Gunmage-Chapter 275: In the Queen’s shadow

She was a member of the Royal Guards. The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted—tense, sharp, like a string pulled taut.

Lugh noticed immediately.

"What?"

He asked, warily.

Selaphiel gave a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach the eyes.

"It’s nothing."

The silence dragged on, uncomfortable. Then she spoke again, her voice casual in a way that felt almost forced.

"Vaelith, huh?"

"Yes,"

Lugh replied, before pausing mid-sentence.

"How did you..."

He stopped himself, realizing he had been the one to shout her name earlier. He glanced over the elves before him, studying their expressions. Something was off.

"There’s no way something isn’t wrong,"

He muttered.

"Why—"

He was cut off.

"I think we’ve done enough here,"

Zhou interrupted, her voice gentle but firm.

"We’ve traded friendly banter, you’ve enriched your knowledge, the duel is over... You should probably be heading home."

"I guess you’re right,"

Selaphiel agreed, rising smoothly to her feet.

But Lugh’s voice stopped her cold.

"You’re acting very suspicious,"

He said, eyes narrowed.

"What’s the problem with the Royal Guards?"

"Lugh, please—"

"Please what?"

"Well, I... just—"

As Selaphiel struggled to find her words, Zhou interjected sharply and decisively, slicing through the tension.

"We just don’t want to talk about the royal family, that’s all."

Lugh paused, then tilted his head, letting the silence stretch for effect. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but cutting.

"I didn’t say anything about the royal family."

"Huh? What are you—"

"What I said was Royal Guards, not family. Curious that you’d mix up the two."

"Lugh, stop,"

Selaphiel said.

"Just don’t ask any questions. It’s for your own good."

She hesitated, then added more softly,

"I’d prefer if you had zero dealings with them. But now... now that’s no longer possible."

Lugh fell silent, gears turning behind his unreadable expression.

"Because of Wittmann?"

He asked finally.

"What? No. Who cares about that fool?"

"Then why—?"

"It’s because of the magic you used. Have you forgotten?"

Selaphiel’s voice was low, but sharp with urgency.

"Multiple circles. Increased output. We just explained this to you."

"Yeah, I understand that,"

Lugh said slowly.

"What I don’t understand is—why now? I’ve already fought several beastkin before this. What makes now the trigger? Why would they approach me now, when they didn’t back then?"

Selaphiel inhaled deeply, then spoke with finality.

"It’s magic."

Lugh blinked.

"Magic?"

"Yes,"

She said again, this time with emphasis.

"Magic."

She stepped closer.

"While the act of you executing beastkin did draw some attention, most of that fight was handled without using any magic.

Which, might I add, is far more impressive in my opinion—but they don’t care about that. They don’t care about impressive. They care about magic."

"They?"

Lugh asked.

He looked at Selaphiel again, his gaze searching, the pieces clicking into place. He spoke slowly.

"You mean the Queen."

The air in the room turned stale again—stagnant and heavy, like a room sealed for too long. Lugh seized the moment.

"I already know she’s an elf."

"Huh? The Queen is an elf?!"

Jahira blurted, visibly surprised.

Zhou and Selaphiel exchanged a wary glance but said nothing.

Lugh continued, unrelenting.

"It’s a curious affair to me. I don’t care that the Queen is an elf. What I want to know is what happens when we get a new king. Will she step down from her—"

"Lugh! Stop talking."

Selaphiel’s voice cut through the air like a blade. Her reaction was telling—an answer in itself. She rose to her full height.

"We’re leaving,"

She declared.

Lugh frowned.

"Already?"

"Yes."

Her tone was clipped now, her composure restored.

"We mustn’t overstay our welcome."

Then, more gently,

"The auction is tomorrow. I have arrangements to make. Don’t worry—you’ll have time to spend with your team member once this blows over."

"Team member?"

"Lyra,"

She clarified, locking his hand in the customary noble grip and tilting her head in a refined bow.

Then she turned to Zhou.

"Madame Cross, your audience has been a pleasure."

With that, she pulled Lugh along by the arm.

Jahira followed closely behind, expression unreadable.

Before they passed through the door, Zhou spoke.

"I’ll be visiting the Von Heim manor soon."

"No problem,"

Selaphiel replied smoothly.

"You’re always welcome."

Their figures disappeared into the hall.

Zhou sat back down in the quiet that followed, the rhythmic breathing of the patriarch echoing from the nearby bed.

She lounged in her seat, letting the gentle sunlight caress her skin as she exhaled slowly.

Then a thought struck her.

She cursed aloud.

"Damn. I forgot to ask if she actually had a fertility spell..."

...

Far from the capital city of Pyrellis, deep within Ophris territory, several hundred kilometers southeast, lay the infamous Eista Trail.

It was one of the many arterial routes that connected the northeastern and southern provinces—a secure path marked by grand stone bridges that spanned the twin rivers.

These roads, though aging, were still the preferred choice for traders and travelers. The grand railroad project underway would eventually render them obsolete, but with non-military infrastructure stalled due to the war, practicality and safety reigned.

Which was precisely why the interception squad of Royal Guards was not stationed there.

They were deployed instead along the Vatu Trail.

Unlike the broad, orderly Eista, the Vatu was a serpentine mess—a tangled path winding through deep forests, skimming across rivers, snaking between hills and valleys.

It was a trail born of necessity and defiance, carved out by smugglers who believed themselves clever enough to avoid detection.

High up on a branch, an elf sat, legs swinging lazily. Her veil was off, gripped loosely in one hand. Long, silver hair spilled over her shoulders.

Her eyes were a striking amethyst, glinting mischievously in the dappled light.

She scanned the treeline, spotting the others—four more, all elves. Like her, all but one had removed their veils, silver hair shimmering in the light.

"I said it before and I’ll say it again,"

She spoke, her voice light but laced with exasperation.

"Sending five of us here is overkill."

"Shut up and stop complaining,"

A male voice snapped from below.

"You’re killing the mood."

"Mood? What mood? The mood has long since been dead, buried back at the Cross Manor."

She huffed.

"I can’t deal with you brooding lot. Always acting cold and grim, like a bunch of moody teenagers."

Her words didn’t provoke much response. The others had grown used to her rants.

She did get one reply though—still from that insufferable voice.

"Maybe if you kept your big mouth shut, the wait would be less excruciating."

Despite his tone, the way he tapped his foot, the way he paced restlessly—he was clearly just as agitated as she was.

She scoffed.

"You know what? Now that I think about it—this is all the fault of those humans."

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