Gunmage
Chapter 150: Ballad of blood and birthright

Chapter 150: Chapter 150: Ballad of blood and birthright

A standoff had gripped the ballroom. Groups of people stared each other down, caught in a spiral of mistrust and suspicion.

No one knew who was lying, who held the cards, or whether this entire scenario was some grand machination. If it was, then what was its purpose?

As nobles long steeped in a mire of schemes and counterplots, their minds whirred into overdrive, unraveling conspiratorial threads like cats chasing shadows.

Only one thing was certain. There were murderous beastkin among the guests, and no one could tell who was who.

To Lugh, the level of firepower the Canines had unveiled was staggering. It was too precise, too coordinated. He began to suspect their origins ran deeper than simple mercenary work.

The beastkin weren’t the problem.

Thanks to his in-depth understanding of transformation magic, and the Mawglass’ uncanny ability to lay all things bare, he could spot them easily, even in thick traffic.

No, the real threat were the human agents hidden among the guests. He couldn’t identify those ones yet.

But they would show themselves... once their handlers were attacked.

His clone had already infiltrated the ballroom’s upper floor.

After frightening a particular servant girl, he was now dressed in the full regalia of an Ashborn Corps officer, carrying a custom-forged revolver in one hand and Lyra’s unsheathed blade in the other.

Alright, let’s do this.

The air was already heavy with tension. Lugh had just taken a step forward when—

"Mr. Lugh von Heim!"

He turned his head.

It was another damned journalist.

To still be chasing a scoop in a situation like this... Lugh wondered if these people cared about their lives at all.

All eyes turned to the portly man with varying shades of disapproval, but the reporter seemed completely unfazed.

"I’m here to ask the question that’s on everyone’s mind"

The man said, loud and clear.

"Will you fight in the succession struggle for the Von Heim house head?"

The entire ballroom shifted. Nobles turned their heads as if in a rehearsed play.

Rude and ill-timed as the question was, it pierced through the crowd’s anxiety like a bullet. Better to have someone else stir the pot than risk doing it themselves.

Isolde took an angry step forward from the Von Heim camp.

"He is not a part of all this!"

She snapped.

"Keep such questions to yourselves!"

A low murmur spread across the ballroom floor. Lugh noticed visible sighs of relief from several cousins.

Others, older and more seasoned, kept their faces neutral, but he could feel it. Her words had riled more than a few.

Lugh’s eyes locked onto Isolde. His expression darkened, emotions long buried beginning to stir. He let them simmer beneath the surface, then stepped forward.

His voice was soft and crisp, yet loud enough to cut through the murmurs.

"There will be no ’fight’ for succession—"

Eyebrows were raised. Whispers ceased.

"—Because the position of family head belongs to me by birthright."

An explosion of noise followed.

"What?!"

Shock rippled through the crowd.

Lugh didn’t stop, his voice rising above the cacophony.

"Anyone who eyes this post for themselves is not a candidate, but a thief! What follows won’t be a struggle—it will be an execution."

"Oh my"

"Bold!! Too f*cking bold!"

"An execution, he says! Hah! What an interesting young lad!"

Snarls, laughter, gasps, grunts of both approval and disapproval. The room unraveled. Voices bled into one another until it was almost impossible to make out who was saying what.

The portly journalist was practically vibrating.

He hadn’t expected this level of drama, he wouldn’t even need a quill. His memory was razor sharp; he could recreate every word. The Oracle was going to have content for weeks.

"How dare you! You peasant bastard!"

Lugh turned.

Long flaxen hair, broad shoulders, it was one of his older cousins from the branch family. The young man looked ready to explode.

Not a single member of the Von Heim family wore a smile. Not Cedric, not Isolde, not the dozens of cousins, uncles, or aunts in attendance.

All except Selaphiel, the elf. From beneath her lace veil, he could see a smile tug at her lips. Her mirror-bearers had long been dismissed.

"Lugh, what are you doing!"

It was Isolde again. Her voice cracked with frustration.

He ignored her completely.

Turning back to face the hall, his voice rose once more.

"Anyone who dares challenge me for this post, step forward now—or forever die in silence. A coward who cannot announce himself has no business standing at the top!"

Silence struck like a bell.

And then, like perfectly arranged dominoes, everything fell into place. Every experienced schemer in the room immediately re-evaluated the boy.

What a brilliant move.

By calling them to step forward, Lugh had forced all potential rivals to declare themselves.

Anyone who didn’t would be forfeiting their right to compete, especially with the hundreds of distinguished guests, the High Cardinal, and the Queen herself as witnesses.

The play was airtight.

The flaxen-haired boy—the first to shout—stepped forward without hesitation, eyes gleaming with fury.

His father exhaled deeply, already sensing the disaster in motion. Now that his son had rashly stepped forward, there was no hope of reversing Lugh’s ploy.

Then came the second challenger—a girl.

Not just any girl.

Selaphiel, Isolde’s daughter.

Eyes across the family flashed with realization.

Ah.

They understood now.

Isolde was attempting to push her daughter into the family head’s seat, upending generations of tradition. It was an open coup.

"Isolde."

Lord Cedric called out, his voice grave.

She didn’t answer.

She bit her lips so hard, they bled. Her body trembled with barely restrained rage.

A third figure stepped out, his cane tapping against the marble, his nose twitching at the scent of blood-tainted air. Back straight, blindfolded, with unnerving composure, it was Enji.

The flaxen-haired cousin turned, brows furrowed.

"Enji? What are you doing?"

The blindfolded boy tilted his head in his direction, voice calm and biting.

"You’re not the only one with ambition."

And with that, Lugh’s single, calculated move had plunged the Von Heim family into absolute chaos.

Hidden motives surfaced. Old alliances cracked. New ones formed in silence.

And at the heart of it all stood Lugh, calm and unreadable, his mind already racing ahead.

His eyes swept the ballroom, locking onto key figures.

The next phase of his plan had begun.5

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