"Blackeyed," the priest's voice resonated in the chapel, sending shivers down Marcellus' spine. "You have come, I heard you fought well"
Marcellus stepped forward, the cold stone floor beneath his Sandals. The air in the chapel felt heavy with anticipation as if the very walls were listening to their conversation.
"I tried my best," Marcellus replied, his voice barely above a whisper, mindful of the sacredness of the place.
The priest's single blue eye seemed to pierce through Marcellus as if searching for something hidden deep within his soul. "Go below, Livius will help you with the books, I do hope you get better with the sword, fast" he replied, his words laden with meaning.
Ralf stood nearby, a silent observer in the shadows, his presence adding to the atmosphere of intrigue and uncertainty. The chapel, with its dark corners, was the perfect setting for the unfolding of the web of mysteries that bound Marcellus to the fate of Mythralis.
…
As Marcellus walked through the below corridors of the chapel, passing by the alchemical room and the intersection, he eventually found himself in a room, the hold where an array of tomes and scrolls were carefully stored.
The room was bathed in a soft, dim light emanating from a solitary lanthorn, casting long, dancing shadows on the shelves and ancient texts.
In this subdued illumination, Marcellus caught sight of a young boy engrossed in reading. The lanthorn's gentle glow barely illuminated the contours of his youthful face. He appeared to be in his early teens, with features that exuded an air of innocence and curiosity.
The boy's dark eyes, almost like pools of deep mystery, were fixed intently on the pages before him. His short brown hair, neatly trimmed and styled, could be described as a hightop, adding a touch of youthful charm to his appearance. He sat with a posture of eager attentiveness, his soft hands delicately tracing the lines of the ancient texts as if trying to unlock the secrets they held.
Draped in a blue robe, the standard attire for the laity of the Church of Storms, the boy seemed like a dedicated acolyte, completely absorbed. The robe hung gracefully on his slender frame, its hue a stark contrast to the muted colours of the room.
"It is Livius, isn't it? " Marcellus asked after taking off his mantle and hanging it by a stool.
Livius frowned and pointed at the partition without raising his head. "Hanging it there don't just drop it anywhere pirate"
Marcellus sighed as he hung his mantle, he doesn't like pirates huh, I am barely qualified as a privateer much less a pirate, heh, this is Mythralis, Back in Wisbech such behaviour was tantamount for asking to be beaten. Is he acting this way because of Corwin?
Without waiting for Marcellus to ask another question, Livius looked up and said as though he was pondering over a matter, "Pirate, I have a question that has always puzzled me about you."
"What is it?" Marcellus was puzzled.
Livius said with a sly smile and a relaxed tone, "Why the hell didn't you fork over that diary to Captain Crowe right away? Or are you just a filthy, thieving rat at heart?"
"It likely has to do with how I was not aware he was looking for it in the first place" answered Marcellus with a stoic surmise.
Livius sighed before turning to look straight into Marcellus' eyes.
With a sarcastic grin, he added, "So, you're saying you're just a clueless pawn? Doesn't exactly make you look any better, does it?"
In Mythralis, a city shrouded in secrets and intrigue, being uninformed was a vulnerability one could ill afford. It was a harsh lesson, one that served as a stark reminder of the unforgiving nature of this place and the need to be more vigilant in the future.
Livius continued with a mocking smirk, his tone laced with biting sarcasm, "Oh, I see. So you thought I'd consider that feeble excuse? Well, let me tell you, it's downright hilarious! At first, I figured you'd been mentally corrupted, that's how utterly foolish your actions were. Captain Crowe mentioned you were acting like a halfwitted rat aboard the viper, and Father Corwin even suspected you might be genuinely tainted by that diary. We were all worried, thinking you'd gone mad or become possessed. But lo and behold, you miraculously pulled through, and some wild rumours even claim you defeated a hybrid wereshark. Yet here you are, not mad, just pathetically dumb."
He delivered his words with a venomous sneer, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Having said that, he locked eyes with Marcellus and let out a small, sardonic smile. Livius chuckled as he shifted the conversation. "So, did you manage to best Martia?" He paused briefly, then added with a self-deprecating tone, "Who am I kidding?"
Marcellus could sense his anger simmering, a Sword Intent similar to Killing or Murder Intent, beginning to envelop him. The atmosphere grew dense and suffocating as if an invisible sword hovered threateningly.
Though Livius didn't see it visibly, he keenly perceived the oppressive air, as though an actual blade were poised at his throat and sliced through it. Instinctively, he reached for his neck, discovering there was no physical injury.
He let out a forced, uneasy chuckle, trying to diminish the overwhelming tension in the room.
"Martia made me pass out, and you... well, you're not exactly impressive, are you?" Livius taunted, seemingly unafraid.
Marcellus chose not to respond directly to the taunt. Instead, he maintained his composure and replied, "I won't bother defending myself. This isn't why I came here. Your jests lack humour."
After the tense exchange, Marcellus and Livius remained wary of each other.
Livius composed himself and gave a final statement. "The books are over there," he pointed towards the partition, then added, "I'll need to head to the armoury to collect the bullets."
"May The Lord bless you." Livius smiled as he gestured.
He watched Livius pass through the partition and listened to his footsteps down the corridor. Livius's smile gradually vanished as a look of doubt appeared in his dark eyes.
He whispered something with a displeased tone.