secret beastkin here too. Even humans with strong enough magic—like the Von Heims, with their signature wind manipulation, were likely listening in.

The Queen and High Cardinal Draque’sill were also among the guests.

Anyone with sufficient magical capability to eavesdrop this way would already know Selaphiel was an elf. That secret had been left dangling on purpose.

But Vaelith’s identity was another matter. If she lashed out, it would confirm everything.

It would be a catastrophe if the Royal Guard were revealed to house elves. It would be a disaster if the Queen was discovered to be one. Lugh could imagine civil war erupting on the spot.

Which meant, even if the Queen was strong enough to pose a serious threat to his life, she wouldn’t act. He could push this as far as he liked.

"Hey"

He asked innocently,

"Can elves hear colors?"

Beneath the veil, Vaelith’s eye twitched.

"I wouldn’t know, now would I?"

A perfectly neutral response. Lugh gave a small nod of approval.

He’d already set the stage. Now it was time to escalate.

"So"

He asked, tone shifting,

"The royal guards are really strong, right?"

Vaelith’s instincts flared.

"...Yeah. Why?"

"Well, I just thought I’d mention, there are a lot of beastkin in the crowd."

Her body tensed, she frowned.

"Beastkin?"

This couldn’t be good.

"Yeah. Don’t worry though—they’re just a gang of mercenaries disguised as humans. Nothing special."

There was no reaction from the outside.

The music played on, the dance continued uninterrupted.

’Seems I need to push further’

Lugh thought to himself

"Hey, Mike"

He whispered.

"Who’s Mike?"

Vaelith asked, puzzled.

"Hush, honey. I’m sending an important message."

She stared at him, bewildered. This was the most talkative she’d ever seen him. He almost seemed like... a different person entirely.

"Mike, since that’s what you call yourself, I got the name from the beastkin sent to assassinate Isolde. What was her name again? Was it Sasha?"

There was still no response. He could only guess they weren’t agitated enough. Time to change that.

Lugh’s voice sharpened.

"And if you’re wondering how I know all this... let’s just say, the Canines really need to add torture training to their curriculum."

The reaction was instant.

Shadows shifted.

A blur of motion exploded toward him. A beastkin, claws angled low, shot across the floor, faster than most eyes could follow. The assassin aimed for Lugh’s throat, a killing swipe already mid-swing.

Then, with a deafening shriek of untamed power, a vertical blade of wind howled across the room. The attacker twisted at the last moment, barely avoiding it—

Only to be cleaved clean through by a second, silent, no less lethal, crescent of wind magic.

Far across the ballroom, Selaphiel lowered her hand.

"Amateurs"

She muttered.

There was an elf present. Lugh had already hinted at the possibility of more. The Canines wouldn’t dare make a move now, not until they came up with a solid plan.

Those who had reacted to his provocations and attacked were likely driven by emotion, those closest to Sasha, or radical hardliners who couldn’t tolerate that one of their own had been tortured.

This was good, as he intended to thin them out one after the other. A joint attack from several beastkin wouldn’t be a funny affair.

The result was the same.

The beastkin’s body hit the floor with a nauseating squelch, two uneven halves painting the marble in a vivid red.

Guests gasped at the sound, then they saw the scene—panic spread like wildfire.

Another shadow lunged forward in the chaos. This one leapt with terrifying force, shattering marble beneath his feet as he launched himself like a missile at Lugh.

The air cracked. Debris flew.

But just before the strike landed, the attacker’s body erupted into blinding white fire.

Lugh felt the pressure instantly—a suffocating, immense presence.

His eyes widened as he spun his head, desperately searching for the source.