Gunmage-Chapter 222: A matter of proportions

"You mean to say, even with all the disadvantages she can still compete?"

"Yes,"

Lirienne replied curtly.

"Think of it. The stronger, more assertive males would see her as a challenge to overcome. While the more submissive, calmer ones would be all too willing to make her acquaintance."

Her voice sharpened.

"Only the weak-willed men—those who seek out docile partners not out of admiration for their character, but simply to project power over someone more timid than them, to feel like a conqueror, although a fake, phony one—only those types will possibly find her repulsive."

"Hmm."

Enji stroked his chin again, pensive, ignoring the strong emotions. Then, quite suddenly, he asked,

"How large is her chest?"

Lirienne almost choked on air.

"W-What? Why are you asking me that?"

Enji spoke without so much as a flicker in his tone, as if he had asked something as normal as the time of day.

"Well, you see, although your descriptions are impeccable, I’m blind. Looks don’t really matter to me. Aside from the voice, I have to focus on the more... tangible aspects. You feel me?"

Lirienne blushed faintly, her gaze flicking—without meaning to—toward Lyra’s face, then quickly dipping below her neck.

"P-Pretty big,"

She stuttered.

"Excellent,"

Enji said, a grin blooming across his face.

"And what of her backside?"

"W-Wh—?"

"You heard me."

"No I didn’t."

"Oh. Shall I repeat myself, then?"

He cleared his throat, ready to enunciate every syllable.

"How large is her—"

"Enough!"

Lirienne’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, drawing everyone’s attention. The room stilled. She tensed for a second, then, with rigid steps, turned and stormed away.

Enji remained rooted to the spot, stunned. His brow furrowed in visible confusion.

"How could she just leave... during the most important part?!"

He resisted the urge to tear at his hair, instead settling for clicking his tongue. Repeatedly.

Selaphiel, who had heard every word from her nearby seat, let out a long, weary sigh as she sank into a velvet armchair.

"What on earth is wrong with these children..."

She muttered, helping herself to the refreshments meticulously laid out across a sprawling table.

Her actions broke the tension. The room gradually filled with murmurs as nobles began to seat themselves throughout the massive lounge.

Lyra followed suit, entirely shameless. She had no qualms joining them, busily stuffing her mouth with biscuits, shortbread, and other pastries—most of which had clearly been procured externally.

There hadn’t been enough time between the arrival of the letter and the Von Heim delegation for the Cross Manor kitchens to prepare anything properly.

Lyra didn’t need to check to know what kind of warzone the kitchen had become. She estimated it’d be a few more hours before a proper breakfast and freshly baked goods would be ready.

It was her manor anyway, and they were getting free food. No one would dare to tell her off.

She sat beside Lugh, much to the visible displeasure of his male cousins.

One of them, apparently emboldened by either ignorance or bravado, summoned the courage to approach.

It was the same youth who had dismissed Lugh’s earlier comments about guns as exaggeration.

Lugh didn’t know his name. Nor did he care to.

As Lugh glanced around the room, vaguely wondering where the butler who had led them here had gone, he noticed the man had vanished like smoke—no trace of him left.

The cousin had already arrived, speaking in a voice meant to be courteous, clear, and composed, though a faint blush betrayed his nerves.

"Hello. I’m Ryan."

"Nice to meet you, Ryan,"

Lyra replied smoothly, her voice polished despite the discomfort flickering behind her eyes.

"I was wondering..."

Ryan continued,

"Could I ask your name and your... station?"

"Station?"

Lyra echoed, a faint frown tugging at her brow.

He smiled, overly rehearsed.

"Ah yes. What I meant to say was, I really admire you. You managed to keep your composure despite being in the presence of so many nobles. You also seem to be of high rank among the manor staff. If it’s okay with you, could—"

"Excuse me?"

Lyra cut in, her tone sharp.

Lugh, listening quietly, tilted his head slightly. Staff? Has this guy lost his mind? But then it hit him. Her clothing. The fact that a butler had the nerve to yell at her earlier. Her open squabbling with a maid.

All of these were subtle indicators—easily interpreted and reassembled by the Von Heim nobles, who had been trained since birth to read between the lines, develop theories, and uncover truths from mere gestures.

If he hadn’t known who Lyra really was, Lugh might have made the same assumptions.

After all, the Lyra before him and the Lyra from a few years ago were entirely different concepts.

As for why no one reacted to her helping herself to their refreshments and sitting beside them?

That was partly because she was stunning. But more than that—it was the implication that she shared a personal, possibly intimate, relationship with Lugh.

Enough to joke and bicker, something they’d never seen him do before. No one here would dare risk antagonizing him, especially if the two were reconnecting after years apart.

Then another realization struck Lugh. She used Force Control, didn’t she? That would explain why they were all so accepting.

It likely contributed to Ryan’s phrasing—calling her a high-ranking "staff" instead of "servant."

But to someone like Lyra, who had been disowned, those words still hit a raw nerve.

She snapped.

"Listen here, you little—!"

But she caught herself, swallowing the words she couldn’t afford to unleash.

Collapsing into the sofa, she waved her hands in dismissal.

"You can head back to your seat, Ryan. You’ve put me in a bad mood. I don’t wish to speak with you anymore."

Ryan’s expression darkened. His pride wounded, his stance stiffened in indignation. Some of the other cousins, mostly girls, visibly bristled.

The boys, however, held their tongues. Servant or not, she was still hot! No one wanted to risk their chances.

Lugh watched the brewing chaos with mild amusement.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. But before he could speak, a girl stepped forward—Rochelle. Her voice echoed across the lounge, loud and condescending.

"Hey, girl. Do you know who you’re talking to?"

Lyra didn’t even look at her.

"Why? Are you relevant enough for me to know about?"

She asked airily.

"Y-You—!"

"I admit,"

Lyra interrupted again, flicking her hair back,

"I don’t know most of you here. The only people I recognize are Lugh—"

her eyes slid to another girl

"—that crybaby, Sela. And her cute little sisters."

Sela’s eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

Ryan, sensing the shift in tone, instinctively began to back down.

His voice softened.

"Uhm... who exactly are you?"

Lyra’s eyes gleamed with mischief, lips parting as if to deliver a blow—but Lugh shut it down before she could indulge herself.

"You’re looking at the future head of the Cross family,"

He said flatly.

"Lyra Cross."

Silence.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢