Gunmage
Chapter 171: The Chalice of Shadows

Chapter 171: Chapter 171: The Chalice of Shadows

The space was vast. A massive chamber made from ancient stone, each slab heavy with age and memory.

No form of natural light managed to seep through its sealed vaults.

The only sources of illumination were the candles in gilded candelabras of gold and silver, spaced in a precise pattern—between pillars, high up at the edges of the wall, and sometimes directly on the very floor.

Their flames flickered gently, casting shifting shadows that danced across the room’s surfaces. An intricate design—an artistry born from careful planning—gave rise to a symbol: the rendering of a chalice formed entirely from shadow and light.

The chalice overflowing with liquid fire.

Gloria murmured to herself as she walked, the sound of her footsteps echoing faintly through the stone chamber.

A figure was waiting for her up front. Tall, posture unyielding, golden eyes gleaming faintly under the candlelight, his spiky ashen hair cascading all the way to his knees like a cloak of steel strands. It was the High Cardinal Draque’sill.

Following the protocol that had been drilled into her head over the past months since arriving in the capital city, she dropped to one knee, head bowed low. No words. No greetings. No acknowledgment.

There was silence for a while. Then—

"Rise."

Draque’sill’s voice carried with quiet command, deep and steady, echoing as though the chamber itself acknowledged his authority.

She stood, her spine straight.

"Do you know why you’re here?"

He asked.

"No."

She responded simply, no dignitaries or adornment in her tone.

"It’s because our Lord gazes favourably upon you. You’ve been chosen."

"Chosen?"

Gloria was curious, but her voice held back suspicion.

"Why?"

She asked.

He didn’t smile. His features remained still, like a statue given breath. He simply spoke:

"Because you didn’t yield to the pressure brought by the apostl—by Lugh."

Gloria couldn’t help but raise her brows. It was rare—extremely rare—for the cardinal to correct himself mid-sentence.

He continued without pause.

"Your hatred for the mages is a sharp spear. One I intend to make use of."

Then, with a flick of his fingers, a prepared goblet rose from a nearby stone platform. It floated toward her, moving slowly through the air.

The liquid inside shimmered and swirled, a dark crimson vortex. The goblet’s golden surface reflected the candlelight in flashes.

It stopped before her. She clasped it in both hands.

"Drink."

The cardinal ordered.

Gloria hesitated. Then raised the goblet to her lips.

A pungent, heavy scent reached her nostrils—one she knew too well.

It was the smell of blood.

...

"...What, the hell was that?"

Selaphiel’s voice cracked through the air, a mix of rage and disbelief.

Rage, because the alchemical potions and ingredients she’d been working on overnight were now destroyed, scattered, leaking, or evaporating into the air.

Shock, because she had absolutely no idea what had happened.

The unconscious Lugh had released a sudden, violent surge of mana, and the world had flipped over.

She walked carefully, mindful of shattered glass and charred components. Selaphiel preferred walking barefoot when indoors, and now the floor was a treacherous terrain.

The three other figures in the room groaned in pain, slowly regaining their bearings.

Lugh placed a hand on the soft bedding, attempting to push himself up. A jolt of pain shot through his body like a lightning strike. He stifled a curse, hands clenching the sheets so tightly his knuckles went pale.

He glanced at himself—bandages wrapped around him from his toes all the way up to his face. They cocooned him like an embalmed corpse.

"W-what happened?"

He asked, voice hoarse.

"You were caught up in an explosion. A strange spell—something I’ve never seen before. You’re not in the clear yet, so try not to move too much."

"A spell?"

Lugh murmured in quiet confusion.

His eyes shifted toward the three other elves who had been standing nearby.

Two males. One female. All with flaxen hair, the sheen of gold softened by the warm alchemical light.

They, along with Selaphiel, appeared to be around the same age—but with elves, appearances were never reliable indicators.

"So this is Lugh."

"Hmm, he honestly doesn’t look like anything special."

"..."

The tallest among them was the one who spoke first. Surprisingly, it was the female.

She stood at more than six feet tall, her flaxen hair cascading down her back in silken waves, stopping just above her hips.

Her long legs were covered in a modest skirt made of pure white silk, delicate and fluid with every movement.

Her top, however, was a stark contrast—mottled black, custom-tailored to stop just below her bust, leaving her entire midsection bare.

She seemed like the cold type, her eyes looking like they could freeze a person whole.

Lugh instinctively felt a reluctance to associate with her.

The other two wore different robes, but their features were eerily similar.

’Twins?’

Lugh cocked his head to the side, and the motion triggered another pulse of pain.

"Dammit..."

His body was a battlefield of trauma. Burns. Fractures. Internal injuries. They had stabilized, likely due to Selaphiel’s care—and perhaps the others had assisted too.

Judging by the hair color, they were possibly related to the Von Heim, but that didn’t mean it was safe for him to reveal everything.

He focused inward, healing the most damaged organs and bones. He let the superficial burns and cuts remain.

Luckily, his hair hadn’t burned off.

He turned to Selaphiel.

"I thought the last time you made contact with them was 30 years ago."

Selaphiel chuckled.

"Oh that? That was just a white lie I told the Queen."

Then she froze mid-motion.

"Wait... how do you know?"

Lugh shrugged.

Selaphiel covered her face with one hand.

"Unbelievable."

Just then, the tallest in the room—the elven woman—stepped forward. She avoided the spilled alchemy materials with the grace of a dancer, closing the distance between them with wide strides.

"I’m Jahira. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise."

Lugh nodded as he shook her hand.

But something felt off. He pulled back instinctively.

At that moment, another figure approached. One of the males.

He spoke with an authority that belonged to none in the room—except perhaps Selaphiel.

His voice was sharp. Precise. Cutting through the tension like a drawn blade.

"I have no time or patience for pleasantries. Answer my questions or face the consequences."

"First: where did you find that sword? And second—"

His gaze swept across the wrecked room.

"What was that? Don’t even try to lie to me."