CHAPTER 316: CHAPTER 316: MASKED DEALS AND POISONED TRUTHS

"We have visitors. From the Cross family."

"Lyra?!"

Sela blurted out, but quickly checked herself, clearing her throat with a soft cough. She asked again, this time more measured,

"Uhm, who exactly arrived?"

The woman responded flatly,

"Lyra Cross is amongst them."

A simple answer. Too simple.

Lugh raised an eyebrow. What kind of response was that? It didn’t really answer the question.

But then, he looked at Sela—and understood that she didn’t care either way.

"Hey, Lugh. Hurry up."

Lugh rose slowly from his seat, turning slightly to face the messenger. His voice came quiet but composed.

"I understand we have visitors from the Cross family... but why exactly is our presence required?"

"Stop asking dumb questions, Lugh. Let’s go,"

Sela said with rising impatience.

The shadow, in contrast, remained collected and formal. She addressed him directly.

"Your presence has been particularly requested, young lord."

"I see,"

Lugh replied, eyes narrowing slightly as thoughts churned in his mind.

"Alright then."

He allowed himself to be led away, walking alongside Sela.

The Cross family duel hadn’t even been two days ago, and already Lyra was visiting.

Lugh wondered what her reasons could be, but either way, this was a valuable opportunity.

With the selection looming—barely a few days away—a serious conversation with Lyra was inevitable. Better sooner than later.

While those thoughts ran through Lugh’s mind, in another part of the city, nestled within one of the wealthiest commercial districts, Victor was preparing to enter the auction hall.

He had been busy throughout the night. Now, even as daylight broke across the rooftops, relief still eluded him. Instead of rest, more and more duties continued to stack upon him.

This, however, was going to be the final stretch.

Whatever came out of it—good or evil—it would no longer be his concern.

He was just a pawn. A piece moved across the board by other hands. But he had played his role and set the stage.

Now it was time for those with true power to clash, violently and without restraint.

The bags under his eyes could be seen from a mile away.

He passed between grand stone pillars and slipped through the towering oak doors of the building.

The atmosphere inside was unmistakably high-class. Sunlight filtered through wide windows overlooking the cobbled streets below.

Exotic potted plants lined the corners, and soft classical music drifted down from above. Was there a live orchestra upstairs? It wouldn’t have been surprising—everything here screamed extravagance.

As his polished shoes moved across the deep red marble tiles—strangely tinted, but undeniably luxurious—Victor crossed paths with several members of high society. Many he recognised.

A woman spotted him first. She approached gracefully, fan in hand, flanked by an entourage.

"Doctor. What a wonderful coincidence. I never knew you were interested in these sorts of events."

Victor responded curtly, like a noble should.

"It’s my honour, Lady Daphne."

She giggled lightly.

"Oh, please, you flatter me."

She gestured toward the children beside her.

"These are my children—Jessica and Thomas."

Then, to them,

"This is the doctor. Say hello."

"Hiiii."

The girl—Jessica—couldn’t have been older than three. Every one of her tiny movements was shadowed by the maidservants.

The boy, slightly older, attempted to imitate his mother.

"I-it’s an honour to—"

"Oh, you don’t need to worry about being formal,"

Victor interrupted with a soft wave of his hand.

"I’m not that kind of doctor."

Lady Daphne pouted playfully.

"You spoil him. They still need to learn proper etiquette for what lies ahead."

Victor gave her a small, indifferent glance.

"You still plan to step into high society, don’t you?"

"Why, of course,"

She replied brightly.

He let out a barely audible sigh.

"What about your husband?"

At that, her eyes grew sharp behind her fan. She held his gaze meaningfully before finally speaking.

"We both know he isn’t long for this world. You ran the diagnostics yourself, didn’t you?"

Victor nodded.

"Yes. I did. But... won’t you mourn him?"

"Of course I will,"

She said, her tone turning faintly theatrical.

"But what happens after that?"

She paused.

"Do I mourn him for the rest of my life? Of course not."

She answered herself smoothly.

"I have to make plans for the future..."

Her voice softened.

"...for my children’s sake."

Victor sneered internally, but none of it reached the surface.

He straightened his coat slightly.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed it is."

"Alright then,"

Victor said, voice distant.

"Once again—it’s been an honour."

She extended her hand. He reached for it, preparing to kiss it, but before he could move his head halfway down, her fingers tightened around his hand in a sudden grip.

"...Hmm?"

Victor looked up, visibly puzzled.

She smiled. A sly, knowing expression.

"Speaking of which, Doctor,"

She said smoothly,

"I heard that things... aren’t going too well with your wife."

Victor’s smile faded. His brow creased.

"Where did you ’hear’ that from?"

She remained composed. Calm. Almost nonchalant.

"Oh, you know... from various sources. A pinch of juicy gossip here and there. A lot of high society ladies have trouble keeping their mouths tight."

He gazed at her for a beat.

"It would seem so."

Then he straightened his suit once more.

"My business is mine—and mine alone."

She dipped into a shallow bow.

"Apologies if my insensitive words might have offended you."

"It’s alright,"

Victor responded coolly.

After she raised her head, he checked his surroundings briefly, then pulled a pocket watch from his coat. He muttered,

"I should get going now."

"It’s been a pleasure."

She dipped into another graceful curtsey as Victor turned and walked away.

Once out of sight, he muttered grumpily under his breath.

"Crazy bitch."

As the daughter of an absurdly wealthy merchant, they could afford his services—freely.

But what they didn’t know was that while he bore the title of doctor, and hailed from a noble house, he was also a mage.

He had noticed it immediately: the slow, systematic poisoning of her husband.

Administered in such minuscule amounts that it produced no visible symptoms. Over the years, it built up—accumulating quietly—until it became something horrifying and irreversible.

There was no way she hadn’t noticed.

Realising that the man’s fate was sealed, and that his wife was almost certainly his murderer, Victor had still done his duty.

He delivered the diagnostics, along with detailed instructions on how to prolong the man’s life—measures he was quite sure were never followed—before excusing himself permanently from their household.

As for her... attempts, he wasn’t insane. There was no way he would let such a venomous snake near him. No matter how bright the colours may be.

If they were so obsessed with becoming "Blue bloods," then they could find themselves another noble.

Victor climbed to the upper floors, weaving through expansive halls, taking deliberate turns and opening doors that were clearly marked for restricted access.

Eventually, he reached a private lounge tucked deep within the auction house. He approached the bartender and flashed a card.

The man didn’t blink. Without a word, he reached under the bar and retrieved a drink from an out-of-sight lower shelf. At the same moment, a large painted rug on the opposite wall shifted silently to the side, revealing a stone passageway.

Victor stepped through and began descending into the underbelly of the building.

As the auction house was relatively important, it’s underground chambers were accessible only through the upper floors. A simple but ingenious design.

After a short descent, Victor emerged from the stairwell into a luxurious underground reception.

Velvet seats, ornate rugs, and dim but tasteful lighting adorned the space.

The administrator greeted him with a customary bow and presented a smooth, full-faced white mask. No design. Just two clean eye slits.

Victor’s build was robust, but common enough. With the mask on, his identity was fully concealed.

The door opened, and he walked into a vast, breathtaking chamber.

Though underground, the ceiling was high, the air crisp and well-ventilated.

Chandeliers, lit by multicoloured flames, formed a brilliant aerial lattice that blanketed the room in warm, shifting light—strangely vibrant, yet never clashing.

Victor didn’t frequent this place. But every noble had visited it at least once or twice.

It didn’t matter. The reaction was always the same.

Awe.

No matter how many times one laid eyes on it, the awe remained.

He was handed a number, then escorted to his seat—an ornate chair at a small circular table, paired with another seat directly across. Just like a high-end restaurant, each pair was assigned two guests.

There were no viewing boxes, no exclusive balconies. Everyone, regardless of status, stood on equal ground. Even if the king himself attended, the most he’d get was a front-row seat.

Victor gave a polite nod to the masked woman opposite him. She returned it. With faces concealed, he couldn’t guess her identity, nor read her expression.

Soon, the lights dimmed.

The announcer stepped onto the stage.

No greetings. No formalities. He launched straight into business.

"Item one. A product from the knock-off alchemy association: Jeffrey’s Foreskin Tablets."

A pause.

"Note: will not regrow your foreskin."

A longer pause.

"We don’t know what the hell it does."

He glanced at the crowd, deadpan.

"Look, no one’s forcing you to buy it."

He raised a card.

"Starting price: one hundred gold coins. Any bidders?!"