Marvin pushed open the creaking wooden doors, stepping into what could only be described as a shell of a mansion. The air inside was heavy with dust and the faint smell of mildew. Moonlight spilled through broken windows, highlighting just how far this place had fallen.
The grand foyer wasn't grand anymore. Cracked marble tiles spread unevenly across the floor, weeds poking through the gaps. A massive chandelier hung above, its crystals dull and tangled with cobwebs, swaying slightly as if to mock him.
The staircase leading to the second floor was missing several steps, and the remaining ones looked ready to collapse if anyone dared use them.
Marvin's eyes drifted to the walls, where faded tapestries clung in tatters, barely concealing the crumbling plaster behind them. Above the fireplace on the far end, a portrait hung crookedly. The figure in it was indistinct, hidden behind layers of grime and time.
He sighed, shaking his head. This was supposed to be his "mansion," but it was more like a grave for better days.
To his left, a pair of doors stood ajar, leading to what he guessed was the dining hall. Curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped inside. The long dining table in the center was warped and cracked, its once-polished surface now a playground for rats. A few chairs were still standing, though most were broken or missing legs.
Above, part of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving a jagged hole that exposed the wooden beams—and the stars. Puddles of water dotted the floor, a testament to how often this place was forgotten during rainstorms.
"Lovely," Marvin muttered, brushing off the dust on a chair before sitting. He immediately regretted it as the chair creaked ominously under his weight.
He looked around, his eyes catching on the faint scratches and gnaw marks on the edges of the table. The silence in the room was broken only by the occasional sound of scurrying rats and the groan of the structure itself.
After a moment, he stood and wandered back to the main hall. A quick glance at the broken staircase told him the second floor would remain unexplored—for now. Instead, he turned toward the hallway on the right, leading to what used to be the bedrooms.
The first room he peeked into was stripped bare. The bed frame was broken, the mattress gone, and the walls had long since surrendered to decay. The second was much the same, though it had the bonus of a bird's nest perched on the windowsill.
Returning to the foyer, Marvin leaned against the edge of the broken staircase and let out a long sigh. "This isn't a mansion. It's a haunted house waiting for its ghost."
The faint glow of the system's text flickered in the corner of his vision, but he ignored it for now. His mind was too busy grappling with the reality of his situation. He was supposed to live here. Somehow.
"Well," Marvin muttered to himself, pushing off the staircase and brushing the dust from his hands. "Guess I've got my work cut out for me."
For now, he needed rest. But as he looked around at the ruins, he couldn't help but remember the system's words "Your journey begins now."
Marvin slumped into the rickety chair beside what was once a grand fireplace. The stone hearth was cracked, with chunks of it scattered on the floor, and the logs inside were nothing more than rotting wood and ash. He stared at the broken portrait above, lost in thought.
This past month had been a whirlwind of humiliation and despair. Banished by his father, stripped of his title, and sent to this wasteland masquerading as a kingdom, Marvin had tried drowning his sorrows in drink, but even that seemed to mock him now.
He rubbed his temples, replaying the events over and over. His father's cold decree. His siblings' indifferent gazes. The weight of the judgment had hit him hard, but what stung most was the realization that no one in the royal court had spoken in his defense.
"This is my life now," he muttered bitterly, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
But Marvin wasn't just an alcoholic drowning in self-pity. Beneath his flaws was a man who, at his core, cared for people even if he didn't show it the way he should. That night at the brothel had reminded him of that in the most chaotic way possible.
He'd been at the brothel, nursing his sixth or maybe seventh drink. He couldn't remember. The scent of cheap perfume mixed with alcohol filled the air as he lounged lazily on a couch, his eyes half-lidded as he watched one of the dancers.
"Marvin, you gonna pass out, or are you actually awake this time?" one of the girls teased, flicking a feathered fan his way.
"I'm enjoying the view," Marvin slurred, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "Don't ruin the mood."
The moment was short-lived.
A loud crash shattered the atmosphere, the front door of the brothel splintering into pieces. Everyone froze, their laughter dying as three no, four figures in dark cloaks stormed in. The room filled with screams as they began overturning tables, smashing bottles, and scattering patrons.
"What the hell?!" Marvin groaned, trying to focus through his drunken haze.
The cloaked intruders ignored him, throwing chairs and shoving frightened workers aside. One of them grabbed the madam by her collar, demanding money, while another set fire to one of the curtains.
Marvin stood unsteadily, the room spinning around him. His anger flared despite the alcohol clouding his senses. "You scumbags," he roared, pointing a shaky finger at them. "How dare you ruin my night?!"
One of the intruders turned toward him, clearly unimpressed by the drunken prince. "Sit down, young man. This doesn't concern you."
"Young man?!" Marvin barked, stumbling forward. "I'll show you old bastard!"
He grabbed an empty bottle from the table and hurled it toward the nearest intruder. It missed spectacularly, smashing into the wall behind them, but it was enough to grab their attention.
"Is he serious?" one of them asked, laughing as they stepped closer to Marvin.
Marvin didn't care about their mocking. The adrenaline rushing through him burned away the alcohol, and for a brief moment, he felt like the prince he used to be defiant, bold, and reckless.
"Come on, then!" he shouted, raising his fists in a stance that would've been impressive if he weren't swaying so much.
The situation wasn't in his favor, and he knew it. But Marvin wasn't the type to back down, especially when others were being hurt. As broken as he was, the fire in him wasn't completely extinguished. And if he had to fight these bastards, drunk or not, he'd do it.