Salvation Through Delusion C52

Chapter 52

Unlike his usual composed tone, Tyroc’s voice carried a cold, commanding weight that made several people flinch in surprise.

Was he about to fight Grand Duke Borhumi himself—?

But then, everyone realized Tyroc’s gaze wasn’t fixed on Zab. It was aimed elsewhere.

Where?

Still fuming, Zab was the first to turn—and his eyes widened when he saw who stood by the Gold Room’s entrance. A dark-skinned, well-composed woman.

“Solongo?”

He recognized her instantly, having met her a few times before. The moment he spoke her name, the power gathered in his hand dissolved.

What is Lantua’s right hand doing here?

Not only Zab, but nearly everyone recognized her. After all, there was hardly a soul in Tuvine’s upper circles who wouldn’t recognize the deputy head of the Adeye Trading Guild—the second most powerful figure under Lady Lantua herself.

Her reputation for competence was almost legendary. Zab had even tried once to recruit her into his own operations, only to fail miserably. Solongo was as difficult to meet as Lantua herself.

So what on earth was she doing here, of all places?

Completely unfazed by the eyes fixed on her, Solongo offered a polite bow before letting her sharp gaze sweep across the room.

“What brings you here?”

Her steady eyes locked directly onto Zab.

“Greetings, Your Grace. I am here under direct orders from my mistress—to locate Lord Adeye Rue.”

Zab’s brow furrowed before he could stop himself. Solongo had come personally to search for that useless libertine? He forced his expression into something nonchalant, twisting his mouth into a mocking smile.

“Rue? He’s probably off somewhere having the time of his life with some man. Why bother looking for him?”

He turned to the others, seeking agreement.

“Am I wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time Adeye Rue disappeared with some man. If there’s a man in sight, he’d chase him to the ends of the earth!”

A few people chuckled—but the laughter died instantly when Tyroc’s cold voice cut through the air.

“What happened to Adeye Rue?”

Solongo inclined her head respectfully toward him as well. Her voice was calm but steady.

“He disappeared shortly after arriving here.”

“Disappeared?” Tyroc’s tone sharpened. “On what grounds?”

“The defensive artifact affixed to his clothing activated. I personally witnessed the linked gemstone shatter before my eyes.”

Defensive artifact?

Murmurs rippled through the room. Even the idea that Rue had been wearing such a priceless object was astonishing—but the fact that it was linked to another device? That was something beyond mere wealth.

Such artifacts weren’t things one could simply purchase. No mage in all of Tuvine possessed the skill to craft magic of that complexity.

If the Adeyes had one, it was likely an ancient relic—something once reserved for the royal family itself.

“Are you saying Adeye Rue had a top-tier defensive artifact on him? That’s absurd!” Zab’s voice rose with disbelief.

Solongo’s expression subtly shifted.

“Is there a reason he shouldn’t have one, Your Grace?”

Zab flinched. Just slightly—but enough. The reaction was fleeting, but it didn’t escape her notice.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him, and Zab—realizing his mistake—snapped back with hauteur.

“How dare you question me? Know your place.”

“My apologies,” Solongo replied smoothly, bowing her head. But Zab continued berating her, desperate to bury his earlier slip.

“No matter how successful the Adeye Trading Guild is, you’re still no noble. What gives you the right to enter this place? Who allowed you in?”

“I was graciously sent an invitation by the club itself.”

With that, she held up the golden card in her hand.

“I know this is hardly a place that suits my station, but the matter is urgent, and I had no choice but to intrude. Do you happen to know anything about Lord Rue’s whereabouts?”

“How would I—” Zab stopped himself, forcing out a strained chuckle. “How would I know where Adeye Rue’s gotten off to?”

He smiled again, but the corners of his mouth twitched uncontrollably. Solongo’s steady gaze didn’t waver, and his forced grin quickly twisted into anger.

“Lower your eyes,” he snapped. “You have no right to look at me like that.”

“My apologies,” Solongo replied, voice perfectly even. “But Lady Lantua is gravely concerned for Lord Rue.”

“Lady Lantua?”

Zab hesitated. The Adeye matriarch was one of his greatest patrons. He couldn’t simply dismiss her name.

Still, it made no sense. Lantua had always regarded her brother as little more than a nuisance. Everyone knew they weren’t on good terms.

“I wasn’t aware the Adeye matriarch cared so much for her brother.”

“Lord Rue survived a near-fatal encounter with a monster. Naturally, she’s concerned for him.”

“Ah… of course.”

Damn it. Zab bit back the curse, then gestured irritably.

“Adeye Rue isn’t here. Leave.”

But Solongo didn’t move. Her eyes remained fixed on him, calm but sharp, until his voice rose, losing composure.

“What are you waiting for? I said leave! This isn’t your place!”

Finally, she bowed and retreated. But before stepping out, she paused, turning to lock eyes with Tyroc—just for a heartbeat—before vanishing beyond the doorway.

The moment she was gone, Zab burst into loud, exaggerated laughter.

“Lady Lantua’s wasting her time. I’m sure her dear brother’s out there drunk and rolling around with some man!”

He broke off, laughing louder still.

“Ha! Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got drunk and threw himself into a river—”

The laughter died mid-breath. Tyroc was staring at him, and the smile that usually adorned his lips was gone.

The sheer unfamiliarity of that expression—a face stripped of its usual composure—sent a chill crawling up Zab’s spine.

Why the hell is he looking at me like that?

“Tyroc, what’s with that face? Oh, wait, it’s your turn now, isn’t it? Even if your divine beast is gone, you’re still a grand duke—don’t you think you should keep up appearances? Sitting here like you belong when you’re not even a—”

“Where is Adeye Rue?”

Zab froze. “Why are you asking me that—don’t try to twist—”

“Stop deflecting.” Tyroc’s golden eyes locked onto his, gleaming darkly, as if seeing straight through every lie and flicker of guilt.

“I don’t care what’s going on between you and him. I asked where he is. You’re still the same, Zab. Whenever you panic, your voice rises and you start shouting your denials.”

“Don’t spout nonsense! I’m not—”

He cut himself off too late, realizing his voice was raised. His jaw tightened, but his expression betrayed him. Tyroc’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“You haven’t changed a bit. Still grinding your teeth when you can’t control your temper.”

Zab tried to relax his jaw, but it only made his movements look more forced—more obvious. Everyone’s eyes were on him now, and humiliation burned up his neck.

“Tyroc,” he spat, “you must be dying to get thrown out using divine power.”

He raised his hand again, magic gathering—water swirling into a vortex in his palm.

Altan turned toward Tyroc, panicked.

Do something!

But Tyroc only watched, almost lazily.

“You don’t even have the skill to throw me out.”

Altan gasped. “Tyroc! Stop that—just tell him the truth! You’re already a member!”

The words were barely out when Zab hurled his magic.

Whoosh—!

The air screamed as the tiny sphere of water exploded into a massive torrent aimed straight at Tyroc.

To the onlookers, it seemed certain that the seated grand duke would be struck full-on.

But in the blink of an eye, his body simply vanished—replaced by a flash of lightning.

Then—

BOOM!

An explosion roared through the room, shaking the entire building. The back wall split open, ceiling tiles and chandeliers crashing down as people screamed and scrambled for cover.

Crack—!

“Run! Get back!”

When the dust finally settled, the once-grand Gold Room lay in ruins. Most of the guests had fled outside. Only a few remained, crouched beneath tables or behind furniture.

The only two still standing were Tyroc and Zab.

And every remaining gaze was fixed on Tyroc.

He had blocked a divine power strike—with sword aura alone.

That was impossible. In all of Tuvine, everyone knew: no mortal power could counter a divine one.

Yet Tyroc had done it—and effortlessly at that.

Even now, calm and unruffled, he stood amidst the wreckage, golden eyes glinting like the heart of a storm.