Edwin's departing words echoed in Marcellus's mind like a subtle warning—a foreshadowing of things to come, perhaps. His eyes never left the knights as they began their meticulous examination of the crates.
Each knight donned leather gloves, pulling out various items with discerning eyes, sculptures of jade and obsidian, intricately woven fabrics that shimmered under the torchlight, and small caskets of spices that filled the air with exotic scents.
The knights seemed to be looking for something specific, something more than just the obvious wealth contained within the crates.
Their eyes would sometimes meet and exchange a fleeting glance, but their expressions revealed nothing.
What made Marcellus particularly nervous was the somewhat cavalier way they tossed aside certain valuables.
A small statue of a sea Saint of the Church of Storms intricately carved from coral was one of them; it clattered on the ground, left forgotten. Marcellus winced. In another setting, that piece alone could have bought a small ship.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably closer to the time it would take for a kettle to boil, the knights seemed to reach some unspoken consensus. One of them, a burly man with a grizzled beard, looked towards Edwin and nodded.
"Is everything to your satisfaction?" Captain Crowe stepped forward, his voice carrying a note of carefully masked irritation.
"It seems so," Edwin replied, his eyes scanning the assemblage one final time before locking onto Marcellus. "The cargo is as you described. Exotic, valuable, and—most importantly—discreet."
"Discretion is a cornerstone of our business," Crowe affirmed, picking up the undertone in Edwin's voice.
"I'm glad to hear that," Edwin smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "In Mythralis, as you may well know, there are certain items that are worth more than gold or even the rarest gemstones. Information, Captain Crowe, is the most precious commodity of all."
Marcellus felt the weight of Edwin's words. In this city, and likely within the walls of the Governor's mansion
does he mean secrets are the true currency? And in this high-stakes game, the keepers of those secrets wielded immeasurable power.
The tension in the training grounds could be sliced with a knife.
It was like a painting, frozen in a moment, full of faces betraying various shades of thought—nervous, expectant, cautious.
Even the guards in their chainmail seemed to stand with a heightened sense of awareness, their eyes vigilant and hands never straying far from their weapons. The flames of the torches flickered, casting undulating shadows on the ground as if even the fire was aware of the potent atmosphere.
"Is this the whelp you speak of?" Edwin asked Crowe, leveling a flat, almost derisive gaze at Marcellus.
Captain Crowe turned to look at Marcellus and nodded slowly, a calculated move that made Marcellus's stomach churn.
He had always suspected that Crowe knew more than he let on, and the confirmation was unsettling.
Are they going to make me an offer?
Suddenly, Marcellus found himself surrounded.
The knights formed a tight circle around him, their armour gleaming ominously in the torchlight. His crewmates, those whom he'd come to regard as brothers in arms, remained conspicuously behind the encirclement, showing neither intent to assist nor overt signs of collusion.
It was then that Captain Crowe spoke, his voice betraying a tinge of regret.
"Blackeye, before you joined us, you took something—a book—meant for us. You understand that stealing from your own is a grievous offence."
"Simpleton died for this, all the while it was in your hands".
Some of the crew shifted at the last statement.
Marcellus's heart plummeted. The realization washed over him with the force of a tidal wave; the book he'd purloined from the dead cook was a repository of knowledge about the Knights—Knowlege men would kill for.
He had thought it secure, hidden away, but it seemed there were few secrets aboard.
How did they find out? when did he find out?
"The Governor has taken a special interest in that book," Edwin chimed in, his voice as cold as the steel of his armour. "And what the Governor wants, the Governor gets. Isn't that right, Captain Crowe?"
"Indeed," Crowe replied, his eyes meeting Marcellus's for just a moment—a flicker of what might have been regret crossed his features. "I had to make a choice, Blackeye. It's a harsh sea, and at times, even harsher decisions have to be made."
That was all it took to be sold, and betrayed. three sentences.
As the knights closed in to encircle Marcellus's, something primal stirred within him.
He felt a subtle shift in the wind at the nape of his neck, a barely perceptible change that sent his senses into overdrive. The sensation felt like the prelude to a death blow, as if the heavens themselves had whispered a dire warning.
It brought back memories of an ambush in the citadel, during a dream-like ritual.
The similarity was too striking to ignore; it signaled that an attack aimed at his neck was imminent!
In that critical moment, Marcellus chose to defy his fate.
With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Marcellus ducked low and swung his leg in a wide arc, tripping the knight who was reaching for him.
The man stumbled his face a kaleidoscope of surprise that quickly morphed into alarm as Marcellus's heel pommeled the side of his Temporal.
The knight passed out!
Seizing the moment, Marcellus snatched the short sword from the falling knight's scabbard, his movements as fluid as a stream.
Just his body his the floor.
The other knights reacted almost instantly, lunging toward him in a coordinated assault, but Marcellus was ready.
He pivoted on his heel, parrying an incoming blade with the stolen sword, then lunged forward to thrust the point of the weapon into the second knight's abdomen. The man gasped, clutching at his stomach as he fell to his knees.
Another knight swung a blunt weapon—it was too dark to distinguish whether it was a mace or a club—at Marcellus. Deftly sidestepping the strike, Marcellus flicked his wrist and slashed the sword across the knight's throat. Blood sprayed, and the man fell, clutching his neck as he tumbled to the ground.
Just as Marcellus prepared to engage a fourth knight, a booming voice echoed across the training ground. "Enough!"
It was Edwin—whether it was validation of skill or perhaps a deeper understanding of his character.