Gunmage-Chapter 241: Royal sunmons

"It’s the royal family."

Everyone froze the instant the words were spoken. The room was swallowed by a sudden and crushing stillness.

"The royal family,"

Mike muttered under his breath, voice barely audible, yet cutting through the silence. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, betrayed none of the turmoil within.

"W-What do we do?"

One of his men stammered, voice shaking.

"Do you think they’ve found out?"

"Idiot. It’s the royal family—of course they’ve found out!"

Panic began to bloom like wildfire, tension spreading from person to person with frightening speed.

"So what?"

"Everyone, quiet."

Mike’s voice, deep and commanding, sliced clean through the rising cacophony. It silenced everyone and anyone, pulling the room back into order.

He turned toward the woman who had delivered the news, his gaze steady, then back to the others.

"They only asked for me. That’s a good thing. It means they don’t know the full extent of our operations."

He straightened his back, and square’s shoulders.

"Everyone here splits up. Two teams. One to the safe house in the Eastern District, the other to the one at the docks.

If I’m not back before midnight, you move without me. Rendezvous at the Vatu Trail. We take stock there. If I’m still not there by the time you arrive, then..."

He paused, just briefly.

"You make a beeline for Zhuul. You must escape before they find you. Understood?"

The weight of his words settled heavily over the group, like a shroud. The atmosphere turned somber.

Everyone knew the implications.

"But—but—"

The woman began to protest, voice faltering, but Mike cut her off sharply.

"I’m the team leader. This is my responsibility. We knew what we were getting into the moment we started this gig."

He turned again to the others, his gaze sweeping across their faces. The edge in his expression sharpened.

"You move out twenty minutes after I do. Modify your transformations. Just in case. We can’t be too careful."

No one replied. No arguments, no questions. Only solemn nods of acknowledgment. The silence was heavier now, full of unspoken fears and reluctant resolve.

"I’m going now,"

Mike said finally, opening the door to the hidden chamber.

He stepped into the hallway beyond—the restricted sector of the massive building, where high-profile clientele rented secure, private rooms to discuss matters too delicate for public ears.

Dim lanterns lit the corridor, their glow catching the fine dust motes that danced lazily through the air.

As Mike moved, footsteps soft and purposeful, a valet—one of the many scurrying about in search of someone—caught sight of him.

The young man’s eyes widened, and he immediately approached, posture faltering under pressure.

"Sir—uh, Mr.—"

"Just call me Mike."

"Right..."

The valet cleared his throat, trying to regain composure.

"Mr. Mike, you’ve been summoned. There are people waiting for you."

"...Understood."

Mike’s voice was quiet, and calm.

He walked alongside the valet, who led him to the central reception area. There, seated on a plush sofa, was a man whose bearing was unmistakably official.

He hadn’t touched the delicately arranged snacks and beverages in front of him. His posture was stiff, face stern, composed with military precision.

He wore a crisp uniform—white, black, and a touch of red.

Emblazoned on his chest, where a pocket might have been, was the burning rose—the insignia of the Ophris nation.

Without a word of greeting, the man unfurled a scroll with fluid familiarity, like someone who had done so hundreds of times before.

His voice, when he spoke, was devoid of emotion.

"Devaunt Michael. By royal decree, you have been summoned to the Jade Palace."

Gasps and murmurs spread like ripples across the spacious room.

Onlookers—whether already present or just passing by—strained to catch a glimpse of the interaction.

Though the room was large, the air now felt heavy.

Mike’s gaze shifted to the messenger. He was... ordinary. A normal human. No trace of magic in his scent or bearing. Nothing unusual.

No guards flanked him. No servants trailed in his wake.

Too clean. Too simple.

Mike could run—but he wouldn’t get far. The true danger never stood in plain sight. The real threats were the ones cloaked in shadow, watching from places unseen.

He sighed imperceptibly.

"Me? You mean... little old me?"

He asked, feigning bewilderment, even pointing to himself with exaggerated confusion.

His voice dripped mock humility, as if utterly unable to comprehend why such a prestigious institution would bother with someone like him.

The messenger didn’t so much as blink. He remained still and expressionless.

Mike sighed again. This time, audibly. And with it, the performance ended.

"Lead the way,"

He said, voice lower now.

The messenger turned without a word, and Mike followed.

They stepped into the broad streets paved with cobblestones. There, waiting in eerie isolation, was a single carriage.

It bore the burning rose insignia, identical to the messenger’s chest emblem. Apart from a solitary coachman, no guards stood nearby. No escort accompanied it. It was utterly alone.

Yet, every passerby instinctively kept their distance. Some paused to admire, others moved swiftly along—but all gave the carriage a wide berth.

It was as though an invisible force repelled them, commanding space and reverence alike.

The coachman opened the door without a word. Mike entered. The messenger followed.

Moments later, the wheels turned. The carriage began its slow journey.

The ride was... tense.

Mike had faced peril before—had been close enough to death to see its shape. But this was different.

This was silence.

The messenger remained a perfect statue throughout the ride, eyes locked forward, unmoving.

The carriage rolled through Pyrellis, its pace a strange balance—part leisurely, part urgent. No guidance was needed. The Jade Palace was impossible to miss.

It towered above every other structure in the city, the origin point from which Pyrellis had grown outward like a spiral.

It dominated the skyline—a giant of stone, jade, and myth.

Eventually, the carriage halted before one of four enormous gates. Each was more than ten meters high, carved of ancient wood and reinforced with metal, massive enough to keep even an army at bay.

Mike looked up, his gaze darkening as he prepared for what lied ahead.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by f(r)eew𝒆bn(o)vel.com