I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

A grand, polished black carriage pulled up to Matilda's house, its ornate gold trim glinting in the fading light. The wheels, freshly oiled, came to a silent stop on the gravel drive. The matched pair of sleek, dark horses stood perfectly still, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

The carriage door swung open, and Gustavo emerged first, his scarred face impassive as he surveyed the surroundings. He stepped aside, allowing Lord Blackthorn to exit.

Blackthorn's face was a mask of cool indifference as he stepped down from the carriage. He wore a long, black overcoat that seemed to absorb the remaining light of the day. His hand moved to stroke his neatly trimmed beard, a gesture that belied the tension in his rigid posture.

Without a word exchanged between them, Blackthorn strode towards the house, Gustavo falling into step behind him. The silence that enveloped them was heavy with unspoken purpose.

As they entered the house, Blackthorn's eyes scanned the sitting room methodically. His gloved hands traced over surfaces, picking up objects and replacing them with deliberate care. Each movement was calculated, as if he were reading a story written in the dust and disarray.

Moving to the bedroom, Blackthorn took in the scene of hasty departure - drawers left slightly ajar, a scarf forgotten on the floor, the bed linens askew. His eyes narrowed as he pieced together the evidence before him.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and cold as he addressed Gustavo. "She knew I would come for her. This mess... she left in a hurry."

Blackthorn's lips curled into a cold smile as he turned and strode out of the front door. Without a word, he headed towards the back of the house, Gustavo following closely behind. Their footsteps were deliberate and unhurried as they pushed through the undergrowth, emerging onto a clearer path.

Gustavo gestured to the area around them. "This is where I killed Zafron, my lord," he explained, his voice low and even.

Blackthorn knelt, his keen eyes scanning the ground. After a moment, he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm and an underlying menace that sent a chill down Gustavo's spine.

"But Zafron is not here, is he?" Blackthorn's eyes flicked up to meet Gustavo's. "Days have passed, and still no body. It seems your work was... incomplete."

Gustavo stiffened but remained silent as Blackthorn rose to his full height.

"It might be possible that little brat helped him out somehow, but no one has ever survived the poison on my blade." Gustavo managed to say.

"Hmmm.....The real question," Blackthorn continued, brushing dirt from his coat, "is whether Matilda had a hand in spiriting him away. That could complicate matters significantly."

He turned to Gustavo, his expression unreadable. "Do you know of any medical facilities nearby? Somewhere they might have taken an injured man?"

Gustavo nodded, "There's a small, isolated clinic some distance behind these bushes. Although I don't really know the exact location, my lord. It's been there for years."

A predatory gleam appeared in Blackthorn's eyes. "Excellent. I believe it's time we paid them a visit, don't you think?"

Without waiting for a response, Blackthorn set off in the direction Gustavo indicated.

As Blackthorn and Gustavo emerged from the bushes, they encountered a disheveled man stumbling along the path, a bottle of cheap alcohol clutched in his hand. Despite his inebriated state, the man's eyes widened slightly at the imposing figures before him.

Blackthorn stepped forward, his voice smooth but commanding. "Good evening. We're looking for the medical center in this area. Can you direct us?"

The man swayed slightly, his words slurred but comprehensible. "Medical center? Nah, that closed weeks.... no, months ago. But if you need a doctor, there's still one around."

Blackthorn's eyebrow arched with interest. "Is that so? And this doctor, he still offers his services?"

"Yeah," the man nodded, taking another swig from his bottle. "But he won't lift a finger without payment upfront, mind you."

"I see," Blackthorn replied, his tone neutral. "And what is this doctor's name?"

"Doctor Mensah," the drunk answered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Gustavo and Blackthorn exchanged a quick glance before Blackthorn pressed further. "Where might we find this Doctor Mensah?"

The man turned, nearly losing his balance in the process, and pointed towards a distant, tall tree. "See that old tree there? The oldest house near it, that's where the doc lives."

Blackthorn's lips curled into a slight smile. "Thank you, my good man. You've been most helpful."

As the drunk ambled away, Blackthorn turned to Gustavo, his voice low and determined. "It seems we have a new lead. Let's pay this Doctor Mensah a visit, then."

As Blackthorn and Gustavo made their way through the village, they couldn't help but notice the wary glances cast their way. Their fine city attire stood in contrast to the humble surroundings, marking them as clear outsiders.

Approaching the tall tree, they found themselves surrounded by a cluster of weathered houses. The absence of villagers was evident, as if their presence had driven everyone indoors.

Gustavo, his patience wearing thin, growled, "This is ridiculous. I'll search every house if I have to."

Just as he was about to act on his threat, the door of one of the houses swung open. A tall, imposing man emerged from one of the houses. His eyes narrowed as he took in the strangers.

"You two look lost," he said, his deep voice carrying a note of suspicion. "Something I can help you with?"

Blackthorn stepped forward, his demeanor calm but authoritative. "We're looking for Doctor Mensah. Would you happen to know where we might find him?"

The man's posture stiffened slightly. "I'm Doctor Mensah," he replied, his gaze sharp. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Blackthorn's face. "Ah, excellent. We're not here for medical services, Doctor. What we need is information."

Doctor Mensah's expression remained guarded. "Information? What kind of information would city folk like yourselves be seeking from a village doctor?"

Blackthorn's voice lowered, taking on a more serious tone. "The kind that might involve a recent patient of yours. Someone who may have needed urgent care, brought in under... unusual circumstances."