Gunmage-Chapter 205: By poison and candlelight

Isolde walked out of the lab after disposing of her temporary garments.

The room behind her was dark, lit only by sterile, artificial lighting that cast long shadows across the smooth tile floor.

Despite the gloom, the air was crisp—sterilized and constantly circulating thanks to the superb ventilation system designed by the master architects.

Waiting in the antechamber, seated on a simple chair with no adornments, was an elf. His long flaxen hair was tied into a tidy bun, his back straight, arms folded over his chest.

He looked out of place in such a stark, utilitarian environment. This was Lance—the elf who had been left behind to assist with the lingering problems no one else wanted to touch.

The room was quiet. Absolute secrecy had to be maintained. That was why no outside specialists had been called in. Isolde had carried out the autopsy herself.

It wasn’t unfamiliar work. Far from it. This wasn’t the first body she’d dissected.

Lance’s eyes tracked her movements as she stepped into the room. His voice broke the silence.

"So, how was it?"

He asked.

"Have you determined the cause of death?"

"Yes,"

She replied without pause, stepping closer.

"It was a fast-acting poison. That much was obvious. It also dissolved rapidly—its traces nearly vanished entirely before I could isolate them. But from what I managed to salvage..."

Her eyes flicked to a weathered notebook in her hand.

"It’s not a substance I’ve come into contact with before. At least, not officially. This is something new."

"Newly developed,"

Lance repeated, his brow furrowing.

He appreciated how clearly she spoke—avoiding technical jargon or dense biochemical terms. He was a combat mage, after all. Not an alchemist.

Jahira would have been much suited for this. But alas...

"And?"

He prompted.

"Were you able to identify what this newly developed substance is composed of?"

Isolde pursed her lips, pausing to organize her thoughts.

"Firstly,"

She began,

"Despite what I just said, there’s a chance it’s not newly developed at all. It may have been in use elsewhere, just... unknown to us. No records, no references. That leads to two problems."

She shifted her weight as she continued, enunciating each word carefully.

"First, for a poison to be completely unidentified by House Caldreth’s archives means its origins likely don’t trace back to Ophris—or perhaps any of our neighboring countries. That narrows it down considerably."

"You mean—?"

Lance began, only for Isolde to nod before he could finish.

Her conclusion hung heavy in the air. If her suspicions were right, the poison had come from one of the distant nations.

The mainland regions. The magical races. Naga, Sylphs, even certain reclusive Elven enclaves.

The implications were troubling.

"What was a servant of the Von Heim family doing with such a thing?"

Lance murmured.

They already knew the assassin’s identity. The investigation had revealed him to be one of the numerous servants who’d arrived alongside a distant branch member of the Von Heim family when they first settled in Pyrellis.

As for proof that he was indeed an assassin?

Unlike Sela and Mirelle—whose antics could be dismissed as mischief—the servant in question had infiltrated the third floor armed with a sword. Not a tool. A weapon.

Intent was undeniable.

There was also the fact that he ended his own life with no hesitation.

Isolde’s voice cut back in, calm and unflinching.

"And secondly... to answer the question you really want to ask: I couldn’t identify most of the components.

The poison’s makeup is too alien, too complex. But I did isolate a few vague materials heavily utilized in its creation. Or rather, in the production of the solvent base."

Lance leaned forward.

"Oh yeah? And what might those be?"

"Corpses,"

She replied simply.

The air in the room seemed to still.

Lance turned toward her slowly, incredulity in his voice.

"Corpses?"

"Yeah," she said, unfazed.

"Human. Or perhaps non-human. The material was organic, processed, broken down. There’s enough anatomical overlap in most sapient species to make it difficult to pinpoint. But the signatures were consistent."

Lance stared at her for a long second, his expression unreadable.

"What on earth...?"

Isolde shrugged lightly, as if this was only mildly unusual.

"Actually, it’s not that strange. Some medical practices already use human corpses to produce medicines.

Harvesting hormones, enzymes, even marrow. It’s considered beneficial, if distasteful. I don’t see why the reverse can’t be true."

"Dead bodies. Potent poisons,"

Lance muttered, more to himself than to her. He shook his head, then stood.

"Regardless, it doesn’t change what we have to do. Rally the remaining members of the branch family. The ones still in the manor."

He looked to the doorway, voice hardening.

"Tell them to pray I’m not in the mood for a purge."

...

Outside, far from the clinical sterility of the lab, a slow, extravagant procession of carriages wound their way through the streets.

Each was drawn by two horses—one pure white, the other mottled black—creating a striking visual contrast.

Despite minor differences in trim and detailing, every carriage bore the same emblem on its doors: the publicly recognized sigil of the Von Heim family. A candle, dripping red wax.

When he thought about it, the symbol was very odd.

Sitting by the window inside one of the carriages, Lugh tilted his head slightly.

He had anticipated something more dramatic—a hurricane, perhaps, or a falcon diving through stormwinds. Some sort of symbol that echoed the family’s apparent affinity for wind magic.

But a candle?

His eyes drifted toward the scenery. The high-rise district of Ophris was as beautiful as he’d been told—neatly trimmed bushes, towering trees lined in even intervals, cobbled roads washed clean and smooth.

Beauty, symmetry, wealth. Everything about this district screamed power.

Security was supposed to be airtight here. But considering recent events, Lugh found himself wondering just how airtight it really was.

To him, the ride was excruciatingly slow.

Though in truth, it wasn’t slow at all—especially not for a procession of ten carriages. But Lugh had once grown used to the roar of armored vehicles, the thrumming pulse of engines under General Garrick’s command.

Horses and wheels felt archaic by comparison.

Why still use carriages when combustion engines existed? Tradition, maybe. Pyrellis struck him as the kind of city that clung to the past, even as the world moved forward.

He turned his attention to the people sharing the spacious carriage with him. Selaphiel sat with her usual poise, veil lowered, allowing her elven ears to show.

Aveline sat across from her, quietly observing the street beyond the window.

Lugh frowned.

"We didn’t bring any guards,"

He said.

"Considering how large this procession is—and how many ’important’ people are here—isn’t this a serious security risk?"

It was a valid point. The carriages, most occupied by the promising young generation of one of the oldest noble houses, moving alone, unprotected.

No visible escorts. No cavalry. No servants, save for a handful of attendants who numbered no more than five.

Selaphiel didn’t even look at him.

"I’m at the front,"

She said lazily.

"Jahira’s at the rear. Is there any other protection you need?"

"True, but still..." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

Lugh shrugged, not pushing the point.

"Just saying. If someone really wanted to ambush us, they’d have factored you into their plans"

Selaphiel smirked faintly.

"And if they have the firepower to stop me, do you think a few guards would make a difference?"

Lugh pursed his lips. She wasn’t wrong.

Then his gaze shifted to Aveline.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel