Gunmage-Chapter 258: Feeding the faithful

"Why are you avoiding duels?"

Lugh narrowed his eyes, gaze settling coldly on the one who asked. It might have sounded like an innocent question to the untrained ear, but Lugh knew better.

He had assumed that all the agents sent to confirm his identity would have already reached their conclusions by now. But clearly, they were being more thorough than he had anticipated.

After committing the speaker’s face to memory, he answered.

"I simply don’t want to."

His voice was quiet, almost indifferent.

"Are you sure?"

The person pressed, tone light but gaze calculating.

"Yes, I’m sure."

Lugh’s glare followed, a cold stare that wasn’t just visible—it was palpable.

The weight of it settled over the group as the person quickly smiled in retreat, lowering themselves back into their seat.

"Okay then."

The circle resumed, the questioning continuing without further confrontation. Some asked for clarification regarding certain aspects of his conversation with Lord Vaire, others asked about his magic.

He did not respond. By the time the rotation reached Sela again, most of the more pressing questions had already been asked.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke.

"Will you be available for a late-night rendezvous—?"

The air froze.

Everyone turned toward her at once.

"...What?"

She blinked, then clarified, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"I want to eat street food and beat up some drunkards."

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Lugh, completely unbothered, gave a simple nod.

"Okay."

"Thanks,"

Sela said, casually, before passing the decorative hairpin—the Tool of Speech—to the next person.

A well-dressed lady leaned forward slightly, voice soft, almost beguiling.

"Do you think knowledge holds value when it is so easily shared?"

The question was odd. Philosophical even. But Lugh was already drifting, operating on autopilot. He answered without thinking.

"Yes, actually. It’s not like this is anything important. Or would you have preferred if I set a limit to simple questions? That would just make me an asshole."

Laughter rippled softly, the pin was passed and the next person jumped in without delay.

"So do you think Xhi is an asshole?"

Lugh responded smoothly, barely missing a beat.

"Yes, I think Xhi is an a—amazing priestess."

A wave of confusion washed over the circle.

Eyebrows rose. Heads turned. Then Lugh slowly swept his gaze across the room, and caught sight of Lyra stifling a laugh in the corner.

Standing beside her was a woman who did not belong. Enchanting, striking. Dressed in an elegant white outfit, subtle in its nobility, devoid of all jewelry or embroidery—save for a single pendant that rested against her chest.

The priestess, Xhi.

"What the—? When did you guys arrive?"

Everyone turned to see what had caught his attention, and then froze mid-motion.

"L-Lyra?"

Sela stammered.

"When—why are you here?"

"What do you mean, ’why am I here?’ This is my house, remember?"

Sela closed her mouth, clearly annoyed with herself. Xhi, however, stepped forward, gliding effortlessly until she was standing directly in front of Lugh.

"Quite a decent number of followers you’ve cultivated,"

She said coolly.

"Now all you have to do is drip-feed knowledge of mysticism, and your grip on them will be iron."

That definitely didn’t sound good.

Coming from Xhi, who actually occupied a religious position, it was even worse.

"I don’t have knowledge on mysticism,"

Lugh replied bluntly.

"We can change that."

Suddenly, the room seemed to snap out of its trance. A flurry of reactions followed.

"L-Lyra?"

"Hello, everyone,"

She greeted, voice exaggerated in tone, like a parody of a highborn lady.

People shifted, whispering rapidly as they turned their attention to Xhi.

"And who is this?"

Someone finally asked.

Before the priestess could speak, Lugh cut in quickly.

"This is Xhi. She’s a survivor of Drakensmar."

That did the trick. The announcement calmed the atmosphere, or at least stalled the rising energy.

Curiosity replaced suspicion. But the enthusiasm quickly returned—only this time, it was focused on Lyra.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Mutation?"

"What the hell were you thinking challenging your father?"

Lyra responded immediately, biting.

"Same thing you were thinking when you decided to wear that dress."

"What? What’s wrong with my dress?!"

"Honey, if you need me to tell you, then you’re better off not wearing clothes at all. The boys certainly won’t mind. Would you, boys?"

"Nope."

"Not at all."

"Clothes are overrated."

Lugh watched from his seat as what they so confidently labeled "friendly banter" spiraled into borderline chaos.

They moved like old friends. Unlike him, these were people Lyra had grown up with. They were at ease in her presence, despite her new appearance—though he could still spot hints of discomfort in their eyes.

"What happened to your skin?"

"Your face—Lugh looks the same..."

"Should I join the army too?"

While Lyra continued to dazzle and deflect the crowd, Xhi stepped quietly beside Lugh. The move was discreet, but several nearby exchanged glances.

She pulled out a bundle wrapped tightly in cloth and handed it to him.

He took it, feeling the weight and shape instantly. He didn’t need to unwrap it to know.

"How did you manage to get this back?"

"I scoured the ruins,"

Xhi replied, her tone as flat as it was casual.

Lugh held her gaze for a moment, then glanced down. His vision—through the mawglass—pierced the cloth with ease, revealing the sleek design and faint etchings of enchantments carved into the metal. The dagger. Dain.

Just as the recognition settled, Lyra stormed over to them.

She stopped short in front of Lugh, clearly flustered.

"I’m sorry about this but... Xhi gave me the daggers to keep securely and the second one... it’s no longer there."

"What?"

Lugh asked, frowning.

"What do you mean by that?"

Lyra scratched the back of her head, sheepish.

"Well..."

Her voice dropped.

"I kinda... lost it."

"You wha—"

Lugh cut himself off, inhaling deeply through his nose. Calming.

He asked again, more controlled.

"How do you lose something like that?"

"Uh, I think the better question is... how do you not lose something like that?"

Facing his unimpressed stare, she added quickly,

"For f*ck’s sake, it’s invisible. It should be around my room... somewhere."

"Uh... what are you two talking about?"

"More importantly—"

Another voice chimed in,

"you know each other?"

Lyra answered promptly.

"We were in the same squad during the siege of Drakensmar."

A collective, drawn-out "Ooohhh" echoed through the room.

Lugh, meanwhile, noted the shift. The faint hostility that had once come only from his male cousins now seemed to be spreading—quietly but steadily—to the others.

He sighed.

Lyra, oblivious or uncaring, raised her voice.

"Alright! Anyone who came to watch a fight should start heading to the arena."

At her words, a neat formation of maids and butlers emerged, prepared to guide the guests through the estate.

"What’s going on?"

Lugh asked, puzzled.

Lyra smiled.

"Haven’t you heard? The duel’s been rescheduled."

"...Which means?"

"I’m fighting now."

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