Gunmage-Chapter 201: The result

Lugh reached into his inner pocket and drew out his revolver.

The weapon had seen better days—its polished surface scorched and warped from heat, the barrel slightly bent at the tip, and the grip marred with burn marks. And yet, despite its mangled appearance, it had served him well.

Faithfully, even. Not as the Prince had originally intended, of course—hell, Lugh doubted even the Prince could’ve imagined someone wringing this much utility from it.

There was just one small issue.

All the extra bullets Lovainne had crammed into his uniform’s pockets were gone—vaporized in the blast. As for the uniform itself?

He couldn’t even find the ashes.

That left him with just five shots.

Five precious bullets. Five chances. Five demands for significance.

They should only be used in the most critical of events—emergencies, mortal duels, assassination attempts, perhaps even a divine revelation.

Was disciplining a loudmouth important?

Yes. Very.

Lugh raised the revolver with eerie calm, leveling it at Marcus.

The other youths blinked in confusion.

A gun?

What was he going to do with that?

Lugh pulled the trigger.

Click. Bang.

The chamber revolved. The hammer struck the primer. The gunpowder ignited in a sharp explosion, and a bullet launched forth with a scream of fury, breaking the sound barrier with a crack like thunder.

Marcus’s mana shield didn’t stand a chance. It shattered like a crystal ornament thrown from a cathedral window—splintering into luminous shards that vanished in the air before even touching the ground.

A thousand joules of kinetic energy, focused into a single tiny point—no enchantment or arcane defense was stopping that. Not today.

Lugh had originally intended to send a warning shot. A gentle graze. A message of restraint. But no—

Pain was the best teacher.

The bullet struck Marcus square in the shoulder, the same place Selaphiel had been hit before.

The force jolted through his body, tossing him backwards like a puppet cut from its strings. He hit the marble with a bone-jarring thud, sliding a few feet before coming to a halt.

But unlike Selaphiel—who had absorbed her shot with the composure of a seasoned warrior—Marcus screamed.

Then came the whimpering, the moaning, the writhing.

Sylvera glanced at Selaphiel, her expression unreadable.

"So, he knows when not to push too far"

She murmured.

Selaphiel’s brow twitched beneath her red veil, but she said nothing.

All eyes turned to Lugh.

Well—almost all.

Elizabeth gasped in disbelief, her heels clicking sharply as she stormed toward Marcus’s crumpled form.

"You—you—!"

But the words never came. Her mouth opened, but nothing coherent followed. Because deep down, she knew.

Marcus had issued the challenge.

There was no backing down now. No cries of injustice. No calls for retribution.

Decorum must be maintained.

A calm voice broke the silence.

"...Isn’t that cheating?"

It was Orla the quiet, soft-spoken Orla. Lugh didn’t know her name, but the way her question hung in the air gave it weight.

Lugh turned toward her, revolver still warm in his hand.

"Cheating?"

He repeated. Then he almost smiled.

"Why, yes. It’s cheating."

Several of them exchanged looks, some uncertain, others visibly shaken. Mirelle blinked slowly, as though watching a feral dog speak fluent poetry.

Lugh walked toward Marcus’s groaning form, expression flat. He ignored the venom dripping from Elizabeth’s glare, crouched beside his cousin, and summoned a pale blue glow to his palm.

Ice. Smooth and controlled, it shimmered as it formed—a gentle frost coating his hand.

He pressed it against Marcus’s shoulder. The boy flinched but didn’t cry out.

Numbing the pain. That came first.

Then, without a word, Lugh conjured a blade of ice—refined, elegant, etched with the same intricate design Emrys had used to nearly kill him.

A petty gesture, perhaps. But a satisfying one.

He peeled the fabric aside and drove the dagger into the wound. Blood hissed where it met the cold.

Even numbed, Marcus tensed, his teeth grinding together.

The bullet came free with a sickening squelch.

Lugh examined it briefly—a misshapen slug, streaked with blood—before tossing it aside like trash.

He could not have used Force Control to extract it, because it was in Marcus’s body. His mana would’ve fought him, and the boy wasn’t skilled enough to command it to do otherwise.

Any foreign intrusion would be rejected.

Of course that mechanism existed. Otherwise, mages could simply crush each other to death.

Lugh had no doubts that some mages could do just that, but he didn’t believe they could accomplish it with only force control.

This time, the glow shifted—from blue to green.

Healing.

Radiant light flooded over the wound. Tissues twisted and crawled back into place. Muscle, sinew, skin—reconstructed, like threads being rewoven by an invisible hand.

He made it extra flashy, just to drive the point home.

Gasps echoed through the marble hall.

"You... you can do that?"

Elizabeth whispered, her voice trembling with awe.

Lugh didn’t even look at her.

"Yes. Can’t you?"

The girl fell silent.

Lugh, still crouched, allowed himself a private smirk.

Good. Stare.

Let them witness it—his strength, bare and unfiltered.

People were drawn to power. To excellence. To that which they did not possess.

And this was the true game.

Being family head wasn’t about strength and talent.

Not entirely.

It was about command. Presence. Capability.

Lugh knew he wasn’t a master manipulator.

A glance at Aveline confirmed it.

He wasn’t charismatic. He didn’t understand noble courtship rituals or how to press the right political buttons. As for the others, it was something they had been trained for since birth

In contrast, anything Lugh tried would look clumsy. Childish. Like a toddler mimicking war generals.

So he didn’t try.

Why play by their rules, on their own terms?

Instead, he would use his weapon—his specialty.

Overwhelming, unpredictable strength.

Not enough to shake empires—not yet—but enough to unseat fledgling prodigies. Enough to dominate a room.

Selaphiel had understood this. That’s why she had insisted nobody interrupt his actions.

Yes. This had all been part of Lugh’s plan.

It wasn’t anything special. A basic tactic, really. Provoke. Display. Dominate.

Two failures. One success.

Pretty good odds.

He rose slowly, revolver vanishing into his clothes, his expression calm.

But beneath the cool exterior was a smile. Because he had unexpectedly gained another benefit from this.

He turned back to the crowd, meeting their stares without flinching.

"Yes. I cheated."

He paused, letting the words hang.

"But—"

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