novelraw Chapter 178 178: Chapter No.178 Enemies? Who Mine?
Chapter 178 178: Chapter No.178 Enemies? Who Mine?
[Location: New York, USA]
A few hundred meters away from Morningstar Manor, a group of individuals, shady individuals, stood on a rooftop facing the imposing manor now visible to them.
"Is this the location?" a rugged voice asked, thick with impatience, like he was one second away from throwing someone off the roof to pass the time.
"Yes," came the reply.
Calm.
Measured.
Too calm for the situation.
The speaker stood at the edge of the rooftop, one hand resting casually in his coat pocket as he looked out over the quiet street.
Morningstar Manor stood in the distance.
Silent.
Unassuming.
Completely wrong.
"You're sure?" the rugged man pressed, stepping forward. "Because if this is another false lead—"
"It isn't," the calm man interrupted.
No raised voice.
No aggression.
Just certainty.
That shut him up faster than a threat would have.
A third figure crouched near the ledge, peering through a compact scope that didn't look entirely technological.
"Visual confirmation matches," she said quietly. "Structure is… inconsistent."
"Inconsistent?" the rugged man echoed.
She adjusted the scope slightly.
"Spatial layering doesn't align with external dimensions. Windows don't correspond to interior depth. Thermal signature fluctuates in non-linear patterns."
She paused.
Then added:
"It's pretending to be a house."
Silence.
The wind brushed across the rooftop.
Below, New York moved as normal—cars, people, distant sirens.
Up here?
Something else entirely.
The calm man finally spoke again.
"That's because it is not just a house."
The rugged man clicked his tongue.
"Yeah, no shit. We were told the target was high-value. Not… whatever this is."
A fourth figure leaned against a rusted ventilation unit, arms crossed, chewing something slowly.
"Feels expensive," he muttered.
"That is not a category," the rugged man snapped.
"It is to me."
The calm man ignored both of them.
His gaze remained fixed on the manor.
"Confirm the signal," he said.
The crouched woman tapped the side of her device.
A faint ripple spread through the air—subtle, almost imperceptible.
Then—
She stiffened.
"What?" the rugged man snapped, already halfway between irritation and action.
The crouched woman didn't answer immediately.
Her fingers tightened around the scope.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"…It's not just there," she said slowly.
"Not just where?" he barked.
"The signal," she replied. "It's not localised."
The man chewing leaned his head slightly to the side.
"Define not localised."
She swallowed once.
"It's everywhere inside the structure. Not broadcasting. Not radiating. It's…" she hesitated, searching for the word.
"Integrated."
Silence.
The wind shifted.
The calm man's gaze sharpened by a fraction.
"Repeat," he said quietly.
"It's integrated," she repeated. "Like it's not coming from a source inside the manor. It is the manor."
The rugged man let out a low whistle.
"That's new."
"No," the calm man corrected. "That's old."
The others looked at him.
He didn't elaborate.
Instead—
"Check again," he said.
The woman adjusted the device.
The ripple expanded this time, deeper.
More intrusive.
For half a second—
Nothing happened.
Then—
The device in her hand flickered.
Not visually.
Conceptually.
The readings didn't distort.
They… reordered.
Her breath caught.
"…It's correcting me."
The rooftop went still.
"What?" the rugged man said.
"It's adjusting the scan parameters," she whispered. "I didn't input that. The system is… compensating."
"Compensating how?" the man chewing asked, now slightly more interested.
She looked up slowly.
"Like it knows what I'm trying to measure."
That—
That made the calm man finally move.
One step forward.
Measured.
Deliberate.
"Stop," he said.
The woman immediately pulled her hand back from the device.
Too late.
A faint pulse—
Not visible.
Not audible.
But felt.
Like something brushing past the edges of perception.
All four of them stiffened.
"…Did you feel that?" the rugged man muttered.
"Yes," the one chewing said flatly, no humour left in his tone.
The woman looked down at her device.
The screen was blank.
Not broken.
Just…
Empty.
Then—
One word appeared.
Not typed.
Not generated.
Placed.
Acknowledged.
Her hand trembled.
"That's not mine," she said quickly.
"I know," the calm man replied.
The wind died completely.
Even the distant city noise seemed muted for a moment.
As if something had leaned closer—
And then leaned back.
The device flickered again.
The word vanished.
Replaced by normal readings.
Except—
They weren't normal.
They were clean.
Too clean.
Every fluctuation smoothed.
Every anomaly… flattened.
Like someone had sanitised the data.
"…We've been seen," the woman said quietly.
The rugged man cracked his neck.
"Good. Saves time."
"No," the calm man said.
But it was already too late.
Click. Clank. Clink.
The sound of high heels on marble. Slow. Icy. Unhurried.
Frost crept across the concrete like a living thing.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just… inevitable.
A thin crystalline layer spread outward from the edge of the rooftop, crawling over discarded cables, rusted metal, and cracked tiles with quiet authority. The air itself seemed to tighten, every breath turning sharper, colder—cleaner.
The sound came again.
Click.
Clack.
Clink.
Measured.
Elegant.
Each step landed with the kind of precision that didn't belong in a city like New York.
The rugged man's grin widened.
"Finally."
The calm man didn't smile.
His gaze lowered—just slightly—tracking the spread of frost rather than the source of the sound.
"…Formation," he said quietly.
The others moved without argument.
The crouched woman slid back, device already gone, posture shifting into something far more combat-ready. The man chewing straightened, the lazy slouch bleeding out of him as his eyes sharpened. The rugged one cracked his knuckles, stepping forward like he'd been waiting for this exact moment all morning.
The frost reached their feet.
Stopped.
Then—
A figure stepped into view.
Silver.
That was the first impression.
Not just hair.
Not just clothing.
Presence.
Grayfia Lucifuge emerged from the rooftop access door as if she had always been there and reality had simply corrected itself to acknowledge it.
Her heels clicked once more against the frost-covered concrete.
Then she stopped.
A few meters away.
Between them and the distant silhouette of Morningstar Manor.
Her expression was calm.
Too calm.
Her silver eyes moved once—slowly—taking in each of them in turn.
Assessment.
Classification.
Verdict pending.
"…You are trespassing," she said.
Her voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It carried.
The rugged man rolled his shoulders.
"And you must be the guard dog."
The temperature dropped another degree.
Grayfia's gaze shifted to him.
No anger.
No reaction.
Just an acknowledgement.
"You will choose your next words carefully," she replied.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a statement.
The man chewing clicked his tongue.
"She's not wrong, Varek."
"Yeah?" the rugged man—Varek—snorted. "She's gonna freeze me for talking?"
"Yes," the calm man said.
Flat.
Immediate.
Certain.
Varek blinked.
Then laughed.
"Good. Finally, something interesting."
Grayfia's eyes moved to the calm man.
There.
A pause.
Not long.
But present.
Recognition?
No.
Not quite.
Interest.
"You," she said softly.
The calm man inclined his head a fraction.
"Greeting, Lady Grayfia Lucifuge."
!!!
Shock spread through the group—subtle, controlled, but undeniable.
Not at her presence.
Not at the frost.
At the name.
Varek's grin faltered just a fraction. The crouched woman's eyes sharpened. Even the one who had been chewing—now very much not chewing—tilted his head with renewed attention.
The calm man, however, remained exactly as he was.
Composed.
Measured.
Certain.
Grayfia's gaze lingered on him a moment longer.
Then—
"…You know me," she said.
"Of course," he replied. "The Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation. Right hand of the Morningstar lineage. Executioner of three Hellfront uprisings. And—"
He paused.
Just slightly.
"—the one who disappeared for a millennium."
Silence.
The air tightened.
The frost beneath their feet creaked faintly.
Varek let out a low whistle. "Damn. You weren't kidding about the homework."
Grayfia did not look at him.
Her eyes remained fixed on the calm man.
"…You speak as if you were there," she said.
"Not personally," he replied. "But history leaves… impressions."
Selene would have called that suspiciously vague.
Grayfia simply observed.
Measured.
Filed.
"State your purpose," she said.
No wasted words.
No theatrics.
Just command.
The calm man's lips curved faintly.
"Don't you already know... my lady~" A smirk finally appeared on the rather calm face.
The smirk lingered.
Small.
Controlled.
Like it didn't belong to a man who smiled often—but knew exactly when to.
Grayfia watched him in silence.
The frost beneath their feet deepened by half a shade.
Not thicker.
Denser.
As if the concept of cold had just been… reinforced.
"…If I already knew," she said calmly, "you would not still be standing."
Varek chuckled under his breath. "I like her."
"Focus," the crouched woman muttered.
The calm man's smile didn't fade.
"Fair," he admitted lightly. "Then allow me to clarify."
He removed his hand from his coat pocket.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A small folded parchment —rested between his fingers.
Old.
That was the first thing about it.
Not just aged paper.
Old in a way that didn't belong to this century. Or the last.
The kind of old that carried intent.
Grayfia's eyes dropped to it.
Just for a fraction of a second.
That was enough.
"Do not," she said quietly, "mistake tolerance for permission."
The calm man paused mid-motion.
Then—slowly—he nodded.
"Understood."
He did not unfold it.
He did not extend it further.
He simply held it there, visible.
Respecting the line she had drawn.
Varek clicked his tongue.
"Oh come on, you're really doing this diplomatically?" he muttered. "We didn't come all this way to exchange letters."
"Be quiet," the calm man said.
Still calm.
Still measured.
But this time—
There was something under it.
Varek, shut up.
Immediately.
Grayfia noticed.
Of course she did.
Her gaze lingered on the parchment again.
Then returned to the man.
"…Speak," she said.
The wind did not move.
The city below continued—cars, distant noise, life—utterly unaware that something had already drawn a boundary around this rooftop.
The calm man inclined his head slightly.
"This," he said, lifting the parchment just enough to acknowledge it without offering it, "is not a threat."
Grayfia did not react.
"It is not a declaration of war."
Still nothing.
"It is," he finished softly, "a notice."
A pause.
Frost creaked faintly underfoot.
"…Of what?" Grayfia asked.
The man's eyes flicked—just once—past her.
Toward the distant silhouette of Morningstar Manor.
"That the Crown Prince of Hell, Son Lilith Morningstar, Grandson of THE Lucifer Morningstar, is still alive... and this notice is already spread all across the factions, no matter how small, every enemy of that bloodline is allowed to hunt him."
The words settled into the rooftop like a verdict carved into stone.
For a moment—
Nothing moved.
Not the wind.
Not the frost.
Not even the city noise below.
Then—
The temperature dropped.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Like reality itself had reconsidered how cold it was allowed to become.
Grayfia's eyes did not widen.
They did not flicker.
They did not betray shock.
But something changed.
A fraction.
A microscopic shift in focus.
From observation—
To eliminate.
"…Repeat that," she said softly.
No anger.
No disbelief.
Just… confirmation.
The calm man obliged.
Without hesitation.
"The Crown Prince of Hell," he said evenly, "Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar—"
The frost cracked.
Not spread.
Cracked.
A hairline fracture shot across the rooftop beneath his feet.
He stopped speaking.
Not because he wanted to.
Because something in front of him had just changed state.
Grayfia took one step forward.
That was all.
One step.
And the air—
Collapsed.
Pressure.
Invisible.
Absolute.
Varek's grin vanished.
The crouched woman dropped instinctively, one knee hitting the frozen concrete as her breath hitched.
The man who had been chewing earlier?
Still.
Very still.
The calm man's coat fluttered slightly—despite there being no wind.
"…You will," Grayfia said quietly, "choose your next words with greater care."
There was no threat in her tone.
Because threats imply possibility.
This was certain.
The calm man studied her.
Really studied her now.
Not the legend.
Not the history.
The present.
The entity standing before him.
Then—
Slowly—
He exhaled.
"…Understood."
He did not finish the name.
He did not repeat it.
But the damage had already been done.
Because Grayfia had heard enough.
Behind her calm expression—
Something ancient stirred.
Not rage.
Not panic.
Calculation.
A thousand years of silence.
A thousand years of preparation.
A thousand years of waiting for this exact moment—
When the world would remember.
And come.
Her gaze shifted.
Just slightly.
Toward Morningstar Manor.
Then back.
"…Who authorised this notice?" she asked.
The calm man's lips curved faintly again.
Back to composed.
Measured.
Dangerously so.
"Authority is… decentralised," he replied. "Once the verification was confirmed, dissemination became inevitable."
"Verification," Grayfia repeated.
"Yes."
A pause.
"Your presence," he said simply.
Silence.
Varek let out a low whistle.
"Damn. So you showing up basically rang the dinner bell."
The crouched woman shot him a look.
"Shut up."
He shrugged.
"I'm just saying. That's rough."
Grayfia did not look at him.
Her attention remained fixed on the calm man.
"…You came," she said, "to confirm."
"Yes."
"And now?"
A small pause.
Just long enough to matter.
"Now," he said quietly, "we decide whether to proceed."
The frost deepened.
Another shade.
Another degree.
"Proceed," Grayfia echoed.
Varek cracked his neck again, a grin slowly returning.
"Now we're talking."
"No," the calm man said.
Flat.
Immediate.
Final.
Varek frowned.
"What?"
"We are not engaging," he continued.
Silence.
The crouched woman blinked.
The man behind them tilted his head.
Varek stared.
"…Excuse me?"
The calm man's gaze did not leave Grayfia.
"We have confirmation," he said. "That was the objective."
"That's it?" Varek snapped. "We just walk away? After all that buildup?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The calm man's eyes shifted—just slightly—toward the frost beneath their feet.
Then back to Grayfia.
"Because," he said simply, "we are not suicidal."
The rooftop went quiet again.
Varek looked between him and Grayfia.
Then back.
Then—
He laughed.
Short.
Sharp.
"…Yeah. Okay. Fair."
The crouched woman exhaled slowly.
Tension easing.
Not gone.
But reduced.
The man behind them shoved his hands into his pockets again.
"Shame," he muttered. "Was starting to get interesting."
Grayfia did not move.
She did not relax.
She did not respond.
She simply watched.
Because retreat did not mean safety.
And she knew that better than anyone.
The calm man inclined his head slightly.
"Lady Grayfia," he said. "Consider this… professional courtesy."
"…Courtesy," she repeated.
"Yes."
A faint pause.
"You were not the intended recipient of this notice," he added. "But you are now aware."
Grayfia's eyes narrowed by a fraction.
"That is not courtesy," she said. "That is provocation."
The man smiled faintly.
"Those two concepts are often adjacent."
Varek snorted.
"Man's not wrong."
The crouched woman sighed.
"I hate all of you."
The calm man ignored them.
His gaze lingered on Grayfia for one final moment.
"…You should prepare," he said quietly.
The frost beneath his feet creaked again.
"You will be hunted," he continued. "Not by us. Not today. But by others."
A beat.
"Some of them will not be… reasonable."
Silence.
Grayfia did not respond.
She did not need to.
Because her silence already said everything:
Let them come.
The calm man nodded once.
As if that was the answer he expected.
"Understood."
He turned.
Just like that.
No dramatic exit.
No threat.
No lingering stare.
He simply walked toward the edge of the rooftop.
Varek blinked.
"…We're really leaving?"
"Yes."
"…Huh."
He glanced at Grayfia one more time.
Grinned.
"Rain check, ice queen."
The crouched woman rolled her eyes and followed.
The last man stretched lazily, already losing interest.
"Wake me when we fight something worth chewing."
Then—
They were gone.
Not teleported.
Not vanished.
Just… no longer there.
Like they had stepped out of relevance.
The rooftop fell silent.
The frost lingered.
Then—
Slowly—
It began to recede.
Not melting.
Unmaking.
Grayfia stood alone.
Silver hair unmoving in the still air.
Her gaze remained fixed on the empty edge of the rooftop for several seconds.
Then—
She turned.
***
Stone me, I can take it!
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