Gunmage-Chapter 229: Look at them

"I want Lugh."

The air turned stale as the words floated like cold smoke in the ornate chamber.

Marcus groaned, his irritation barely restrained, lips curling in contempt.

"Of fucking course," he muttered, massaging his temples.

Selaphiel’s response was colder—she narrowed her eyes like a blade narrowing its edge.

"That’s not happening."

Zhou met her gaze with the same hardened resolve, her voice laced with a quiet finality.

"Then the Cross family and Von Heim family will remain forever irreconcilable."

Selaphiel exhaled sharply as she tried to maintain her composure.

"What do you even want him for?"

She asked, her voice lined with suspicion.

"Last I checked, you’re not that kind of elf. Are you just trying to sabotage things now—intentionally?"

Zhou pursed her lips tightly, her face unreadable for a brief moment. Then, a flicker crossed her eyes—faint, but telling.

Lyra’s younger sister. Sofia.

She spoke with restrained calm.

"You’re right. I have no use for him."

But her pause gave her away. Selaphiel narrowed her gaze further.

"Then why ask?"

Zhou’s tone remained composed.

"That doesn’t mean others don’t."

Selaphiel’s curiosity sparked.

"Explain."

Zhou’s mouth twitched, but she pressed forward.

"Our letter proposing a marriage alliance was ignored. Knowing you, you probably burned it before reading."

Selaphiel’s composure wavered slightly. Her hand lifted to her temple, scratching with visible discomfort.

The conversation had turned personal, and for once, deeply inconvenient.

After all, Lugh—the main subject—was right here. And still, she had yet to get him under full control.

Her gaze flicked to the boy. His silence, so complete, felt unnatural. Eerie, even for him. Since the moment this "negotiation," if it could even be called that, had begun, he hadn’t spoken a word.

Lugh watched them. Watched everything.

A voice slithered into his ears—soft, silky, unsettling. It twisted through his thoughts like the whisper of a devil.

"Look at them."

His head turned sharply, eyes sweeping the room. No one else had reacted.

Xhi stood a few meters away, her usual composed smile affixed to her face. No expression betrayed her. No acknowledgement.

But Lugh frowned. That voice—it was hers. He knew it was hers. Only Xhi had the ability to create a direct mental link.

And again, the voice returned.

"Look at them. Negotiating over rights to a human. Treating you... like some kind of object."

The words sank into him like teeth.

Suddenly, the voice stopped. And just as suddenly, Lugh’s head snapped up.

His gaze was darker now, heavy with something unspoken.

No one else moved. No one else noticed.

Xhi still smiled—nonchalant, untouchable, unreadable. She made it easy to believe she hadn’t said anything at all. Easy to believe it was all in his mind.

But Lugh knew better.

And then the voice came once more.

"Tell me, how does this make you feel?"

What followed was brief—but unmistakable.

A violent surge of mana burst outward from Lugh, almost involuntarily. It lasted only an instant, but the ripple it sent was wide-reaching.

Conversation stopped.

Both elves froze, their eyes immediately shifting toward Lugh. Around the room, others felt it too—fully grown adults stiffened, a few of the more magically sensitive younger ones, like Enji, snapped their heads toward him in unison.

He opened his mouth.

"I’m sor—"

He stopped.

A beat passed in silence.

Then, flatly, as if nothing had happened:

"I need some air."

He turned and walked away, face unreadable, back straight, voice devoid of emotion.

Selaphiel stood frozen for a moment, watching him go. Then she turned to Zhou, her voice urgent.

"We’ll discuss this later."

She stepped forward, mind already racing.

What caused that?

Was it something we said?

But something about that conclusion didn’t sit right with her. Lugh had heard worse. Far worse.

He’d endured repeated reminders of his circumstances, and shown nothing but cold indifference.

In fact, she had made a point of repeating it, slowly acclimating him to the idea that he belonged to her now. That his reality was to obey.

And it was working. Until now.

Why now?

Her thoughts darted, sharp and fast.

Zhou’s fault. Obviously.

Then another name surfaced.

Lyra.

Selaphiel frowned deeply. The girl had come up in passing, and though early investigations suggested no romantic entanglement, nothing could ever be certain. Humans were strange, unstable things—prone to unexpected attachments.

She added Lyra to her self-made list of potential threats.

Around them, the others remained largely unmoved. Lugh’s abrupt shift in demeanor wasn’t entirely unprecedented—it was simply more intense than usual.

Still, Selaphiel was already moving several steps ahead, calculating contingencies.

Her entire thought process, from beginning to end, spanned no more than a heartbeat.

Then—

The door burst open.

Not from Lugh.

But from someone on the other side.

A booming voice cut into the stillness.

"Forgive my tardiness, Lady Selaphiel—"

The patriarch of the Cross family paused mid-step, words dying in his throat.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the scene before him.

Overturned tables.

Shattered marble tiles.

Paintings ripped from gilded frames.

Splintered chairs, dust still swirling thick in the air.

What was once a chamber of grandeur, a room meticulously adorned with expensive furnishings, priceless artwork, and elegant sculptures imported from every corner of the manor—was now a ruin.

A wreck.

He shrieked. Not in fear. In sheer economic terror.

His heart clenched as his gaze swept over the wreckage, mind racing to calculate the value lost in mere seconds.

Lugh watched silently.

If the man had keeled over from a heart attack, it would’ve been poetic.

Only the swift reflexes of his attendants—servants and staff trained for such emergencies—kept him upright, propping his failing body as his mouth gaped open.

"What..."

The word croaked out of him, hollow and broken.

"What have you monsters done?!"

He began to foam at the mouth.

And then, finally, collapsed.

Silence.

A heavy, awkward quiet fell over the room.

Then, stepping past the pile of bodies now fanning the patriarch, came a man in a butler’s uniform—poised, unshaken.

It was the same person that had led them here.

He took a moment to glance at the elves, eyes lingering just a bit too long on their long ears. But if he had any opinion on that matter, he kept it to himself.

Instead, he bowed slightly, then addressed the room:

"Ladies and gentlemen, please ignore what just happened and follow me. I’ll lead you to the main hall. A lot of guests are waiting."

Zhou frowned.

"Guests?"

Her voice was sharp.

The man paused—only briefly—before answering with studied calm.

"Well... you’ll see for yourself."

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