Selaphiel dreaded the thought.
Just then, Lugh’s figure lood over her. He had approached at so unknown point, as silent and unobtrusive as a shadow.
She had already used so of her magic on the injury. While it wasn’t as potent as Lugh’s own, it had done well enough to stem the bleeding.
Supporting her good arm, he lifted her to her feet with chanical ease, his eyes calmly scanning the wreckage around them.
"We’re going to need another room"
He said.
"Oh... right."
Isolde snapped back to her senses, blinking rapidly. Her gaze swept over the ruined chamber a second ti.
Splintered furniture, expensive oil paintings torn from their fras, priceless velvet carpets soaked in blood and dust, shattered exotic potted plants. Imported gold and silver fixings lay warped and broken.
The financial branch of the Von Heim family was going to throw a fit, and she had no intention of fixing any of it out of her personal coffers.
The third floor of the manor was exceedingly vast.
While there were higher levels—a fourth, fifth, even a sixth floor—this was the only one marked with exclusive restrictions.
Fortunately, it had no shortage of fully furnished rooms.
The room they were led into bore a markedly different design.
Its elegance was almost theatrical. Potted plants from distant bios filled the corners and alcoves, each one blooming under the ambient light.
Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, bathing the floor and fixtures in vivid jewel-toned hues.
At the center stood a polished rock formation, artfully sculpted and crowned with an artificial fountain that spilled water across the stones in a constant, gentle stream.
The atmosphere was serene, and the temperature pleasantly cool.
Selaphiel was laid on a single-ard velvet couch. The upper layers of her robes had been stripped away, revealing her fair skin and lace undergarnts.
Lugh’s gaze, however, was clinical, focused entirely on the source of the bleeding—her shoulder, where the bullet had lodged.
No veins, arteries, or bones had been damaged. Of course not. Lugh had aid well, after all.
After absorbing the knowledge and experience of thousands of soldiers, his marksmanship wasn’t just transcendent, it was godly.
He reckoned he could easily shoot a fly mid-flight, if he wanted to.
He soaked a clean towel in magically ward water, the heat trailing steam as it touched the air, and began to gently wipe the blood away.
His movents were precise, deliberate. In this mont, he could’ve passed for a battlefield dic or a surgeon, no, perhaps sothing more.
There had been more than a few doctors in Drakensmar, and their skills hadn’t gone to waste.
Hmmm...
Co to think of it, wasn’t he good at... everything?
A disturbing thought crept into his mind: What was he turning into? Was this what it felt like to be divine? To be soone like... Xhi?
He shook his head, driving the thought away like a pest. Returning to focus, Lugh turned to the tools Isolde had prepared—scalpels, scissors, antiseptics, and more.
An impressive surgical tray. But unnecessary.
Magic might pale before firearms in so respects, but it had its own incredible versatility.
"I won’t be needing this,"
He said simply.
Then, turning back to Selaphiel,
"Cooperate with ."
Her strange eyes t his.
"What?"
"...It’s nothing."
He reached out with Force Control, the invisible grip of his magic brushing up against her very flesh.
Since the bullet was embedded inside her, her permission was required—only with her conscious input could his magic breach the sanctity of her body.
Most mages weren’t capable of such a thing. But Selaphiel was no ordinary mage. She was an elf. Her command of mana was staggering.
The bullet rose slowly, pulled free from her flesh. It spun through the air, glinting silver, slick with her blood.
It landed with a delicate clink in a silver dish.
Lugh then flooded her wound with erald-green energy. The skin sealed itself as if rewinding ti, tissues knitting together in seamless motion.
He stood, wiping sweat from his brow.
"I’ll need so new clothes"
Selaphiel murmured.
"I-I can get them for you,"
The antisocial elf piped up suddenly.
She glanced at him for a long, silent second.
"...Please do."
He practically fled the room.
He was nearly at the door when her voice called after him.
"And Zephyr."
He froze in place.
"Y-yes?"
"...Don’t be late."
"...Okay."
Then he vanished beyond the doorway.
Noticing Lugh’s flickering gaze, Selaphiel explained with a small sigh.
"Don’t mind Zephyr. He’s just shy."
Lugh frowned, unimpressed.
"As an elf?"
He refused to believe that a being that had lived for centuries could be described as ’just shy.’
"Sheesh,"
Selaphiel huffed, chiding him.
"Just because soone’s an elf doesn’t an they’re old. That boy is only 21 years old."
"Twenty-one?"
Isolde arched a suspicious eyebrow.
"Is he your son?"
"Oh heavens no,"
Selaphiel answered as she adjusted her robe, smoothing the folds as she covered her exposed skin.
Noting the complete lack of visible reaction from Lugh, she muttered sothing under her breath.
Just then, Jahira spoke, her voice cool but trembling slightly with contained rage.
"So what the hell was that all for?"
Lugh glanced at her. Her tone wasn’t cold as always, but now it seed sowhat unnatural to him
She didn’t need to try so hard. Her towering height made for a solid impression on its own.
Selaphiel responded instead.
"You still don’t understand?"
Lugh exhaled softly through his nose. So lessons couldn’t be explained. They had to be demonstrated.
He raised the revolver again.
"Block this."
Before he could pull the trigger, Isolde yanked his hand down in a panic.
"Are you crazy!?"
"Yes, he is. Soone has to do sothing about that stu—"
Lance’s voice trailed off, silenced by the twin stares of Selaphiel and Jahira. Their eyes told him they still hadn’t forgotten about his humiliating defeat.
He fell quiet.
Selaphiel turned to the others.
"I think you should listen to Lugh’s explanation."
Seizing the mont, Lugh stepped forward.
"As you just saw, the bullet tore through Selaphiel’s shield like it was nothing. Considering how powerful an elf she is, that’s an impressive feat, wouldn’t you say?"
"...Well, I guess it is,"
Jahira admitted begrudgingly.
Lugh continued.
"What you don’t know is that if my hand had been raised just a few inches higher... Selaphiel would be dead by now."
The room fell into utter silence.
Lugh nodded to himself. They were prideful, yes, but not unreasonable.
The re fact that they lived amongst humans ant they could think critically and were quite open minded. sothing many elves struggled with.
He’d t Emrys before. He knew firsthand how deep their arrogance could go.
"Still don’t understand?"
He said, gaze sweeping across them.
"Then let make it very clear..."
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