Marquis DeVries

Mr. Ornery's smugness had evaporated like mist in the sun. His breaths came in painful gasps as he chuckled wetly. "You think you can force the name from me?" he croaked.

Aldwyn leaned in closer. "I can make you wish for death," he murmured, his voice a promise of pain.

Mr. Ornery's laugh turned into a wet cough. "You might," he admitted, his eyes flicking up to meet Aldwyn's emotionless gaze, "but you won't get far without knowing what you're dealing with. He's not a man to be trifled with, not even by someone with your... particular gifts."

Ignoring the warning, Aldwyn took Mr. Ornery's arm in a vice-like grip, his knee rising swiftly. There was a sharp crack as he snapped the elbow with a brutal twist, the sound of bone shattering like the brittle shell of a rotten egg. The man's scream pierced the night, echoing through the grove. His body convulsed, eyes rolling back in his head from the agony.

"Your master's name," Aldwyn repeated, his voice like the chill of a glacial breeze.

Mr. Ornery's agony was palpable, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his body trembled beneath the weight of Aldwyn's unyielding grip. "Marquis DeVries," he finally ground out through clenched teeth.

Aldwyn's eyes narrowed. The name meant nothing to him, but the way it fell from the man's lips suggested power, and perhaps something more sinister. He released Mr. Ornery, allowing him to collapse into the snow, writhing in pain. The revelation of the Marquis DeVries as the puppet master behind the scenes was unexpected, and it added another layer of complexity to the tangled web of secrets that surrounded Lady Verdie and the whispers of the night.

He took a step back, sliding the Black Elemental revolver back into its holster. With a flick of his wrist, he called forth the Nightmare Blade from his bag, the sword's hilt gleaming dully. The blade was an extension of his will, a weapon that whispered sweet nothings of fear into the hearts of his enemies.

Mr. Ornery's eyes widened in terror as Aldwyn approached, the pain in his broken elbow forgotten. The very air around them grew heavier, thick with the weight of the unspoken threat.

"I should kill you for your insolence," Aldwyn said, the blade of the Nightmare Blade reflecting off the bright snow.

Mr. Ornery's breath hitched, his eyes locked on the weapon. "But you won't," he replied, a hint of defiance returning to his voice. "You need information. I know it."

Aldwyn looked at him with a cold stare. "Don't need it!" He replied just as coldly.

Without a moment's hesitation, Aldwyn thrust the Nightmare Blade into Mr. Ornery's chest, the black steel piercing the man's heart with a merciless blow. The blade drank in the man's fear, his eyes widening in shock and pain as the world grew dark around him. The very essence of his terror filled the grove, making the shadows dance and the trees quiver.

Mr. Ornery's lifeless body crumpled into the snow, leaving a crimson stain against the stark white background. The silence that followed was deafening.

„I did the right thing... Leaving witnesses alive would be stupid. The world is better place without such scum." Aldwyn thought as he tried to justify his behavior.

With a flick of his wrist, the blade vanished into the depths of his bag, the shadows swallowing it greedily. The bag's maw closed with an audible snap, as if it were alive and hungry for more fear.

Aldwyn knelt beside Mr. Ornery's lifeless form, his eyes scanning the man's possessions. He searched the corpse's pockets, his movements precise and methodical.

The first pocket yielded a crumpled 100-lexus banknote. He found two more 50s in the second, their edges worn from frequent handling. A 20-lexus note was tucked into the third, folded neatly, as if it had once been part of a treasured letter. The fourth and fifth pockets held a single 10-lexus and a 5-lexus note, respectively, the latter almost falling apart from wear.

Aldwyn's gaze lingered on the lifeless eyes of Mr. Ornery, a flicker of something unidentifiable crossing his own pale orbs.

„That completes my assignment... I can prove that she's not cheating, but will Sir Henry be happy about the alternative? Well, I couldn't care less."

He pocketed the currency and with one last look at the corpse, he stood and vanished into the shadows, his form blending seamlessly with the darkness of the grove.

....

Aldwyn stepped onto the manicured lawns of Sir Henry's estate. The manor loomed before him, a bastion of opulence. Its windows, glowing with warm light, cast a stark contrast to the frigid night. He approached the grand entrance, the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel path the only disturbance in the serene stillness.

The steward, a man with a face as stiff as the collar of his shirt, met Aldwyn at the door. His eyes took in the his disheveled form, the snow clinging to his boots. The steward's expression remained neutral, a well-practiced mask of indifference.

"Sir Aldwyn," he acknowledged with a slight bow. The door swung open, admitting Aldwyn into the warm embrace of the manor. The steward led him to a study where a fireplace roared, casting flickering shadows across the room.

Sir Henry looked up from his desk as Aldwyn entered, his eyes narrowing. "You've found something," he said, the words not quite a question.

Aldwyn nodded slightly before answering. "I have good news and bad news for you," he said, his voice calm and devoid of any emotion.

Sir Henry's eyes narrowed even further, his curiosity piqued. "The good news?" he prompted, his hand tightening around his brandy glass.

"Your wife, Lady Verdie, is not engaged in an affair," Aldwyn said, his voice as cold and unwavering as the winter air outside.

Sir Henry's eyes searched Aldwyn's, looking for any hint of deception. Finding none, he exhaled a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders dissipating like mist before the sun.

"Then what is the bad news?" he asked, his voice betraying the unease that had taken hold of him.

Aldwyn took a step closer to the fire, the heat a stark contrast to the chill he brought with him. "Lady Verdie's activities are... unorthodox, to say the least," he began, watching the flames dance in Sir Henry's eyes as he spoke. "She's been using ancient runes, whispered whispers of the night, to indulge in a form of... escapism.

"Every two weeks, she meets a courier that brings her these runes. These runes were made by a man called Marquis DeVries. That's all I found out." He added.

The fire crackled as Sir Henry digested the information. His face contorted into a mix of disgust and anger. "Marquis?!" he spat, his hand slamming onto the desk. "That snake! He's been supplying her with... with that filth?"

Aldwyn nodded gravely. "It would appear so," he said, watching the man's reaction with the detachment of a scientist observing an experiment. "The runes are powerful, capable of altering the user's reality and inducing vivid, addictive hallucinations. The side effects can be... unpleasant."

Sir Henry's knuckles turned white around the brandy glass. "What kind of side effects?" he demanded, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

Aldwyn met his gaze. "Madness," he said simply. "If used excessively, the mind can become untethered from reality. The whispers of the night become too much to bear."

Sir Henry's face paled, the blood draining from his cheeks like water from a sieve. "What... what can be done?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"To prevent further damage, Lady Verdie must immediately cease all contact with the whispers," Aldwyn replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "Her consumption of the runes must end. Only then can the healers assess the extent of the madness that has gripped her and attempt to mend her shattered mind."

Sir Henry's gaze fell to his desk, the flaming amber liquid in his glass shaking with his trembling hand. "And Marquis?" he asked, his voice filled with a newfound steel.

Aldwyn's eyes remained unchanged. "That isn't my concern," he said flatly. "My contract was to uncover the truth, not to meddle in the affairs of the aristocracy."

Sir Henry's gaze hardened. "I will deal with him," he said, the fire in his eyes mirroring the one in the hearth.

Aldwyn nodded. "As for my payment," he said, extending his hand. "Five hundred lexus, as agreed."

Sir Henry's gaze didn't waver as he opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out a small roll of banknotes. He tossed it to Aldwyn, who deftly caught it with his free hand. He counted through the stack, which consisted entirely of fifty lexus banknotes. When he was finished, he confirmed the accuracy of his reward with a slight nod. Exactly five hundred Lexus.

Then he rolled up the stack of banknotes again and put them into his bag. With a nod, he took his leave and was then escorted out by the steward.

....