Gunmage-Chapter 240: Agents of Zhuul

While events carried on at the Cross Manor, in another secluded corner of the resplendent white city of Pyrellis, deep within the inner chambers of a prestigious gentleman’s club, a room stood in silence.

Inside it, five individuals were gathered. These were no ordinary men. Though clothed in elegant attire, their transformation was still ongoing.

Their senses remained honed, their reflexes unnaturally sharp. They were beastkin, hidden beneath well-crafted illusions, masquerading as a discreet but highly efficient underground mercenary group.

These were the Canines, or at least, what remained of them.

Recent events had devastated their ranks. Once a unit that moved with precision and confidence, they were now a shadow of their former selves.

The few that sat around the polished mahogany table were all that had survived.

"So what’s the plan now?"

A voice snapped, heavy with frustration. This wasn’t the first time they’d gathered like this. Nor the second. And each time, it ended the same: more silence, more indecision.

The speaker’s voice trembled with barely restrained irritation—at their situation, yes, but also at the man who sat at the head of the table, their leader, whose silence had become a wall none could scale.

Mike.

To the outside world, Mike was a loud, boisterous figure—an eccentric, high-stakes gambler known across Pyrellis for his wealth and flamboyance.

But behind closed doors, his nature was far more calculated. In a city crawling with high-ranking powers—many of which could crush them with a mere gesture—Mike had long since learned the value of caution.

True caution. The kind bred not by fear, but by survival instinct.

It was ironic. Despite being assigned to the supposedly frail kingdoms of humans, their time here had been uniquely harrowing.

Their trials hadn’t come from the humans themselves, but from the elves.

The footprints of their colonisation still lingered here like a curse.

Everyone in the Canines knew the truth: the humans weren’t the danger.

The hidden elves were.

Their presence was shrouded in secrecy, their actions masked by layers of lies.

And for the beastkin, that truth had always guided their operations—until recently.

The original priority target that night had been the acting matriarch of the Von Heim family, Isolde.

But at the last moment, everything changed.

Their objective was switched to Lugh, her hidden stepson. A bastard child supposedly concealed from the public eye.

The order had come with an air of urgency—and the authority behind it made refusal unthinkable.

Mike hated last-minute changes. They always left room for failure.

And fail they did.

The boy—if he could even be called that—had turned out to be a monster. Not in appearance, but in ability.

An Awakened. Unnatural reflexes, inhuman speed, and Crown-level magic—though he had barely even used it.

It had been a disaster. A massacre.

The more Mike replayed it in his mind, the more his rage built. His fists clenched tightly. His jaw tensed, teeth grinding audibly.

The others noticed but said nothing. That quiet storm was something they were all used to by now.

The room had long since sunk into a heavy gloom.

Finally, Mike broke the silence. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with purpose.

"I’ve come to a decision."

Every head turned toward him instantly. The tension fractured, replaced by sharpened focus.

Had they still retained their natural ears, they would have flicked forward in unison.

"We’re heading back to Zhuul."

The declaration landed like a stone tossed into still water. Confusion rippled through the room. One of the men furrowed his brow.

"Zhuul? Why?"

Mike’s eyes scanned the group. Some of them—newer operatives—didn’t fully understand the Canines’ deeper affiliations. Best to leave it that way.

He answered evenly,

"It’s the safest place for us right now. With our skill sets—espionage, infiltration, disguise—it won’t be a problem blending in."

"But—"

"And,"

Mike interrupted firmly,

"we have something they’ll want. Valuable intel. On this Lugh Von Heim."

He let the name hang in the air.

A moment passed.

Then, comprehension dawned.

An Awakened human.

Smiles crept across faces. Not from joy, but from understanding.

Someone murmured

"If we can’t do it... we have them do it for us."

"Exactly,"

He affirmed, as the others nodded in agreement. Revenge hadn’t been forgotten. Only delayed.

Though the existence of human mages was technically a violation of the anti-magic laws, the reality was more complicated.

So long as their numbers remained small, and their operations secretive, the magical civilizations often looked the other way.

Open retaliation cost too much—too much in manpower, political capital, and resources.

The humans had already been exiled to the extreme North.

Their lands were little more than wastelands when compared to the fertile, mana-rich territories on the continent.

Their leylines—once rivers of power—had long since been ruptured and drained. To the magically inclined races, those lands were dead zones. Worthless.

The few remaining mana hotspots were locked away in a single area—monopolized by the elven country of Jazeer, an odd people, even by magical standards.

To make matters worse, those northern human kingdoms lay dangerously close to one of the continent’s most feared regions: the Devil Sea.

The proximity alone was enough to deter most attention.

In short, no one cared about Ophris.

But if it became known that an Awakened had emerged from among the humans?

Then everything would change.

They’d never allow the humans to possess such a resource. Or such a threat.

The group discussed the finer details of the journey. Routes. Safehouses. Timing.

When all was said and done, Mike rose from his chair.

"Gentlemen, I suggest you get your affairs in order,"

he said, his tone steely.

"We leave at midnight."

And then—

The door burst open.

A woman rushed in, breathless, eyes wide. She moved like a shadow across the room, startling even the seasoned men at the table.

She was the last of the Canines’ original core members, and one of the few Mike trusted implicitly.

Her face said it all.

"Mike. We have a problem."

Instantly, every man in the room straightened, hands twitching toward hidden weapons. Mike’s eyes narrowed.

"What is it?"

He asked.

"You’ve been sent an invitation,"

She said quickly.

"There’s a carriage waiting outside."

Mike stiffened.

"Did they ask for me by name?"

"Yes,"

She confirmed, her voice tight with anxiety.

Damn.

"Anyone else mentioned?"

She shook her head.

"No. Just you."

Still manageable. But something in her face said otherwise.

"What’s wrong?"

Mike pressed, voice low.

She hesitated.

"No... it’s just... the people who..."

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Mike’s eyes darkened.

"Who sent it?"

He asked again, softly.

She swallowed.

"Well..."

Her voice broke, panic rising in her eyes.

"...It’s the royal family."

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