Gunmage-Chapter 278: Post duel proceedings

The buzz surrounding the Cross family duel had yet to die down. In fact, it was only getting louder—especially among those who had chosen to spectate without interfering.

The duel had been a spectacle, yes, but even the climactic, mind-numbing spell Lugh had used at the end—an overwhelming display of raw magical force—hadn’t completely stolen the spotlight.

Not because it wasn’t impressive, but because the fight itself had already been that memorable.

Public perception of the Cross family’s strength had been thoroughly revised, re-evaluated, and forcibly updated. Add to that the last-minute intervention by elves—whose mere presence raised questions—and the fact that Lyra had lost, and the duel became even harder to dismiss.

Disqualified or not, regardless of the reasons anyone could conjure, no matter how bogus or technical they were—the simple truth remained: she had lost.

And since Lyra was now irrevocably linked to the Cross family, her defeat became their triumph. Their popularity had soared. An enormous wave of admiration, curiosity, and awe came crashing down on the family like a rising tide.

Within the Cross Manor halls, the still-electrified audience buzzed with conversation, voices raised in disbelief, awe, and speculation as they recounted what they had witnessed.

After such a grand duel, no effort at discretion could stop the journalists and cameramen from taking photos of the utterly wrecked training hall.

That place would be out of commission for a long time—its destruction alone a testament to the battle’s ferocity.

People gossiped. People debated.

"What the hell was that?!"

Drey shouted the thought that echoed in the minds of everyone present.

"When Lugh bet on her, I was sure she had some secrets,"

She continued, flailing her arms for emphasis.

"But never in my wildest imagination did I expect... this!"

"Yup, I feel you."

Robert nodded in sympathy, before adding with a smirk,

"On the bright side, Lyra still lost. Which means we won the bet against Lugh."

The others paused for a moment, stunned, until it dawned on them.

"...You’re right,"

Someone murmured.

Mirelle, however, frowned, her eyes narrowing.

"There was definitely something off about the later stages, though."

"Yeah,"

Another agreed.

"Something fishy went down."

"I could’ve sworn I heard Lugh say ’amplify’ right before that massive explosion rocked the stage,"

Someone added.

"He definitely cheated somehow!"

Selaphiel and her sisters exchanged wary glances.

They didn’t know much about Lugh—not truly—and especially not his magic. But what little they did know suggested that everything about his abilities had to be concealed.

Mirelle stepped in to steer the conversation.

"There were definitely weird elements involved. Like that oversized ghost—what was that? And more importantly... that giant wolf at the end."

Even just recalling it sent shivers dancing down her spine.

"How did the Cross Patriarch manage to summon those things? Forget the fact that he was basically dry on mana at that point—even if his reserves were full, I doubt he could’ve pulled off something like that. Especially the last one."

Theories and speculation began to pile up, crowding the minds of the over-eager youths.

Meanwhile, the older members of the audience had already begun cataloging every magical effect they’d seen during the duel, breaking things down in meticulous detail.

It turned out spirit mediums weren’t so weak after all.

Cassius frowned at the growing fervour, though Lord Vaire simply looked on, unfazed. He had seen spectacles like this before.

With such a magnificent display of magic, it was no wonder the public continued to dismiss firearms as a viable threat. Who could blame them, really?

But he knew the truth was far from simple.

He remembered the battle in exacting detail.

Lyra’s hair—it was the closest thing to an ultimate shield he’d ever encountered. Against regular bullets, it would be laughably invulnerable.

But this immunity did not extend to surprise attacks or heavy artillery strikes.

While she could definitely block heavy ordnance from striking her directly, the raw kinetic energy and concussive shockwaves had a real chance of damaging her insides—mangling organs, rattling bones.

The ghostfire spells had already left her with varying degrees of internal injuries, after all.

He sighed deeply.

Shaping the magical society’s perception was only going to get harder from here on out.

And with the selection only a few days away... things weren’t looking good.

Elsewhere, another group of individuals were dealing with very different concerns.

Prince Wittmann, for one, was as white as a ghost.

"I’m so screwed,"

He muttered, pale with fear.

The moment the duel had ended, he had bolted from the manor—rushing to report everything he had witnessed to his direct superior.

The man seated behind the massive mahogany desk listened without interruption, eyes calm and unreadable. Wittmann babbled on, spilling every detail he could recall in increasingly panicked tones.

At last, the man spoke.

"I’m sorry, Prince Wittmann,"

He said evenly

"But you’ve offended a very powerful entity. There’s not much I can do."

The Prince blanched further, which was impressive given how pale he already was.

"B-but you were the ones who sent me on this mission in the first place!"

He sputtered, jabbing an accusatory finger.

"You told me to confirm if Lugh was real or fake!"

The man nodded, unperturbed.

"Yes. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve done your job splendidly. You will be rewarded for it."

He smiled politely before continuing.

"As for protection, please remember—we’re a small underground agency. We neither have the reach, influence, resources, nor—most importantly—the strength to oppose the Von Heim family. Keeping them at bay is simply... impossible."

"In that case—what the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"That would be a question only you can answer, Prince Wittmann,"

The man said, folding his hands.

"Besides, you’re a member of the Royal Family. I sincerely doubt you’re in as much danger as you fear."

At the mention of the Royal Family, something seemed to click in Wittmann’s expression.

"...That’s right,"

He murmured, a light dawning behind his eyes.

"I’m a prince. I’m royalty."

He chuckled under his breath.

"I don’t need to be afraid of the Von Heim family."

The man behind the desk gave him an indulgent smile.

"That’s right, Prince Wittmann."

Wittmann stood abruptly, pausing just before the door.

"Oh, right—before I go. The Lugh I spoke to... was he the real deal? Or a fake?"

The man smiled apologetically.

"I’m afraid I can’t answer that. That decision lies with the upper echelons. I’m just a middleman."

The prince exhaled and nodded.

"Alright then."

He turned and left.

The door clicked shut.

The man’s pleasant expression dropped the moment Wittmann was out of sight, replaced with one of cold distaste.

Seconds later, the door opened again, revealing a portly man with neatly slicked-back blond hair.

A member of the Aelhurst family.

"Oh, Victor—it’s you."

The man behind the desk leaned back.

"What information do you have for me?"

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