Chapter 96: Queen’s Gambit
The masked figure groaned, staggering a step as his knees buckled slightly. The once-pristine white mask on his face was now cracked, a jagged fracture running from the brow to the cheekbone—but it remained in place, clinging stubbornly to his blood-smeared face like a symbol of defiance.
"I’ve changed my mind," he said with a light, almost playful laugh. "I’ll be staying a while longer."
Then, after a beat, his smile twisted under his mask, and a rough, rasping chuckle escaped him—darker now, touched with pain.
"Didn’t expect some kids from that academy to hit that hard..."
"But... manageable," he added confidently, brushing soot and debris from his once-flawless black suit. His fingers moved with habitual care, as though straightening a uniform before a formal duel.
"You’re bleeding. How can you say that?" Aveline called out, her voice flat but laced with disbelief. Her eyes flicked to the thin trail of blood running down his leg, a slow, crimson stream staining the edge of his polished boot.
"Oh please, this?" he scoffed, lips curling into a smile beneath the fractured mask. He snapped his fingers with a casual flick, and in an instant, golden energy surged through his body. Flesh reknit itself, the wound on his leg sealing shut with unnatural speed, not even a scar left behind. It was as if time had rewound for his body—but not his arrogance.
"I was merely trying to test you three... and I can say that you passed with flying colors," he chuckled, arms stretched wide like a showman concluding his grand act.
"How about joining us?" he asked, tone suddenly diplomatic, almost friendly. "You’re investigating that Eastern Dragon myth, right? We may be able to help..."
He tilted his head, voice smooth and enticing. "We have the same goal after all." Another quiet laugh followed, drenched in layered meaning.
Marcus didn’t flinch. With slow precision, he raised his pistol—this time only one—and leveled it directly at the masked figure’s chest, finger relaxed but ready. His other hand curled loosely by his side, tension hidden in the quiet poise of a gunslinger who’d seen too much.