As the first light of dawn crept over Mythralis, it gently coaxed the world from darkness, painting the sky in hues of soft gold and pale blue.
Remnants of the night's drama slowly faded, leaving only subtle traces of its existence.
The alcove, which had served as a stage for a clandestine nocturnal encounter, now lay bathed in the serene morning sun.
Early rays filtered through the aperture, casting a soft glow on the room and revealing the signs of the night's hidden drama.
Marcellus, the first to emerge from the depths of sleep, blinked into the new day, initially oblivious to the events that had transpired while he slumbered.
The tranquil morning light offered no hint of the turmoil that had unfolded mere feet from where he lay.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he reached instinctively for his cutlass-like sword, which lay in its usual place by the bed.
Marcellus's eyes instinctively scanned the room.
His movements were automatic, a routine check of his surroundings and belongings. But what he saw next brought him abruptly to full alertness.
There, in stark contrast to his memories of the previous evening, was a sizable crevice in the wall – a jarring anomaly in the otherwise familiar setting.
A sense of unease gripped him as he stood to investigate.
He rose swiftly, his heart rate accelerating as he took in the extent of the damage. The wooden walls bore the unmistakable marks of a sword, adding to his bewilderment.
The rough edges of the hole spoke of sudden, violent force, a testament to an unseen struggle.
His eyes then caught the tell-tale marks of a sword on the wooden walls, each scar a piece of the puzzle he was trying to piece together. The sight of dried blood on the floor sent a shiver down his spine. It was undeniable now; a battle had taken place here.
The sight cemented his suspicion, questions raced through his mind; When? Why? How could such a conflict have unfolded right where I slept without waking me?
With each step he took around the room, the questions multiplied.
He quickly examined the door, searching for signs of forced entry, but found none.
This deepened the mystery.
Was I drugged? he wondered, a mix of anger and bewilderment colouring his thoughts.
As he pieced together the evidence, a narrative began to form in his mind.
His detective's mind began to weave the scattered clues into a coherent narrative. Ingrid, the woman he had shared a bed with, had somehow rendered him defenceless, likely for her gain.
I did say she goes to the highest bidder, he thought bitterly, the sting of betrayal palpable.
Trying to quell the rising storm of emotions, he sat down at the table beside the bed.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and suspicions. As he waited for Ingrid to awaken, he planned his approach, rehearsing the questions he would ask, each one designed to unravel the truth of what had transpired in the night.
As the morning sun rose higher, casting its light deeper into the alcove, Marcellus remained seated, silently lost in thought.
The silence of the room was a stark contrast to the upheaval in his mind. He replayed the events leading up to that night, searching for any clue he might have missed, any indication that could explain the chaos that had clearly unfolded while he was unconscious.
His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of stirring from the other side of the room.
Ingrid was waking up.
Marcellus's gaze shifted towards her, his eyes narrowing as he watched her slowly come to consciousness.
The moment of reckoning was at hand.
Ingrid, unaware or aware of the night's events or the turmoil raging within Marcellus, blinked sleepily and stretched in her green dress.
She caught Marcellus's intense gaze and paused, a frown creasing her brow. "Blackeye, what's wrong? You look... agitated," she said, her voice laced with concern.
Had she not expected to see me here? alive?
Marcellus took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Ingrid, do you know what happened here last night?" he asked, his tone deliberately neutral, though his eyes betrayed a hint of suspicion.
Ingrid looked genuinely perplexed. "Last night? We just... we went to bed, didn't we? Why, what's happened?"
Her eyes widened as she took in the crevice in the wall and the dried blood on the floor. "Blackeye, what is all this? Mr Doan will ask for compensation!"
The sincerity in her voice gave Marcellus pause.
Was it possible that she was just as unaware as he was of the events that had transpired? He studied her face, searching for any sign of deceit, but found none.
"Ingrid, surely you can tell there was a fight here last night. Right here in this room. And I slept through it all," Marcellus explained, his voice a mix of confusion and frustration.
Ingrid, taken aback by the intensity of his tone, hesitated for a moment. "Blackeye, I… I don't know what you're talking about. We just went to sleep, that's all I remember," she replied, her voice wavering slightly.
Marcellus watched her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. The pieces of the puzzle weren't fitting together.
If Ingrid had no hand in what transpired, then who did? And more importantly, why?
The room, now drenched in sunlight, seemed to mock his confusion.
The truth of the matter was elusive, hiding just beyond his grasp.
Marcellus stepped closer, the cutlass-like sword from the corner of the bed now in his hand, as a threat, a symbol of his resolve.
"Ingrid no Ginger, look around. This room tells a different story. There was a fight here, and I need to know why. Were you involved? Did you drug me? You must answer truthfully." His questions came out sharp and fast, each one laced with a growing sense of betrayal.
Ingrid recoiled slightly, her eyes widening. "Blackeye, you can't think I'd be a part of something like this. I…"
"Then explain this!" Marcellus interrupted, gesturing towards the crevice and the dried blood. "Explain why I didn't wake up when my life could have been in danger!"
The room was heavy with tension.
Ingrid looked down, her silence filling the space between them. Marcellus's grip on his sword tightened, his patience unravelling.
Finally, Ingrid spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "I… I was approached by some men. They offered me a lot of money, Blackeye. They just wanted me to ensure you'd sleep through the night, I drank it as well. I didn't know they were going to… to fight or… I swear, I thought it was just a harmless prank."
Marcellus felt a cold wave of realization wash over him.
The betrayal cut deeper than he had anticipated. "Who approached you? Who were they?" he demanded, struggling to keep his emotions in check.
Ingrid shook her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I don't know. It was a cloaked figure, and they didn't reveal their face. Blackeye, I'm so sorry. I never thought…"
Marcellus stepped back, the sword lowering to his side.
The truth was out, but it brought no comfort he naturally suspected as much, only more questions and a deep sense of betrayal.
He needed to find out who was behind this, who had manipulated the events of the night for their unknown purposes.
Leaving Ingrid to her remorse, Marcellus set out, determined to uncover the identity of the mysterious figure and the reason behind the attack.
The morning sun, now fully risen, cast long shadows behind him as he left, a symbolic reminder of the darkness that still lurked beneath the surface of their seemingly peaceful world.