CHAPTER 313: CHAPTER 313: TOO LATE TO PRAY

Noticing that their destination had suddenly changed, all the men gulped.

The leader leaned forward, speaking to the coachman in a hushed voice.

He asked,

"Um, isn’t the main building the other way?"

The driver replied, his tone devoid of any inflection.

"It is."

A bout of silence followed. The tension thickened.

He asked again, his voice slightly more urgent this time.

"A-aren’t we supposed to head to the main building?"

There was no response.

He didn’t press the issue. Instead, he slowly turned back to his companions, a look of mild panic creeping onto his face.

"What do we do?"

He whispered.

"They’re gonna kill us."

Someone immediately muttered under his breath, voice tight and low.

"Goddammit, I knew we shouldn’t have come."

Though he was exclaiming, his words barely registered beyond the interior of the vehicle.

Another man, the one with his hair slicked back with far too much gel, cut in sharply.

"Calm down, you fools."

"Fools?"

"Sorry boss. I didn’t mean you. I meant—anyways."

He continued,

"If she wanted to kill us, then she’d have done it yesterday. There’s no reason to go through all of this."

"...You’re right,"

Their leader—Iron Dog—replied, lightly rubbing the scar on his chin. He turned to the others.

"What do you think?"

The last of them, a man with a magnificent black beard—one he was absurdly proud of—spoke with a slow, deliberate weight to his words.

"It could be that they don’t want to attract attention by leaving corpses on the streets. If we disappear in this place, no one can do anything."

At that, they all fell into a grim silence.

It didn’t take long for the gel-haired man to speak up again, agitation in his voice.

"That doesn’t seem likely. That would mean everything that happened yesterday was an act."

"It doesn’t have to be an act,"

The leader countered.

"That kid stepping in might’ve just been her way of not getting her hands dirty in public."

He paused.

"Besides... she already told us her name. We’re screwed."

A collective sigh passed through the group.

The man with the black beard suddenly clapped his hands together.

"What are you doing?"

Someone asked sharply.

"Praying,"

He replied without missing a beat. Then, as a thought struck him, he exclaimed,

"Damn it!"

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

The remaining three echoed in unison.

He turned to them.

"We should’ve gone to seek refuge in the church. Confessed our sins. Maybe even joined the clergy."

Again, they all fell quiet.

It took a while before their leader spoke, voice hushed.

"Shit. Why didn’t I think of that..."

The man with the slicked-back hair furrowed his brow, clearly unimpressed.

"I still don’t believe anything will happen to us,"

He said.

"And I definitely don’t think they’re scared of getting their hands dirty. Just look at what happened to the slum rats."

His voice lowered further, darkening.

"That house was a mess. Their leader’s gone. The bodies were just left there. No one knew who did it. The killer is still on the loose."

The buff guy of the group, nose still visibly broken, chimed in, his voice nasally and warped.

"But that happened in the slums. It’s only natural for the murderer to still be on the run."

The one who had made the initial claim shook his head with visible frustration, saying what was on his mind directly.

"All I know is... what you put out is what you’ll deal with. If you go there expecting to die, then yeah, you’ll die. But me? I plan to leave. So it’s more like only you three will die."

Someone sneered.

"If we die, why would you still be alive?"

He responded immediately, unfazed.

"The world works in mysterious ways. Who knows, maybe I’ll be spared... due to my good looks."

Seeing the way the others stared at him, he quickly cleared his throat.

"Either way, you should know that thoughts have power."

"Yeah,"

Yhe leader said, voice suddenly dry.

"My thoughts now are that I’m a member of the Von Heim family. Where’s my truckload of cash?"

The rest of them chuckled.

"Asshole,"

"What did you say?"

"Sorry boss."

...

The carriage rolled to a stop, and they were led the rest of the way on foot.

They walked deeper into the gardens, through winding hedges and empty courtyards, until they reached a lightly trafficked area—secluded and silent.

There, nestled under the gentle shade of swaying trees, stood a gazebo built from smooth ivory pillars.

Its ocean-blue roof and matching floor tiles glistened slightly in the light. Despite its elegance, the location was unnerving in its isolation.

The one Sela normally used had already finished reconstruction, but by that time, she had already grown used to this one.

She sat inside with her legs crossed, dressed in a simple cotton gown of high-quality weave, the kind that whispered wealth without needing to boast. Her posture was relaxed, but her presence still demanded reverence.

Lugh sat beside her, dressed similarly—plain, functional, yet clean. His eyes were glued to the pages of a thick tome on the advanced applications of force control, one he had retrieved from his room’s private library.

He read with a quiet intensity, brow furrowed in concentration.

The moment the men caught sight of her, they froze.

The coachman who had led them here retreated without a word, vanishing silently from view.

"Who is this beautiful lady...?"

One of them whispered.

"It can’t be... can it?"

They had barely begun to mutter amongst themselves when Sela slowly turned her head toward them.

Her expression remained perfectly neutral, but her eyes flashed steely and cold.

She spoke, voice level.

"Come here."

Though neither soft nor harsh, her words travelled clearly, slicing through the air and into their ears with unnatural precision.

They recognised that voice. Instantly.

Almost subconsciously, all four men straightened their postures and approached stiffly.

Lugh raised his head for a moment, briefly glancing at her before returning to his reading.

Most likely, he mused, it was a subtle manifestation of sound magic. His interest in the art grew with each display.

There were no extra chairs. Sela had made sure of that. The implication was clear—they were to stand while she addressed them.

A deliberate power play.

She spoke, slow and direct.

"Do you know why you’re here?"

In situations like this, only the leader was expected to speak. He stepped forward cautiously, voice uncertain.

"Uh—because you... want to punish us?"

Sela glared at him. Her expression didn’t change, but the weight of her gaze was suffocating.

He visibly flinched under the pressure, involuntarily taking a step back.

And at that exact moment, Sela began to speak again.

"That is a wrong answer. You’re here because—"