Garden Of Poison-Chapter 213: Rumour teller

Marshall Travis, unlike his father, who served the Storm King, was merely the offspring of a minister. His father, being one of the demons who had emerged from Hell, had accumulated enough wealth that the young man didn’t need to lift a finger and could simply indulge in a life of leisure without needing to exert any effort.

The sky had grown dark long ago when Marshall walked through the upscale streets designed for rich people like him. He wore a hat and clenched a toothpick between his teeth. He was pissed that the woman named Emily Thorn had hit him in public. Seeking to blow off steam, he aimed to find one of the lowly men or women who occasionally crossed over from their filthy towns to affluent neighbourhoods like this one so that he could use them as punching bags to vent his pent-up anger.

Marshall had attempted to gather information through his father’s contacts about how closely related Emily was to the king. To his surprise, he discovered that their connection turned out to be quite distant, making it a stretch for them to be called relatives, as he couldn’t establish a clear link between the woman and their king.

"How distantly related could she be?" Marshall asked himself as he strolled down the illuminated street, the lampposts casting a fiery glow. "Probably not important at all, yet she carries herself with such arrogance," he spat in irritation.

"Mr. Travis," the shopkeeper, whose window Marshall had crashed his head into earlier this afternoon, called out to him.

"What?" Marshall snapped at the lowly seller.

The shopkeeper appeared uncertain before saying, "The window needs to be repaired, and it is a bit costly, which goes beyond my budget. I was wondering if you, given your—"

"Me?" Marshall’s lips twisted in distaste, and he remarked, "Instead of asking how my head is doing, you are asking for payment for something I wasn’t responsible for. What a rude man you are; no wonder you find yourself in this position." He huffed.

"I—I’m running low on funds, and if it’s not repaired, our patrons might stop coming—"

"You are getting on my last nerve now." Marshall glared at the shopkeeper, causing the poor man to take a step back from him. He took a moment to consider before he said, "It seems like you haven’t heard the news. I am going to be the father of Emily Thorn’s child. I need money to support both her and the baby." He chuckled wryly. "That’s right," he proclaimed a bit louder for the benefit of the other passersby, "She came to me in tears, and I took her in my arms to offer her my comfort."

Marshall didn’t linger to continue his conversation with the shopkeeper and instead kept walking to carry on with his search, when he became aware of a few people staring at him. However, their attention wasn’t drawn to him because of the words he had just uttered; rather, news had already spread about him being beaten by a woman. This only fueled his frustration, causing him to grit his teeth in annoyance.

"I was being nice to her until now, but I will make sure to get that bitch," he muttered. As he was about to cross an alley, he spotted a boy, not older than fourteen, scavenging through the trash in the middle of the narrow passage. Without the boy realising his presence, he grabbed the youngster by his collar and angrily demanded, "How dare you set foot in here?" ƒгeewebnovёl.com

The boy appeared frightened, as he had been merely searching for food to eat because he was hungry. He blurted out, "I wasn’t doing anything!"

"Rats like you are all over the place. Where did you steal that coat from?" Marshall sneered, eyeing the oversized coat that seemed far too luxurious for the boy’s station. "Take it off!" Ignoring the chilly weather, he harshly yanked on the boy’s coat.

"It was given to me! I did not steal it!" protested the boy, struggling against Marshall’s grip until he heard a wet cracking sound, and the hand holding onto the coat he wore loosened.

Suddenly, Marshall fell to the ground with a resounding thump, and the boy’s eyes widened in fear as he noticed the silhouette of a shadowy figure approaching them.

"Please, don’t hurt me..." the boy pleaded desperately, addressing the looming shadow.

"Don’t worry. I am here for him, not you," the boy heard the eerie voice of a man say. When the man stepped out from the shadows, only the lower part of his face was illuminated by nearby light, revealing a spine-chilling, unsettling smile.

Raylen’s hand slipped into one of his coat pockets, and he said, "Here." He tossed a silver coin to the boy, who caught it in his hands with a look of surprise. "Go buy yourself a meal, and remember, you saw nothing here," he smiled. The boy didn’t wait around, and without hesitation, he turned on his heels and ran away with the coin in hand.

"I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. I’ve heard that listening to stories sometimes can help you fall asleep, and you seem to have quite the talent for spinning tales, Marshie," Raylen remarked to Marshall, who had been struck forcefully on the head with a stone. "I cannot let such a talent go to waste," he said, clicking his tongue.

Now in the depths of the castle, beneath the ground floor, Marshall was tied to an iron chair with his limbs securely bound. As he gradually regained consciousness, his head felt disoriented, and he squinted his eyes, struggling to grasp where he was.

"Good, you are finally awake. I was debating whether I should give your head another knock," a soft voice murmured, accompanied by echoing footsteps drawing closer to where he was... tied?! Marshall’s confusion deepened as he tried to piece together what happened.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? Free me right this instant! If my father finds out about this, he will make sure to fuck up your life!" Marshall shouted, his voice filled with anger as he struggled to pull his hands free from the bindings on the armrests.

"Shhh." Raylen stepped forward to reveal himself, and Marshall’s eyes widened, rendering him momentarily speechless. The archdemon’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement. "Some people are sleeping here. You wouldn’t want me to rip your tongue out, would you? After all, I’m rather keen to hear the stories you have been telling people," he said calmly, all while dragging a chair to place it in front of the bound man.

"K—King Raylen?" Marshall stammered as he began to sweat, his hands growing clammy and his eyes filling with apprehension. He forced a nervous smile and inquired, "What—what am I doing here?"

Raylen fixed Marshall with a quiet glare that made him gulp nervously. "You aren’t listening to me, are you? I just told you," Raylen remarked with a hint of impatience. "Looks like you are feeling a bit sleepy. No worries. I have a remedy for everything." A sinister smile appeared on his face.

Marshall parted his lips to speak, but before he could utter a word, Raylen delivered a brutal punch to his face, causing one of his teeth to fall out and nearly get stuck in his throat. He coughed, trying to clear his airway.

"You seem to have weak teeth. Not brushing regularly?" Raylen clicked his tongue disapprovingly, while Marshall groaned in discomfort.

Raylen settled into the seat before Marshall, watching as the man’s face contorted in agony. Once the pain had subsided, he declared, "It is story time."