Chapter - 9

Part - 1

"Marco, what are you doing up here so late at the night?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just had trouble sleeping. Prolly thought it would be good to soak myself in the glowing moonlight; you know, especially because tomorrow will be another such forgettable days in Hallstatt's history."

"Hmm, yeah. You're right about that though!"

"What are you doing up here so late in the night Andre?"

"Nature's call! Just saw a shadow along the corridors, decided might as well check it out. Lucky it wasn't something dangerous."

"Oh!", said Marco, with his gaze fixed on the moon which, today it seemed, was shining brighter than he had ever seen.

"Won't you sleep tonight?"

"I haven't decided yet. As of now, my answer would be in negative. But who knows, maybe I might get some sleep before the sun rises. What about you?"

"Me? Yeah .... I'm going now itself. Not going to ruin my night sitting here, no offence tho' !"

"None taken. Goodnight buddy!"

"Goodnight Marco!"

Marco maintained his position intact, his gaze unfazed; it seemed he was being consumed in by the moon's aura, wrapping him in her aura, and not allowing him to get his rest. To any person looking from the outside, there were no visible signs of fatigue. In fact, it seemed the moon's glow had healed Marco of any humanely possible disease or tiredness, and he was just sitting there, looking at the glowing mass like it was the last time he was seeing it.

Part - 2

"Soldiers of Hallstatt, you all have been diligent and brave enough in serving your homeland. It is almost time for all of you to put yourself to the ultimate test of your lives, which might be the last one, and we, the citizens of Hallstatt, will forever be indebted to all you. Remember there is no assurance of you having a safe journey back home; hell you might not be able to return home itself. Despite knowing all that and still venturing into damnation, for that reason alone, you all will always stand proud in the hearts of all the Hallstatt-ians. Our thoughts, our goodwill, our hearts will always be with you, serving as the faint light that might provide you some hope, some courage into the graveyards. Stand proud, you all are strong, brave and the most courageous warriors I have ever seen."

The entire province roared with claps and shouts of the names of King Henry and echoed the houses with the names of the brave commanders. All of them had firsthand experience of what had happened the last time such a party ventured into their neighbouring provinces. And here they were, getting ready to go to the same place again.

This time though, it was Henry's wish to cover the face of all the martyrs. His reason .... Well, he did not want anyone, including himself, to neither get emotionally attached to the soldiers nor remember their faces. He wanted all of them to consider the soldiers and commanders taking their strides into heaven, leaving Hallstatt for the last time. There were some mandatory checks on the supplies they would be carrying for themselves and the supplies that was meant for the so called "residents" of the unknown lands. It won't be a month before anyone would even expect them to return back home, that is, if anyone would survive. 

"This is where we part. My fellow comrades .... ", the King choked up a little it seemed, " Be safe!"

All of them nodded in unison, as they stepped foot outside the borderline into the patches of the unknown. There were some murmurs from the crowd, as they eventually fizzled out when the six warriors of Hallstatt vanished into nothingness. 

Part - 3

"My lord, this isn't the first time we have sent our soldiers into Bleakridge, or Somaris or Duskvale for that matter. But this is the first time I am seeing you so much depressed. I would advice you my king, to get over it. They had served their tenure quite dutifully and..."

"My king, my king....!"

"What is it Sandler, why are you shouting? What's the matter?"

"My king, I can't find Marco anywhere. I had searched our entire dormitory but there is no trace of him."

"Oh my lord! Guards, GUARDS!! Search the entire castle for Marco. Leave no corner unchecked."

"Yes, your honour!"

After about an hour of frantic searching, there were still no traces of Marco.

"What do we do now Sandler?"

"I suggest we check the rooms of the departed soldiers, my Lord!"

"Andre, you ... why ... what makes you think something like that?"

"Last night I had to get up for a washroom break when suddenly I noticed Marco sitting around the balcony, mindlessly staring at the moon. He did not even bat me an eye, and even when I went back to sleep, he was sitting there. This morning even, I couldn't find him in his bed. Just opposite to the balcony were the rooms of the comrades, who knows we might find something useful there."

"Why didn't you inform Sandler or anyone else about it Andre?"

"Your honour, I thought he was probably with Sandler at that time, so I didn't bother about it much. Pardon my ignorance."

Without further adieu, the doors of the veteran soldiers were smashed open, one-by-one. There was rigorous searching in all the rooms. But, all of them proved to be a dead eye.

"Your honour, this is the last room of Private Tomas Leclair. Should we proceed?"

The king nodded in affirmation. The door was kicked open, and the group entered, their hearts racing, hoping to find some trace of Marco. But instead, the room was heavy with an eerie stillness. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, revealing the lifeless form of Private Tomas Leclair sprawled on the cold ground.

King Henry's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his soldiers fanning out to secure the room. The stench of something foul and decayed hung in the air, mingling with the musty smell of the old chamber. Leclair's face was twisted in agony, his hands clutching his stomach, as if in a futile attempt to quell the burning pain that must have consumed him in his final moments.

The king knelt beside the body, his gaze shifting to the half-eaten plate of food near Leclair's hand. 

"Poison," he muttered, his voice low and grim. "A treacherous end for a loyal soldier."

One of the soldiers, a seasoned veteran, knelt beside the king, examining the remnants of the meal. 

"This was no accident, Your Majesty," he said, his tone edged with anger. "The poison was meant to silence him."

Henry stood up, his fists clenched. 

"Find out who did this," he ordered, his voice filled with authority and a barely restrained fury. 

"We cannot afford any more losses. And if Marco is behind this treachery, he will not escape my wrath."

The soldiers exchanged determined glances before nodding in unison. As they began searching the room for any clues, the king took one last look at Leclair's lifeless body. 

"May you find peace," he whispered, then turned to face the darkened corridor ahead, his mind already plotting the next move in this deadly game.

"Your honour, we turned the entire dorm upside down, but couldn't find anything which might lead to the whereabouts of Marco or Leclair's killer. However, we did find this letter and thought it would be best if you would had the first look at it."

It was a piece of paper that seemed years old. The handwriting on it indicated it was written by someone who was in a hurry, and some words were already smudged off. Henry started reading, ..............

The letter was tattered and fragile, as though it had endured years of neglect before falling into King Henry's hands. The faded ink bore the frantic scrawl of a man in a hurry, a man with a guilty conscience and a desperate need to confess. Henry's eyes moved across the lines, taking in each word with growing horror.

The letter detailed a betrayal so profound that it shook Henry to his core. Marco, once a trusted ally, had confessed to the murder of Private Tomas Leclair. The words described the events of that fateful night with chilling clarity.

Marco had ventured to the dorms after meeting with Andre, driven by a dark purpose. He checked each of the five dorms methodically, ready to give up when he noticed the faint glow of light coming from Leclair's room. Entering, he found Leclair surprised but welcoming. They spoke for a while, their conversation steeped in memories and shared experiences. To Marco, Leclair had seemed almost like a father figure, like John reincarnated, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a pang of regret for what he was about to do.

But the poison in his pocket was a constant reminder of the mission he had set out to complete.

While Leclair went to fetch water for them both, Marco quickly mixed the poison into Leclair's food. It was a concoction made from various poisonous plants Marco had carefully gathered from the fields and gardens, plants that would go unnoticed by any unsuspecting eye.

Leclair returned, unaware of the fate that awaited him. As he took the first bite, the effects of the poison were immediate. He gasped for air, his body convulsing in pain. Within minutes, he was dead, lying lifeless on the cold floor, his eyes still wide with shock.

Marco's words painted a grim picture of those final moments. He admitted that the king's instruction to cover the faces of the departed soldiers had made it easier for him to carry out his plan without detection. There was no plea for forgiveness in the letter, only a grim acceptance of the consequences. Marco wrote that he did not expect King Henry or anyone else to forgive him. His actions were driven by a need to uncover the secrets of Bleakridge, a dark obsession that had consumed him.

The letter ended with a final request: that no one should hold any hope of his return. Marco had vanished into the shadows, leaving behind a trail of death and betrayal, his once-loyal heart now lost to the darkness.

It seemed as though all the weight of the world had suddenly pressed down upon Henry's shoulders as he finished reading the letter. His usually resolute expression faltered, and a deep weariness seeped into his bones, as if the very essence of life had been drained from him. His hands trembled slightly as he lowered the paper, and his breath came in uneven, ragged gasps.The king's vision blurred, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as if he might collapse under the crushing sorrow that enveloped him. The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in as a profound sense of despair gnawed at his soul. A part of him wanted to scream, to release the torment that raged within him, but the sound caught in his throat, choked by the overwhelming grief.

His mind raced, filled with thoughts too painful to articulate. He wanted to cry out, to let the anguish pour out of him in a flood of tears, but his royal duties and the expectations of his men held him in a suffocating grip. He wanted to obliterate everything—the letter, the pain, even himself—just to escape the unbearable truth that the letter had revealed.

Henry stood there, silent and motionless, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had just read. The world around him seemed distant and unreal, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which there was no waking. The realization that there was no easy escape, no simple solution to the torment before him, crushed him further into despair.

His thoughts drifted to the Augustine estate, once a place of warmth and joy, filled with laughter and life. It was a house that had always welcomed him, a sanctuary where he could find solace from the burdens of kingship. The Augustine family had been like his own, and Marco—young, eager, full of promise—had been more than just a soldier in his service, though he joined his regimen just few months ago. Marco had been like a son, someone Henry had watched grow from a boy into a man, someone he had hoped to see flourish and rise to greatness.

But now, the thought of that once vibrant household filled Henry with a deep, hollow emptiness. The joyous laughter that once echoed through its halls would be replaced with a suffocating silence, the warmth of family gatherings now lost to the cold reality of betrayal and loss. The Augustine name, once synonymous with honor and loyalty, would forever be tainted by the shadow of Marco's actions.

Henry knew that he would never see Marco again, not the boy he had cherished nor the man he had admired. The Marco he had known was gone, consumed by the darkness that had driven him to such treachery. The faint hope that had lingered in the back of Henry's mind, the hope that Marco might one day return and seek redemption, was extinguished the moment the last flickering candle in the room went out. The room was plunged into darkness, mirroring the void that had opened up in Henry's heart.

The king stood alone in the darkness, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a shroud. There would be no going back, no undoing the past. The emptiness left by Marco's absence would haunt him forever, a constant reminder of the boy he had lost and the man he would never see again.