Gunmage-Chapter 261: The will that shapes you

What happened here?

Everyone looked on in stunned silence at the sheer extent of the devastation.

"Look!"

Sela called out as she scurried forward, her shoes crunching over soot and ash. Her hand brushed the grime from a nearby seat.

"Still fresh," freewebnσvel.cѳm

She murmured.

The others, stirred by her remark, hesitated for only a few brief moments before they, too, stepped into the vast chamber—though they moved warily, every footfall careful and cautious.

Lugh stood slightly apart, his eyes sweeping across the scorched arena floor and cracked walls. He wondered, absently, how the patriarch of the Cross family would respond to such extensive damage.

But before he could finish the thought, his gaze snagged on the man himself—standing on the far side of the chamber, his expression twisted into a deep, bitter scowl as he muttered to himself.

All of a sudden, it came to Lugh.

Of course. This was most likely the reason the man had brought forward the time for the duel.

If the guests were not only going to feast on his hospitality but also leave his prized facilities in ruins, then Lugh had no doubts even he would have wanted them out as well.

Bright, harsh flashes erupted at intervals, adding brief, artificial illumination to the scene.

The shutters of heavy cameras snapped, wielded by influential journalists already chronicling the destruction.

Lugh barely glanced at them before moving on, stepping deliberately through the rubble, scanning for a seat that wasn’t completely ruined.

The others, conscious of appearances or simply unsure what else to do, followed his lead. No matter what their personal reasons were for coming here, the long-standing excuse remained intact—they were all here to watch a duel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lugh caught a self-satisfied glance from Wittmann. The youth looked smug, as if pleased by something Lugh couldn’t be bothered to identify.

There were also several others Lugh didn’t recognize. They cast him indifferent glances—fleeting, shallow looks that passed over him with a kind of careless condescension.

The look in their eyes told him exactly what they thought of him.

Lugh could pick out a few likely reasons for their disdain, but, in truth, he didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

He found a seat that was mostly intact and lowered himself into it with quiet detachment.

The others began selecting their own seats as well, following his example. In short order, they were all seated comfortably—or as comfortably as one could be in a ruined arena—each set of eyes now fixed on the battered space before them.

To Lugh’s immediate left sat a man whose presence was becoming far too frequent of late: Lord Vaire of House D’Aramitz.

Lugh’s gaze slid past him and landed on the figure who had taken the seat to his right—another unexpected individual.

His third sister, Lirienne.

They hadn’t spoken much since he taught her his personal interpretation of force control. And yet, since then, she always seemed to be shadowing him.

The rest of the group scattered across the seats in front of him or just behind. Thanks to the arena’s immaculate layout—concentric rings descending towards the center—such seating was easy to manage.

Someone leaned down beside him.

It was Sela, the eldest of his sisters.

"Hey,"

She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Why do you think Lyra would win? Last I heard, she refused to learn any form of magic."

"Is that surprising?"

He responded flatly.

Sela gave a tiny shrug.

"Considering all I’ve heard of their magic? No,"

She admitted.

"Lyra’s always been stubborn. But that still doesn’t change the fact that she’s about to face off against a Crown-level expert with no magic of her own. I’m honestly even worried about how this was allowed in the first place."

Lugh sighed, already aware that more than a few people were eavesdropping on their conversation. He turned slightly toward her, voice quiet but deliberate.

"And what makes you think Lyra has no magic of her own?"

Sela frowned. Her hesitation was echoed in the subtle shifting of others nearby. She said slowly,

"She doesn’t."

"Are you sure?"

That one question made her pause—made a few others glance toward them in thought.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Alright, even if she somehow managed to learn some other form of magic during her time in the military, that doesn’t mean she can just jump ranks and challenge a Crown."

Lugh put on a ponderous expression, feigning contemplation. Then he asked,

"Hey... am I strong?"

"Yes!"

Lirienne immediately blurted out, startling more than a few listeners.

Everyone turned to her.

She cleared her throat, flustered.

"I—I mean... yes. You’re kind of strong."

Lugh, ignoring the strange outburst, returned his attention to the conversation.

"Did I have any knowledge of magic before I left?"

He asked calmly.

Sela frowned again.

"No?"

"And there you go."

"Hold up one sec, Lugh,"

Marcus interjected, voice sharp. Clearly, he had grown tired of playing the passive observer.

"What do you mean—you didn’t have any knowledge of magic before you left?"

The others all turned to him now, brows furrowed, questions forming in silence.

Lugh didn’t miss a beat.

"It means exactly what it sounds like, Marcus."

"You expect me to believe you’ve only been practicing magic for a little over a year now?"

Marcus asked, incredulous.

"I don’t expect you to believe anything,"

Lugh replied evenly.

"It was merely a statement of fact."

The group exchanged confused glances.

Disbelief hung thick in the air, but Lugh didn’t care to defend himself further.

Lord Vaire spoke next.

"That’s... quite a story."

Lugh began to respond.

"Again, it’s not a sto—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze locking onto a new development in the center of the arena.

There were six of them. Figures standing in a perfect hexagonal formation.

"What are they doing?"

Lugh asked, his voice sharpened with curiosity.

Someone cut in from a few seats over. Lugh recognized the voice, but not the face.

"Those are the people from house Drenval"

"And what are they doing?"

He asked again.

The person responded simply,

"Well... you’ll see for yourself."

The patriarch of House Cross approached the men and dipped into a respectful bow.

"If you would, please,"

He said.

The six men returned the bow with fluid synchronicity before beginning.

Their voices rose in unison

"Bend to the will that shapes you"

The air seemed to pulse as the chant ended.

With perfect timing, they raised their arms, then brought them down with a simultaneous crash of feet and limbs.

The ground beneath them rippled like water.

A tremor ran outward from the center like a stone tossed into a still pond as the floor shaped itself.

Fissures healed, and blackened stone smoothed until—within moments—the entire arena looked pristine again. New. As though it had never been touched by destruction.

The floor was clean, every inch of it absurdly even.

The six men gave one final bow, then turned to head toward their chosen seats.

Lugh sat in silence, still wide-eyed.

Then, from the gloom at the edge of the chamber, a solitary figure stepped out onto the arena’s newly reborn central stage.

Lyra.

She moved with slow precision, her eyes locked onto the patriarch—her father.

The tension in the room swelled.

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