Gunmage
Chapter 178: I swear that was a compliment

Chapter 178: Chapter 178: I swear that was a compliment

"I’m very curious about what Victor has to say,"

Lugh said, a gleam in his eyes.

The man had shown up at the manor twice—once immediately after Lirienne was attacked, and again right after he was almost killed. There was no way it was a coincidence.

Lugh had survived, yes—but survival didn’t mean forgiveness. That attack had nearly ended his life. He was going to pay the culprits back, eventually.

"No. You stay here."

Isolde’s voice cut in, firm and cold.

He turned to her, surprised.

"Why?"

"That’s because your dead or alive status is still unknown to everyone. And I’d like to keep it that way until we get some solid clues. Which is why you won’t be following us today... at least not openly."

She added the last part after a moment’s thought, her tone softening just slightly.

"Right. Gotcha."

Without another word, Lugh vanished, the air around him rippling slightly. The elves in the room startled, some stepping back, eyes wide.

"What the? How did you do that?"

Jahira said, her voice sharp.

"You still can’t follow,"

Selaphiel interjected.

"What if someone sees through it?"

"Someone that isn’t you won’t be able to,"

Lugh’s voice echoed from every corner of the room, distant yet immediate.

"Oh really?"

Lance cracked his knuckles eager to prove himself. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, then spread his senses through the room, mana flickering at his fingertips. It took some effort, but eventually, he pointed at a corner.

Lugh shimmered into view, materializing with a sharp click of his tongue.

It seemed Emrys’s invisibility spell wasn’t perfect after all.

"Oh well,"

Lugh muttered.

There were other ways to follow them.

He walked to the tall window, unlocked it, and pushed it open. The breeze caught the heavy drapes, fluttering them as a red-and-blue bird swooped inside.

It flitted gracefully through the room, landing on Selaphiel’s shoulder with a flutter of feathers.

Everyone turned to stare at it in silence.

Lugh knew exactly how it looked to them. Like he could do anything—become invisible, control birds, act without restriction.

But in truth, he had only ever used two abilities: the Mawglass’s power to take over the body of living creatures, and the spell he used to command phantoms.

That was how magic worked sometimes—reaching the same end through wildly different beginnings. It didn’t matter if he’d learned beast taming or not. As far as they were now concerned, he could control birds.

...

Victor exhaled sharply, then inhaled again. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to this.

The Von Heims were more dangerous than before. The last time he followed those rogues’ instructions, Isolde had nearly died, and he was locked up and beaten for three days—no questions, no interrogation, no tools.

Just fists.

It was barbaric. Completely unbefitting.

For the Von Heims to treat a man of noble blood like him—him!—like that was beyond insult. It was a desecration.

But he couldn’t complain. He had only gratitude that they hadn’t decided to dig deeper... or bury him six feet under.

Now they’d given him another job. But this time he’d accepted nothing—no expensive bottles of wine, no ornate trinkets to win favor. He had come alone. No servants. No guards.

He couldn’t be sure there weren’t spies among them. And if last time had taught him anything, it was this: only trust yourself with your life.

"Goddammit..."

He muttered under his breath.

If only he hadn’t wiped out in that damned poker game.

He fidgeted restlessly in the plush armchair, checking his pocket watch every few seconds. The ticking filled the silent parlor like a slow countdown.

They had put him in the same guest parlor as last time. Same chairs. Same paintings. Same flower vase. Same bloody flowers!

Was this a message? Or was he just being paranoid?

After 45 excruciating minutes, the door finally opened.

Lady Isolde stepped in.

She was dressed in a brilliant lavender gown, her poise cold and regal as ever. This time, no maids announced her entrance. Not even a single servant.

But then Victor turned his head—and froze.

They were there. Silent as statues. Servants, perfectly spaced in a circular formation around the room’s edges, motionless and watching.

His eyes bulged.

What the— When did they get there?

On the third floor, Lugh sighed, leaning against the balustrade.

The theatrics were so unnecessary.

"Why are you sighing?"

Jahira’s voice drifted in, unimpressed.

"Oh, it’s nothing."

"You’re doing that too much."

"I’m sorry, doing what?"

"Sighing! Stop sighing. I hate sighs."

Lugh stared at her, incredulous.

Then he turned his head and released a slow heavy sigh of exasperation.

"You little shi—"

Back in the guest parlor, Victor had already risen to his feet the moment Isolde entered.

But now he noticed a second figure beside her.

Dressed in ornate robes threaded with gold, her flaxen hair cascading in loose curls, long pointed ears crowned with a single jeweled earring and gold cuffs

"An elf..."

Victor muttered under his breath.

So the rumors about Lady Selaphiel were true after all. But then realization hit him like a brick to the gut.

Oh no. If they were showing him this... would they still let him leave?

He swallowed hard.

Then bowed.

He had learned his lesson from the last time.

He had prepared a cascade of compliments for the cold widow Isolde, so flattering they bordered on poetry. But now that Selaphiel was here, that plan was shattered.

New plan. He had to improvise. Something just as flowery. Maybe... maybe split the compliments between the two? Or alternate lines?

Oh no. What do I do?!

He made up his mind. His voice cracked with anxiety.

"Lady Isolde! Widow of w-warmongering grace—

No, wait, warmth and grace!

Your poise makes hurricanes hold their breath,

And your silence has more weight than...uh...death."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Isolde frowned deeply.

"A compliment! That was a compliment, I swear!"

Victor realised his mistake. Mixing death and widow in the same verse was a terrible idea. He immediately turned to Selaphiel, eyes wide with panic

"Lady... Selaphiel!

Your ears are... magnificent! Like... royal canoes?

No—sleek harps! Yes, harps! That hear the wind’s muse.

And your hair—oh your hair! Like... a golden avalanche!

No—sunlight spaghetti! I mean—NO—I mean, elegance unmatched!"

Realising his plan to improvise had gone to shit, Victor had started sweating bullets now, waving his hand dramatically

"Between the two of you, I am but a candle in twin suns,

A humble crumb upon your banquet of elegance and puns—

No, no, not puns—presence!

Please forgive the metaphors... I’m drowning in reverence!"

On the third floor Lugh facepalmed.

Well, that’s one way to get yourself killed.

"If I were a poet, I’d burn my quill!

For no ink could capture your will.

And if flattery were gold, I’d owe you a mine,

Please don’t kill me—I’m really quite fine!"