Marcellus couldn't contain his patience any longer.
He burst into the room disrupting the wall of spirituality, his voice resonating with authority. Livius and Finn spun around in alarm, and the woman hurriedly tried to conceal herself, closing her legs in an attempt to regain her modesty.
"Get dressed," Marcellus commanded, his tone unwavering, before swiftly exiting the room to give them the privacy they needed to clothe themselves.
Marcellus closed the door behind him, leaving the trio inside to regain their composure and dress.
As he paced the corridor outside, his mind swirled with a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from shock and disbelief to an underlying sense of unease.
This unexpected encounter with the governor's daughter and his two acquaintances had left him grappling with an intricate web of questions and uncertainties about the world he thought he knew.
Before long, Livius and Finn emerged from the room, their faces flushed with a mix of embarrassment and awkwardness. Marcellus nodded to them, acknowledging their return, but his expression remained inscrutable.
Marcellus made a conscious decision not to broach the subject.
He opted for the "don't ask, don't tell" route, sensing that delving into the matter might only lead to further complications and awkwardness in their already complex circumstances.
Instead, he kept his thoughts to himself.
Livius, known for his impertinence, couldn't simply let the matter slide.
As they walked through the corridor, he couldn't resist a sly grin and a taunting comment directed at Marcellus. "Quite the surprise, wasn't it, blackeye? You should join us next time; it might broaden your horizons."
Marcellus, caught off guard by Livius's audacity, chose not to rise to the bait. He maintained his silence, his expression betraying none of the turmoil within, determined to keep the peace despite the lingering tension.
As Livius couldn't resist a mocking chuckle, taking pleasure in the discomfort he had incited, Marcellus continued to uphold his stoic silence.
He observed as Livius swaggered away, his demeanour now marked by a renewed confidence.
Turning to Finn, Marcellus issued a terse command. "Gather your things. I'm finished working for Edwin."
Finn nodded in understanding and promptly retreated into his room. He swiftly gathered his belongings, and before long, he emerged from the room, ready to depart.
Marcellus and Finn proceeded toward the exit of the governor's house, the hallway slowly revealing itself before them.
Earlier, Marcellus had engaged in a conversation with Edwin, who couldn't resist making a jest as the pair walked past him.
As they approached the exit, Edwin's jest echoed in their ears, a lingering reminder of the complex web of relationships and secrets.
Marcellus and Finn exchanged a knowing glance, silently acknowledging.
Stepping out into the open air, they found themselves bathed in the soft glow of twilight. The world outside the governor's house seemed vast and uncertain, filled with both peril and opportunity. Marcellus had chosen to part ways with Edwin, a decision that held its risks and uncertainties.
With each step they took away from the governor's house, Marcellus and Finn forged a new path, one that would lead them deeper into the shadows of a world fraught with mysteries and dangers.
Perhaps their journey together had only just begun, and the challenges that lay ahead were as unpredictable as the shifting tides of the Tethys Sea.
*********
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***
Outside the governor's quarters, the atmosphere of Mythralis was one of tense anticipation.
The Guards, freshly armoured and still resonating with the fervour of Governor Guthrie's empty promises, were making their preparations under a sky bruised with the coming night.
The training yard was now transformed into a hive of activity as the freshly conscripted men, their faces etched with a blend of determination and trepidation, engaged in rigorous drills under the watchful eye of grizzled guards.
The rhythmic clanging of weapons resonated through the air, a relentless and echoing percussion that served as a constant reminder of the urgency gripping the island. Swords clashed against wooden shields, the metallic ring mingling with the shouts of guards barking orders. Spearheads gleamed in the fading light as they thrust forward in coordinated manoeuvres, and the cadence of boots on the hard-packed dirt filled the training yard.
The evening's shadows grew longer, and an eerie stillness settled over the town of Mythralis. The waterfront, usually a bustling hub of activity, now transformed into a scene of collective intrigue and unease.
The townsfolk had gathered in clusters, their hushed conversations punctuated by anxious glances at the approaching ships.
Six massive vessels loomed on the horizon, their ominous shapes growing clearer with every passing moment.
They sailed towards the island with an almost supernatural grace, their dark hulls contrasting starkly against the fading twilight.
The entire scene felt surreal as if the ships themselves had emerged from the depths of a nightmarish dream.
As the ships drew nearer, whispers of speculation swept through the crowd like a gust of wind. The townspeople exchanged anxious looks, their faces etched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Whatever these vessels heralded, it was clear that Mythralis Island was on the brink of a profound and unsettling change.
The ominous ships eventually came to a halt at what Marcellus assumed to be a distance where their cannons could effectively reach the shores of Mythralis Island. The atmosphere grew tense, and a heavy silence descended upon the crowd that had gathered along the waterfront.
It was as if the entire town held its breath, awaiting the next turn of events.
The six ships that had anchored off the coast remained an ominous presence, their intentions unreadable in the growing darkness.
The air was thick with the smell of tar and sea as battlements and cannons were hauled to the shore, a precautionary measure against the unknown capabilities of the threatening fleet.
The labour was frenetic, the efforts of the townsfolk marked by a desperate speed, as if the pace of their work could somehow fortify their island against the encroaching tide of conflict.
Marcellus turned to Finn, his expression grave. "Watch with the rest of the townsfolk," he advised, his voice low but firm. "No movement can be discerned from the ships, but stay vigilant. Don't let me come looking for you. Find me at the chapel if anything changes."
With those parting words, Marcellus made his way through the anxious crowd, disappearing into the uncertain crowd.
Women and children moved through the streets with a mixture of fear and resolve heading backwards from the shore where fighting would break out if there was fighting, carrying what provisions and belongings they could.
Some sought refuge in their homes, barricading themselves in, while others made their way towards designated areas, guided by the governor's guards.
Marcellus, emerging into this chaos, felt a cold stone of dread in his stomach. The knowledge gained from his mysterious dream with Ayden had taught him that chaos was a breeding ground for the unforeseen and that the only certainty in war was its unpredictability.
Above all this commotion, the night was beginning to assert itself, the stars peeking through the dimming light, indifferent observers to the mortal anxieties below.
Marcellus knew that the coming hours would be critical. He understood that the choices made by individuals and the collective actions of the town would soon converge into a future that none could escape above all he wanted to speak with Priest Corwin.
Marcellus's first stop was the Chapel of Storms, a place that had become a sanctuary of sorts for him.
He made his way towards The Hold, He felt like delving deeper into the tomes and scrolls it contained might hold the key to understanding his abilities as a Hollowed.
There was a sense of urgency in his steps, a feeling that this might be the last time he would have access to these texts.
In the back of his mind, Marcellus contemplated a visit to Martia later in the night. He wanted to bid her farewell, express his gratitude for her guidance, and discuss his training.
She had been a silent yet invaluable teacher over the past two weeks, and he knew there was much he could learn from her, especially about the Sword God Style. Though her words were scarce, her actions and techniques spoke volumes, and he yearned to gain more insight into her martial prowess.
Indeed, Marcellus was slowly concluding that it was time to depart from this island. He had gleaned a wealth of knowledge from The Church without being bound by any contract. Edwin had his own plans, and while Marcellus had not a vague inkling of what they might entail, he wasn't overly curious. His heart yearned to return home to Wisbech, for he believed he had largely achieved his goals and more.
First and foremost, he had mastered the Harmonious Nexus Path, ascending to the status of a Sword Saint both in technique and in Tenma, the battle spirit that fueled his martial prowess.
It also bestowed a sense of autonomy that was invaluable. It was akin to the feeling men had when they carried imposing swords, even if they weren't necessarily expert swordsmen. The mere possession of such a symbol of authority granted a level of independence and respect that extended beyond mere skill.
Secondly, Marcellus had successfully made contact with Ayden. Though uncertain about the method of her response, she had requested that he stay on the island. However, despite this connection, Marcellus had come to the firm decision that he could no longer remain here. With his honed skills and the communication established, he was planning to offer his services to Ayden. He had faith in her noble stature and trusted her with his life, making the prospect of working for her a promising and potentially transformative path forward.
Marcellus had a loose plan in mind. His initial step was to clear his name and vindicate himself in Wisbech, his hometown. After that, he intended to seek out Ayden in a potentially quieter and less tumultuous Wisbech, Mythralis was had become too hot.
No, he wasn't playing the role of a coward, making a mad dash at the first hint of trouble. This was just good old-fashioned self-preservation kicking in, you know, keeping his skin intact and all that jazz.
Lastly, he had acquired the means to navigate to the war front. With sufficient funds at his disposal, he could easily manoeuvre his way through the tumultuous times ahead. He had even considered the daring possibility of commandeering a ship from the bustling docks if the need arose.
With these accomplishments in mind, Marcellus felt the call of home and the yearning to return to Wisbech, where his journey had begun.
Well, if I'm being honest, the whole adventuring thing ain't my style, you know? I'm more of a cosy inn and a warm food kind of person, not the wild, bug-infested broth kind. Don't get me wrong, adventures sound fun and all, but there's just something about a warm blanket and a nice quiet life that's hard to beat.
The night would be long, and the wait for the dawn, even longer.