NOVEL WEB Chapter 196: Who Sent You?
One spritz.
Then two.
A third, just because he was feeling petty.
A deep, velvety blend—dark oud, smoky vanilla, and just a whisper of infernal spice.
Instant weaponized allure.
He ran a hand through his hair—messy but sculpted, just enough to look like he didn't try.
[Aura calibrated. You look like an expensive mistake.]
"Perfect," Lux muttered.
The door buzzed again.
Lux grabbed his phone and walked to the front, already preparing some sarcastic welcome for Mira's underlings. Maybe something like 'I thought dragon princesses understood punctuality' or 'you dragons ever heard of 45 minutes?'
He unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist.
The smile died in his throat.
Because the people waiting?
Not dragon servants.
Not Mira's polished chauffeur team.
No suits. No uniforms.
No insignias.
Instead, three massive men stood in the hallway. Broad. Shaved heads. Scarred knuckles. The type of guys who looked like they did underground cage fights for fun, not money. Their jackets were heavy and long, but Lux could feel the weapons. Energy blades or cloaked tech. One guy even had the faint outline of a body tattoo that glowed beneath his collarbone—a sigil that didn't belong to any house Lux recognized.
Lux had never seen any of them before.
"...I thought I was getting 45 minutes," he said coolly.
One of the men stepped forward, shoulders rolling with the kind of calm that came from knowing they outnumbered you.
"You Lux Vaelthorn?" the man said, voice low and gravel-wrapped.
Lux narrowed his eyes.
"Depends," he replied slowly, "Are you here to flirt or fight?"
Another of them stepped to the side—blocking the hallway exit with deliberate ease.
Lux tilted his head. "Okay. Not Mira's people."
The guy up front nodded. "Lux Vaelthorn. Confirmed."
[Sir, threat level rising. Unknown faction. Scanning identities—no matches in the open registry. Attempting deeper scan now.]
Lux didn't move. Didn't breathe loud.
He just… looked.
And behind his calm, his brain was running calculations.
These weren't amateurs. Their shoes weren't polished. Their eyes weren't darting. They weren't nervous. Which meant they weren't hired thugs.
Which meant—
Professional hunters.
Possibly mercenaries.
Possibly worse.
One of them finally broke the silence again.
"We're gonna need you to come with us."
Lux's eyes flashed red. Just briefly.
"Oh," he said, voice like molten glass. "Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?"
The man hesitated. Just for half a second.
[Confirmed—no celestial signature, no demonic signature. These are mortals. Enhanced, yes, but not divine.]
Lux exhaled through his nose and smiled.
A slow, crooked smile curved across Lux's lips.
"What do you guys want?" he asked, voice smooth as bourbon and twice as dark.
No answer.
Just silence.
Not twitchy. Not showy. Not amateurs. They didn't smell like desperation or cheap tech oil. These weren't freelancers gunning for the 89 billion bounty on his head.
They were another thing.
Hired silence.
Lux's gaze flicked across their builds. Ex-military? Corporate clean-up? Black market containment squads?
Didn't matter.
He leaned casually on the doorframe, energy lazy but tightly coiled, like a predator stretching after a long nap.
"I've got good news and bad news," he said.
"Good news: I am Lux Vaelthorn."
The man on the right shifted subtly. Adjusting stance, not attacking—just preparing. Like Lux had just confirmed their target.
"Bad news?" Lux continued, letting his voice drop lower. Seductive. Unsettling. "I don't go with anyone. Especially not knockoff mercs who didn't even bother to dress the part."
Still no answer.
The lead man twitched. Subtle. Jaw tight.
"You should leave," Lux said softly. "Before this gets—"
One moved.
Fast.
His hand darted into his coat.
Lux's reaction was faster.
He simply dodged. A clean one.
The man let out a startled grunt. "What the hell—?"
Lux tilted his head. "Oh. Did I forget to mention? I don't just do finance."
[Shall I alert ITPS?]
"No," Lux muttered under his breath, stepping forward. "Let's not waste their time. This isn't a raid. It's pest control."
The hallway lights dimmed. Slightly. Subtly.
Enough to make normal men sweat.
These weren't normal. But they weren't demons, either. And Lux knew fear when it curled behind stoic eyes.
He took one deliberate step forward.
All three men reacted—tiny flinches. Weight shifting. Hands tensing.
"Tell whoever sent you," Lux said, his voice losing every drop of humor, "I'm not some broken contract to collect."
He stopped just inches from the front man.
"I am the clause."
Then—he snapped.
"Get. Out."
He meant it.
The tension snapped.
The first punch came from the left. Lux dodged under it, twisted his torso, and slammed an elbow into the attacker's ribs. A grunt—followed by a second man charging low.
Lux spun. Kicked out a leg—caught the second one in the gut and sent him crashing into the hallway wall with a dull thud.
The third reached for Lux's arm. Mistake.
Lux grabbed his wrist, twisted it until something snapped, then drove his palm into the man's chest, sending him sprawling back with a growl.
Three attackers. Four moves. Over in seconds.
The shadows hissed at Lux's feet, hungry for more.
But just as he took a breath—
-Click!
The cold, unmistakable press of a gun muzzle settled against the base of his spine.
Lux froze.
Voice low. Calm.
"Didn't know we were bringing toys," he muttered.
The leader—still kneeling in front of him—finally looked up.
Eyes hard.
"Orders are to bring you in."
[Firearm identified. Suppressed. Armor-piercing. Mortal tech.]
"Who sent you?" Lux asked.
Still, no answer.
He glanced sideways—just enough to catch the faint glint of metal and the tremor in the gunman's hand.
Fear. Not uncertainty.
Whoever sent them knew his name. Knew his room. Knew just enough to make this very personal.
And that?
That meant it wasn't random.
It was a message.
Lux let out a slow, unamused breath.
"…All right," he said. "Let's talk."
But his smile?
That was still razor-sharp.
Because the moment that trigger hesitated—
He planned to end all of them.