Gunmage
Chapter 163: When ink meets intrigue

Chapter 163: Chapter 163: When ink meets intrigue

The daily oracle is out!

Lirienne, newspaper in hand, darted into the grand library where her gloomy sisters were gathered. Not only them—her cousins were present too.

There was the long-haired, broad-shouldered Marcus, as well as the rarely spoken Orla.

The too-playful Elizabeth was also there, her weird grin always giving Lirienne the creeps. She navigated quietly over to Sela.

"The daily oracle is out,"

She repeated, her voice lower this time. However, the others had already heard her.

"The Daily Oracle, huh? How nostalgic,"

Her aunt Sylvera spoke.

"They don’t really distribute it outside of Pyrellis."

"The Daily Oracle? What is that?" someone asked.

"It’s a newspaper... of sorts,"

She replied, nudging her head toward the black-paged parchment rolled in Lirienne’s hand.

"Black pages?"

Elizabeth asked curiously.

Lirienne hesitated before explaining.

"It’s special paper. It doesn’t last more than three days before disintegrating."

"Oh? That sounds interesting. Can I read it?"

Marcus stood up and approached.

"Well, maybe when we’re done."

Marcus had an easy-going smile on his face.

"Come on, let’s just read it together."

"I want to read too!"

Elizabeth mouthed.

"You guys are so noisy,"

Mirelle’s lazy, yet frustrated voice drifted over. She was playing chess with Aveline... No wonder she was in a bad mood.

Lirienne looked at her eldest sister with difficulty. Sela sighed.

"Settle down, we can all read together."

"We?"

A calm voice echoed.

They turned to see someone reclining in a chair, stylish blindfolds over his eyes.

"Oh, sorry Enji, didn’t notice you there."

"Why don’t you just read it aloud?"

"About that..."

Selaphiel knew how ridiculous the articles could get. Although with how serious yesterday’s events were, she expected it to be solemn.

Still, one could never be too sure, she was not about to make a fool of herself.

"Why doesn’t Aunt Sylvera read it for us?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

A sigh.

"Alright then."

The pages were placed before her.

THE OPHRIS DAILY ORACLE

"If it bleeds, it leads... to the best parties."

SPECIAL EDITION — April 8, Year of the Drowned Sigil (Late Edition, Still Dripping)

Independent. Informed. Intoxicated (Allegedly).

She paused, savoring the bewildered expressions of her nieces and nephews before continuing.

VON HEIM BALL ERUPTS INTO CHAOS — ROYALTY, INQUISITION, AND BEASTKIN ALL CRASH THE PARTY

By Arlann Desmere, Still Slightly Sober Senior Correspondent (Politics, Arcana & Questionable Dance Moves)

"This is an official paper, right?"

Marcus asked, unsure.

"Shhhhh."

Pyrellis, Ophris – Lady Selaphiel Von Heim’s audacious Grand Reception, billed as a "social detonation," detonated alright. Less like a polite parlor firework and more like a Drakensmar-grade magical mishap.

The evening descended into a maelstrom of unexpected arrivals, blatant accusations, impromptu sword fights, and enough spilled wine to fill a small moat.

Remember folks, this is a Special Edition. We’re bringing you firsthand recounts for those who were too broke (or scared) to attend.

"Firsthand recounts. How thoughtful. Indeed, this paper was made specifically for me!"

Xhi declared, much to the twitching eyebrows of Lyra and her younger sister.

The Ophris Daily Oracle had also made its way to the creepy manor smack in the middle of a graveyard.

Considering how delirious her younger sister sounded, Lyra had told her to wait for the newspaper to arrive the next day.

The similarly auburn-haired elf, who had long stopped knitting—but still wielded the large needle in her hands—listened attentively as Sofia read aloud.

The guest list, a veritable who’s who (and who’s that?) of Ophrian society, certainly lived up to the hype.

Isolde Von Heim graced the occasion with her famously beautiful daughters, a vision of serene elegance amidst the brewing storm.

The Second Royal Concubine, draped in silks that whispered of courtly intrigue, arrived with her brood, their presence a stark reminder of the delicate balance of power within the royal family.

Major figures from the Great Houses mingled uneasily with notorious Pirate Lords – some still sporting sea shanties under their breath – and the shadowy leaders of various "unregistered" syndicates.

One could practically taste the tension in the air, a potent cocktail of ambition, suspicion, and the faint aroma of illicit perfume.

And then there was Lady Selaphiel herself. Dressed in what could only be described as a walking jewelry vault, enough to bankrupt a small kingdom.

She shimmered and sparkled with every movement. Attendants bearing polished mirrors trailed her like devoted satellites, ensuring she never missed a single facet of her own dazzling reflection.

Lord Cedric Von Heim, her long-suffering husband, stood quietly beside her, a study in understated (and slightly overshadowed) elegance.

The elf clicked her tongue at the mention of Selaphiel. Lyra eyed her warily.

"Teacher, do you have some sort of grudge against Lady Selaphiel?"

"Me?"

The elf responded.

"Of course I do! That promiscuous bitch had better watch her back!"

Promiscuous? Lyra thought, but wisely kept silent. With the murderous look in her teacher’s eyes, she really wasn’t sure when the elf would lash out.

Meanwhile, in the Von Heim Library...

"Poor Grandpa."

Sylvera let out barely suppressed laughter as she pressed on.

Just as the assembled elite began to navigate the treacherous waters of polite conversation, the ballroom doors burst open with the dramatic flair usually reserved for theatrical entrances... or particularly aggressive tax collectors.

High Cardinal Draque’sill, the Pope’s formidable right hand, strode in, flanked by grim-faced members of the Inquisition. Royal decree be damned, it seemed the long arm of the Church was intent on a little impromptu housecleaning.

The Cardinal, radiating an almost palpable aura of righteous fury, seemed utterly unfazed by Lady Selaphiel’s icy glare.

Whispers rippled through the crowd regarding the Cardinal’s unwavering confidence, especially considering the persistent (and officially unconfirmed) rumors surrounding Selaphiel’s elven heritage.

"Now that’s odd,"

The elf in the Cross Manor whispered.

Everyone stopped.

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I absolutely, really, really hate Selaphiel, I know that she’s strong. Very strong. No human can take her on."

"No human?"

The question came from Xhi.

The elf nodded affirmatively.

"Yes. No human."

Xhi smiled.

"Interesting."