On the other hand, Marcellus frequented the secret chamber with increasing intensity, each visit consumed by an almost obsessive focus. He would approach the two faintly glowing handles, letting his fingers trace over the smooth metal, as if every touch could awaken some hidden memory. Each time, he felt a familiar pulse, a subtle call that seemed to respond to him, hinting at the location of the missing fragments. Somewhere in the shadowed corners of the chamber, a clue seemed to lie in wait—he could almost sense the fragments' presence, and every time his chest tightened with urgency.
Yet merely tracing the handles no longer sufficed. He began to feel, instinctively, that only his own blood could truly activate the fragments, coaxing them into a more complete form. Thoughts of cutting himself, letting his lifeblood flow over the metal, even began to surface.
But reason had not entirely abandoned him. He restrained himself, suppressing the madness. Deep within, he knew he had not fully fallen—but that sense of mission, sharp and insistent as a blade, reminded him constantly: only his blood could restore the Grail fragments, and only he could locate their original forms.
Alia noticed the change and asked cautiously, "So… that's why you tried to hurt yourself that time?"
Marcellus lowered his head slightly, a flicker of shame and self-reproach passing through his eyes. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low, tinged with guilt and helplessness. After a brief silence, he continued, "You know what happened afterward… I couldn't resist completely at the time, and I ended up cutting myself. That day—Livia… she saw me."
He hesitated for a moment, a complex light flickering in his gaze.
"That day, the fear and the look in Livia's eyes felt like a slap across my face, snapping me out of some kind of control. I seemed to have escaped the Grail's fleeting manipulation, but the visions of the other fragments that the handles had shown me… I had forgotten them. Only recently, as we've gathered more fragments, has that memory slowly resurfaced."
Marcellus's gaze drifted toward the air, as if recalling the shadow of that past, his fingers brushing the tabletop unconsciously. "The next day, that handle disappeared—I didn't think much of it then. After that, all I could focus on was how to make amends for the harm I caused Livia."
His voice grew lower, steadier, imbued with a sense of duty born from pain and responsibility. Alia watched him, heart heavy with a mixture of sympathy and awe: sympathy for his suffering, awe at the depth of his hidden resolve.
Yet this complex feeling didn't last long. Alia arched one eyebrow, a faint note of sarcasm in her tone, though concern was unmistakable: "But… the harm has already been done, hasn't it? Never mind—tell me. What exactly did you see? This is crucial."
Her eyes were sharp, examining every flicker of emotion in Marcellus's heart. Though her words carried a sting, the urgency beneath them was clear: she wanted to know the truth, to see the force driving him—but most importantly, she needed to know the whereabouts of the other fragments.
Marcellus lowered his head, fingers clenched tightly into fists, as if the vision were still etched deep within him, impossible to erase. His breathing grew slightly rapid, his gaze wandering through the empty air, as if trying to reclaim some fleeting remnant of that image, yet fearing the impact of touching it again.