Gunmage-Chapter 218: Welcome to House cross

That is—

Unable to find what to say, he simply shrugged and muttered,

"It’s insurance."

He certainly wasn’t about to launch into an explanation about how the sword had originally belonged to Lyra but, through a maze of twists and inconvenient turns, ended up in his possession.

Selaphiel spoke next, her tone cool.

"There will be no need for... insurance. Either Jahira or I will be close by at all times to monitor things. Actually, this isn’t that hard of a task. All you have to do is not respond to provocations."

"OK,"

Lugh replied, voice dull and flat.

Selaphiel nodded once.

"Good."

Then she continued, her tone slipping into lecture mode.

"Secondly, you must act unbridled and arrogant—as if everyone around you is beneath you. Walk, move, and speak with an aura that reinforces this impression."

Lugh’s brows creased. She wanted him to act like a pompous noble while simultaneously enduring provocations without reacting? Was that even possible?

The look on Selaphiel’s face suggested she wasn’t done yet, so he kept silent and allowed her to continue.

"Thirdly,"

She said, eyes narrowing beneath the veil,

"You must avoid duels at all costs."

"Duels?"

It was Aveline who asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. As if such an absurdity was too far-fetched to occur.

"Yes."

Selaphiel responded, offering no clarification. She continued on, unbothered.

"Avoid them. Try to de-escalate, weasel your way out, or outrightly decline. Just remember: do not accept any duels."

"OK,"

Lugh replied once more, already picking up on a pattern.

"And finally,"

She added, her voice flattening to seriousness,

"Do not, under any circumstances, use magic. Not even Force Control."

Silence fell across the carriage. Then Lugh nodded. No questions. No protest. Just quiet acknowledgement.

Selaphiel leaned back in her seat, exhaling. Although she hadn’t elaborated on the reasons behind these instructions, Lugh already seemed to grasp her purpose.

Explaining further would have been a waste of strength.

Then, Lugh’s voice echoed again, toneless and clinical:

"What about now?"

"Huh?"

She blinked.

"Can I use magic now? Before we leave for the building?"

Selaphiel seemed to consider it. After a pause, she nodded.

"Okay. As long as it’s not too conspicuous."

The moment the words left her lips, Lugh’s forearms lit with a muted green glow. The magic clung close to the skin, like fog caught in motion, and the bruises and scrapes vanished in real time.

His flesh returned to its usual state—clean, unmarred, pale and natural. Or perhaps unnatural.

"Alright then,"

He said calmly.

"Shall we?" frёeωebɳovel.com

The carriage door creaked open by itself.

Force Control,

Lugh noted inwardly as he stepped out behind Aveline and into the bright wash of morning light.

They had arrived early, as Selaphiel had arranged. The rest of their party was already assembled outside, impatience clearly written across their faces.

Kenneth was the first to speak, his voice edged with irritation.

"We’ve been waiting forever. What were you doing in there?"

"None of your business,"

Lugh replied, his voice sharp and cold like an icicle.

Kenneth flinched back instinctively.

Selaphiel shot Lugh a glance—likely a reminder—but the veil obscured her expression. Which made it rather pointless, since he wasn’t supposed to be able to see her face.

"Is it just me, or does he seem... different?"

Another cousin murmured from the group.

Lugh gave no reply, dragging the bundled-up sword behind him like a dead thing, walking right past them toward the manor steps without a second glance.

"Sheesh, what’s wrong with him?"

"That little prick."

The whispers built behind his back like thickening fog. He ignored them.

Selaphiel sighed, rubbing her temple beneath her veil.

"Well, at least he got the arrogant part right."

A headache was already forming.

They arrived at the main entrance, where a line of perfectly organized maidservants stood waiting. There were no guards—only them.

Their movements were precise, eerie in their coordination.

"Welcome to House Cross,"

They said in unison, their voices overlapping in a haunting chorus that sounded both rehearsed and unnatural.

A butler stood at the head of the procession. Without a word, he turned and gestured for them to follow. Lugh stepped forward immediately, taking point without hesitation.

He walked as though he were the one in charge, and whether they liked it or not, none of his cousins dared challenge that silent dominance.

Their confusion and irritation simmered, but they did nothing.

The interior of the Cross Manor was vast and decorated, but not welcoming.

Gothic statues lined the hallways like silent sentries. Ancient oil paintings hung like watchers, their cracked, darkened eyes tracking every step.

But more than the architecture or art, it was the silence that defined the place. Not peace—silence. Stagnant, heavy, and gray.

In stark contrast to the vibrant Von Heim Manor, with its stained glass and living potted plants, Cross Manor felt hollow.

Even the guards and staff moved without a sound. Lugh couldn’t even hear the footsteps of the butler leading them forward, and that, more than anything else, unsettled him.

A dreary place.

He recalled Selaphiel’s earlier words. Aptly said.

This house felt... wrong.

He thought of Lyra. Living in a place like this, how did she end up like that?

He definitely wouldn’t wanna grow up in a house like this. Granted, his own childhood hadn’t exactly been glamour and sunshine.

Between being locked in a room by a half insane stepmother and living in the middle of a collosal graveyard, the answer was obvious.

Actually... it wasn’t.

They came to a halt before a large pair of double doors crafted from solid grey wood. The butler raised a gloved hand and pointed at them.

"This is the lounge where you will be staying."

His voice wasn’t particularly loud, but in the oppressive silence, it carried with perfect clarity.

He was just about to push open the doors when muffled voices leaked from within. The sounds were unmistakable.

"Ah! You can’t—!"

"Come on, just a taste."

"No, it’s too risky! What if someone walks in?"

"Don’t worry, nobody’s coming."

"But—"

"Shhh. Now, give it to me."

"I—I can’t. It’s too shameful!"

"If you don’t give it to me, then I’ll take it by force!"

"No! You mustn’t—!"

The sounds of scuffling and breathless resistance grew louder.

"Please, stop!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!"

The butler shoved the doors open with unexpected force, slamming them inward.

Inside the lounge stood two figures.

One was a flustered maid. The other was Lyra, who had assaulted said maid.

She had stolen nearly half the cookies the servant held on a tray, stuffing them into her mouth like a beaver and chewing ravenously. At the sound of the door being slammed open, she turned her head towards the entrance—and froze.

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