Gunmage-Chapter 196: All an act

Victor raised his head slowly, gaze fixed on the bartender. His eyes were bloodshot, not only from drink, but from days of unrest, pain, and perhaps—hope.

"How do you know?"

His voice came out as a strained whisper.

"Do you have any experience in voodoo?"

"...No,"

The man replied, wiping a glass with a threadbare cloth.

"But my grandmother was once a countryside shaman—before we converted to the Church of Embercreed."

The silence stretched long and uneasy. Victor stared hard at the wooden grain of the bar, as if trying to decipher a hidden script.

Then, just as suddenly, he collapsed face-first onto the counter with a groan.

"Resurrection, my foot,"

He mumbled into the wood.

"It’s all a fucking scam. I won’t fall for it. Not me..."

Moments later, the quiet room filled with the guttural, rhythmic sounds of snoring.

Back in the Von Heim manor, the stillness of the upper floors was broken only by the occasional flipping of pages and the frustrated sighs of young girls buried in tomes they couldn’t understand.

Lugh sat nearby, kneading his temples. His gray eyes, sharpened by thought, flicked toward the two girls who had snuck up to the third floor expecting swords, secrets, and shadows.

Instead, they found spellcraft, theory, and the intimidating presence of their grandmother.

Selaphiel hovered behind them like a ghost made of fire and rules.

Victor’s words still echoed in Lugh’s head. He had watched the man spill secrets under the influence of drink, or at least what seemed like it.

But the more he thought about it, the more that whole encounter felt... wrong.

"I don’t think Victor will fall for the trick,"

Lugh said suddenly.

Selaphiel glanced sideways.

"What did you hear?"

"A lot of things,"

He said, stretching his legs out.

"But to sum it up—Victor doesn’t believe you want to resurrect me. He thinks he’s being lured into a trap."

"Which he is,"

She added plainly.

"But still."

Lugh nodded.

"He said it with such certainty. I mean, he was drunk, but..."

"Drunk?"

She repeated.

Lugh recounted the entire event in the tavern: the slurred words, the suspiciously clear storytelling, the bird.

"Hm,"

She mused.

"He doesn’t sound drunk to me."

Lugh raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it,"

She said.

"He’s supposedly wasted—can’t even say his own name properly—but delivers a detailed, coherent account of a magical anomaly. That’s not drunkenness. That’s a performance."

She looked him squarely in the eye.

"And why did he bring the bird with him, to a bar, of all places? It wasn’t sentiment. He wanted someone to see it. Someone who might notice something... off."

Lugh’s mind raced. It made sense. Victor’s drunken act had been suspiciously precise.

He had conveniently left out the part about being imprisoned and beaten by Isolde’s guards—an omission that a truly angry drunk would never make.

And then there was the language. Victor never once used the word magic. He hadn’t called Lirienne a failure at magic—he said she wasn’t good at her family trade.

That level of discretion in a crowded bar, filled with people from every caste and creed, was not the behavior of a man inebriated beyond reason.

Lugh leaned forward.

"But why go through all that trouble?"

"You don’t think his collaborators are in that bar?"

Selaphiel’s voice dropped to a whisper, like a dagger brushing silk.

His eyes widened.

"So he told the story... for them?"

"Exactly,"

She said.

"He gave them a choice. A sliver of hope wrapped in a dangerous tale. If there’s even a chance the story is true, they’ll act. And if they do, he never asked them to. He keeps his hands clean."

Lugh folded his arms.

"And if they don’t act?"

"Then nothing happens,"

She said simply.

"But it’s too big a possibility to ignore."

Mirelle looked up from her book, confused.

"What are you two talking about?"

Selaphiel shot her a warning glare.

"Focus."

"Yes, ma’am!"

The girl snapped back to her studies, almost knocking over her inkwell in the process.

Lugh turned back to Selaphiel.

"So the truth of the story doesn’t matter. Just the possibility of it being true..."

"Exactly,"

She confirmed.

"And soon, you’ll see how much more believable this story can get."

"...Do you have a plan?"

"I do."

Lugh exhaled slowly.

"Good. Because Lyra’s battle is tomorrow. I have to be there. Even if I have to sneak out."

Selaphiel perked up at the name.

"Lyra Cross?"

"Yeah,"

He said cautiously.

"I don’t understand,"

She said, her voice turning sharp.

"Why do you have to see the Cross girl?"

He hesitated. Could he trust her?

Selaphiel had helped him, yes—but Lugh knew better than to mistake utility for loyalty. Just because someone stood beside you didn’t mean they wouldn’t stab you in the back.

He shrugged.

"No real reason. I’ve just heard a lot about the Cross family. I’m curious. I’ve never seen a real duel between mages before, and this is an important one—the winner becomes the new head, right? Thought I could take notes."

Selaphiel’s eyes narrowed, and his stepsisters also looked up at him with the kind of doubt only siblings could muster.

Dammit, Lugh thought. I overexplained.

Still, his expression didn’t change. Cold. Calm.

"Don’t worry,"

He added.

"I won’t let myself be seen."

Selaphiel glanced up at the ceiling, lips moving in silent thought. At last, she spoke.

"Fine. You can go. But not in secret. You’ll arrive officially."

"What?"

Lugh blinked.

"Aren’t I supposed to be... you know, dead?"

"You are."

He stared at her.

"That makes no sense."

She didn’t elaborate.

"You’ll arrive in the Von Heim carriage,"

She continued,

"And your presence will be announced. You’ll also go early—several hours before the battle starts."

Lugh frowned but said nothing. It wasn’t worth pushing. She was always three steps ahead, and dragging explanations out of her often took longer than just waiting to see what she had planned.

But Selaphiel’s mind was racing.

’Why the sudden interest in the Cross girl? Is it because of that marriage letter? But I burned it. No trace. Unless... unless another one was sent. Dammit. Troublesome boy.’

She turned to Lugh and smiled sweetly.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I’ll be going with you."

Updated from fr𝒆ewebnov𝒆l.(c)om