Gunmage
Chapter 162: House of Shadows

Chapter 162: Chapter 162: House of Shadows

"What happened?"

Selaphiel asked, her voice low and urgent.

"I don’t know"

Isolde responded, her eyes flickering uneasily to the bodies the elf had brought with her.

It was easy to distinguish which one was the real Lugh. His priestly robes still clung to him, now caked with blood, soot, and dirt.

The others, though eerily identical, were unscathed, their garments cleaner, their bodies untouched by harm.

They had started drawing connections, theories about how the ability he’d awakened worked, but that was a matter for another time.

What mattered now was the boy himself.

Selaphiel surged forward, golden strands of mana weaving from her fingertips as she cast healing magic into him.

"How did this even happen?"

She muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Isolde thought darkly, eyes narrowing as she watched the mana flow. There was no trace of residual magic in the air. The attacker had vanished without a trace, leaving no signature, no clue.

Why does this keep happening?

Security had been breached, again, within the estate.

This was completely unacceptable. Her resolve had already hardened by the time Selaphiel’s voice cut through her thoughts.

"These wounds are too grievous"

The elf said, frowning.

"They weren’t caused by magic. His life isn’t in immediate danger, but that may not last. I can’t even estimate how long he’ll be unconscious."

Isolde clenched her fists, her knuckles pale.

Selaphiel felt the same pressure knotting in her gut.

Lugh wasn’t just a boy, he was a cornerstone in her plans, a talent they could not afford to lose.

She considered, briefly, asking the Queen for aid. But the thought evaporated as quickly as it came. No one is trustworthy right now. And even if the Queen could be trusted, the price of her help would be too steep to pay.

"For now, let’s get him somewhere suitable. I’ll need alchemical ingredients, I’ll give you a list check our stock. If anything is missing, find it."

"Okay"

Isolde responded briskly, her shadows stirring as she issued commands to the agents.

All the loiterers were rounded up from the corridors, forcefully if they resisted.

Lugh was carried to the fourth floor, an area strictly off-limits to most. It housed Isolde’s marital chambers... as well as Selaphiel’s quarters.

No one was allowed within a hair’s breadth of the stairwell.

Selaphiel wasted no time. She set to work preparing potions in the designated chamber.

The room was the epitome of opulence, grand and spacious, adorned in dark oaken panels and velvet drapes.

Reinforced glass windows lined one side, offering a breathtaking view of the gardens below, where moonlight brushed dew-laced hedges and ghostly marble statues.

A personal library stood nestled between two bookshelves that curved with the walls, stuffed with tomes ranging from ancient grimoires to rare medical texts.

A walk-in closet sat behind a paneled door, its interior as organized as it was expansive. A private bath with polished brass fixtures occupied a corner chamber, steam still rising from the last run.

The centerpiece, however, was the bed. A vast, four-poster structure with silken canopies, luxurious enough for royalty, now turned into a makeshift hospital.

Wrapped in bandages, Lugh lay unconscious at its center, his pale face a stark contrast against the rich crimson of the bed’s lining.

Selaphiel, ever-focused, worked steadily not far for. him. Potions bubbled on the table. Runes gleamed faintly on the floor, flickering under her breath.

Isolde’s silent and watchful shadows guarded the room with unwavering vigilance. So did she. The security was iron clad, anything that could get past them would not survive Selaphiel.

Her mind churned, processing possibilities. This wouldn’t be forgiven. It had gone too far. But before the external threats could be addressed, the rot inside had to be purged.

The next day descended into chaos.

Isolde had acted swiftly.

Twenty new servants, maids and butlers alike, arrived from House Caldreth to replace the current staff. The quiet shuffle of footsteps and hushed instructions belied the coming storm.

A nobleman, visibly fuming, stormed down the corridor.

"What is the meaning of this?! Get Isolde right here this instant!"

"The lady is tired and will not be entertaining guests,"

The maid replied, voice calm and sincere.

"How dare you, wench? Do you know who I am?!"

"Yes, I do."

His eyes widened, fury boiling over as he raised his hand.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you."

Isolde’s voice drifted softly from inside the room. Cold. Certain.

"What are you doing, Isolde!? You dare ignore me?!"

A single clap of her hands and shadows leapt into motion.

Figures emerged from nowhere, wrestled the man to the ground, and bound him tightly with practiced efficiency.

"Get your hands off me! I’m a noble of the Von Heim family!"

"Take him away."

Her voice echoed like frost.

They dragged him away, but he resisted until the end.

"This embarrassment—this means war! You’ll pay for this, you stupid bitc—"

He didn’t finish.

A servant’s fist met his jaw with a crack. He choked on blood, words dying in his mouth.

"Watch your mouth."

The man who struck him glared.

It was safe to say that the Von Heim was shocked. A servant striking a noble, it was unheard of. Isolde had crossed a line no one dared approach before.

She exhaled deeply in her study as his voice faded into the distance.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. There had been many like him.

She had deduced, through Lugh’s subtle hints and her own investigations, that the Third Branch of the Von Heim family had compromised the recruitment process.

Now, she was cleansing the rot.

Anyone in her service for less than five years was dismissed outright. Even among the older staff, any who raised the slightest suspicion were sacked and sent packing.

Her new standards were so strict that the manor’s manpower dropped by over seventy percent.

To fill the gap, she had written to her maiden family, House Caldreth, a lineage of elite assassins and fiercely loyal retainers, requesting reliable replacements.

This shattered decades of Von Heim custom. Furious protests erupted, even from those above her in rank.

She didn’t care.

Not a sliver of respect was afforded to any of them.

Selaphiel’s endorsement was all the authority she needed.

And this was only the beginning. Her goal was to eventually staff the entire manor with personnel either proficient in specialized magic or at the very least trained in basic Force Control.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, her eyes falling on the front page of the black-inked newspaper.

The Ophris Daily Oracle.

The headline screamed:

Ball of the Damned!!!