Gunmage
Chapter 172: Where is my ring?

Chapter 172: Chapter 172: Where is my ring?

"Answer my questions or face the consequences."

Lugh immediately frowned. He clicked his tongue as his fingers twitched, eyes darting to his hand, only to find it bare.

"Firstly, where did you get that sword from? Secondly, what the hell was that?"

He didn’t answer. Respect given was respect earned. This person had shown him no regard.

Leaning back slightly, he stared them down.

"Where is my ring?"

That was the anomaly he had noticed earlier—the seemingly mundane ring of tarnished silver, always on his finger.

The Ring of Nyx.

A legendary artifact that granted its bearer access to a near-limitless reservoir of mana. And now... it was gone.

"Where is my ring?"

He repeated, swinging his legs to the side of the bed.

"Where’s my sword?"

His eyes narrowed. The room stilled under his quiet fury.

The arrogant elf who had stepped forward earlier was quickest to respond.

"Who would’ve thought the legendary Ring of Nyx was actually with you this whole time?"

The elf said with a dry chuckle.

"You don’t need to worry about it—or the sword. They’re in good hands. But first—"

Lugh cut him off with a voice like cold iron.

"Return it."

"Huh? And why would I do that?"

The elf blinked, bewildered.

"Return it... while I’m still asking nicely."

Laughter burst through the room. Two elves laughed in a strange mixture of disbelief and mockery.

Selaphiel looked on, hesitant, her face betraying no emotions. She didn’t move. The tall female elf, Jahira, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, she fixed Lugh with an icy glare.

The laughter slowly dissolved into tension.

"How arrogant can a human be?"

The first elf snapped, voice low and sharp.

"You think just because you took down some beastkin, you can threaten me? Especially now in your injured state—without the cursed artifact?"

Lugh exhaled slowly.

Then placed his feet on the floor and stood.

A surge of green light exploded around him, washing over his body like fire on dry grass. His injuries knit back together with unnatural speed. Skin reformed. Muscle restructured.

Even Selaphiel seemed shocked.

She had seen him use this magic before—but never like this.

Of course she hadn’t.

The true strength of Emrys’ legacy of spells lay in self-healing arts, and Lugh had just drawn deeply from that well.

As the light faded, he stripped the bandages from his face and stood tall. His posture was unnervingly still, his expression was unreadable, yet it felt heavier than steel.

His lips moved.

"I’ll give you two options to choose from"

He said coldly.

"Either you tell me where my things are... or I draw the information directly from your corpse."

"Lugh! Stop this"

Selaphiel stated, surging forward. But she was too late.

An eye twitched.

The elf who had mocked him stepped forward, releasing a blast of arcane pressure. The air warped around him, the very floor groaning beneath his presence.

His fingertips trembled, crackling with coiled, unhinged energy.

Lugh retaliated instinctively. His aura surged outward.

And the entire manor shook.

Chandeliers swung wildly. Dust exploded from ancient beams. Books fell from shelves as walls cracked and groaned under the weight of raw magic.

It was like a thunderstorm had been trapped inside the building, trying to escape through the bones of the structure itself.

Even Lugh looked stunned.

This was beyond him. Far beyond what he’d managed at the ball.

His mind flashed back to when the being wearing Emrys’ face had touched his head in that strange, mindscape. What had it done to him?

Whatever it was, he needed to find Xhi—soon.

But first...

The elf recoiled, startled by the surge of mana. His instincts screamed, and he immediately raised his arms.

A chant spilled from his lips, and with it, a violent gust of razor-sharp wind. It howled like a banshee, ripping through the room.

The shrieking gale shredded everything in its path—floorboards, furniture, paintings—all turned to confetti and splinters as it roared toward Lugh in a spiral of death.

But Lugh didn’t flinch.

He raised a hand, summoning a barrier of intricate runes, pulsing with charged mana. The wind met the shield with a brilliant, shrieking clash—like swords grinding against crystal.

Sparks of light burst in all directions, bathing the room in a storm of green and silver flashes.

Cracks raced across the surface of the barrier—but it repaired itself just as fast.

A few slivers of wind slipped through, tearing into Lugh’s skin like invisible knives—but the wounds closed almost immediately.

He inhaled.

Then dropped the barrier.

The wind surged in.

"^@#@^&*"

Selaphiel darted forward to rescue him—only for Lugh’s next words to freeze her mid-step. Literally.

"Stop."

And everything stopped.

The world itself seemed to freeze. Debris—mid-air. Wooden splinters, alchemical glass, fluttering robes—all suspended as if trapped in amber.

The elves stood like statues, their expressions locked in place. Their minds still worked, but their bodies refused to move. Something ancient and wrong had just been invoked.

They would resist soon. And the spell would crumble.

But Lugh didn’t need that long.

He flashed forward, muscles straining, moving faster than the eye could follow. A sharpened piece of splintered wood in hand.

"^@#@^&*"

He appeared before the arrogant elf. The air around him cracked.

"Pierce."

And the wood plunged through the elf’s chest—straight into the heart.

The spell broke.

Sound returned with a thunderclap.

Debris crashed down—glass, metal, broken furniture exploding across the walls and floor. The razor wind evaporated, its source vanishing.

But the elves remained frozen.

This time, it was voluntary.

All widened eyes turned to Lugh. Between him and his enemy, a green light pulsed—mana coursing through the impaled shard.

The wood had pierced clean through without crushing the heart. It was still beating, barely.

Lugh didn’t remove it.

He held it steady, feeding it mana, keeping the elf from dying.

His voice was calm. Final. Offering death or salvation.

"Tell me where my things are. Or I will stop healing you. You’ll be dead in less than thirty seconds."