The bright candle flames on the ceiling flicker.
The candlelight pours over the room, illuminating the exquisite silverware and porcelain plates on the dining table. The Duke's Mansion dining room is spacious and luxurious, with portraits of family members from various generations hanging on the walls. The air is filled with the aroma of roasted meat and the rich scent of wine, creating a cozy and pleasant atmosphere, though there is a subtle awkwardness.
"Really, you must have misunderstood me." The Duke, of course, is still seated at the head of the long table, holding a glass of red wine, his expression a bit stiff. His fingers unconsciously caress the rim of the glass, and his gaze occasionally flickers apprehensively towards Ian, sitting opposite him.
The Duchess sits beside him, seemingly elegantly cutting a piece of roast lamb, but her movements are noticeably slower than usual, and the clinking of the knife and fork against the porcelain plate sounds particularly clear in the silence of the dining room.
"Hehe." Riddle sits nearby, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, revealing an almost imperceptible smile. His eyes gleam with delight, seemingly enjoying the fearful and uneasy look on the Duke's face. It could be said that Riddle's psychological traits are undeniably reminiscent of Voldemort's innate preference for instilling fear in others.
Some traits of Voldemort were already beginning to emerge at this moment.
"Well..."
Seeing the Little Wizard silent.
The Duke couldn't help but sweat on his forehead. Despite holding Ian in higher regard, he had just received shocking news from his daughter, Little Morgan.
The terrifying destruction in the forest that morning turned out to be caused by his daughter's teacher battling the Legendary Wizard Merlin, with the outcome supposedly being a tie.
Five minutes.
Merlin received five injuries, fleeing for five furlongs. Receiving this kind of news and realizing the opponent was actually Medivh, how could the Duke's heart not panic?
This wasn't something that composure and steadiness could suppress.
"Actually, I was just repeating hearsay. Yes, the information I got was instilled by others, spread as rumors by Count Leon and Uther Pendragon." The Duke was clearly eager to pass the blame, attempting to shift it onto his adversary.
It must be said.
Perhaps this reflects the cunning unique to old nobility. His heart might indeed be quite flustered, but as the saying goes, "win in chaos," surely he had thoughts of using Ian to deal with his own enemies.
"..."
Ian was somewhat speechless.
His silence wasn't due to anger.
Rather, he didn't know what to say.
Reproach?
Perform Dragon King's return?
Those actions didn't seem to fit his character. He preferred to act shamelessly, but facing Morgan's family, he worried that the young Bad Woman would secretly hold a grudge against him.
After all.
That's just the kind of person he was, likely to measure others by himself. There's a saying, "birds of a feather flock together," and regarding holding grudges, he was on the same page as his Black Witch teacher. Seeing Morgan's residence in the Misty Illusion Realm be this castle, Ian believed the castle had special significance to her.
"Father, you should stop making ridiculous excuses." Morgan still stood there, with her head lowered, her cheeks slightly flushed, clearly still embarrassed by the previous events.
Moments ago, the Duke had a fit of anger upon discovering her hidden Medivh works, even ridiculing Medivh in Ian's presence. However, when Morgan blurted out "My teacher is Medivh," the Duke's face turned pale, and the wine glass in his hand nearly fell to the ground.
Which led to the scene Ian saw now.
"Ahem..." The Duke cleared his throat, attempting once more to break the abnormal atmosphere, "Your Excellency, regarding the matter just now... please don't take it to heart. My understanding of Master Medivh is limited, and due to some villain's instigation, I made some mistakes. I sincerely apologize to you."
With that.
He even stood up and bowed deeply, demonstrating a somewhat advanced spirit of craftsmanship.
"There's no need to be so nervous, Duke. I don't take it to heart." Ian weighed his options and decided against a crooked smile, his gaze calm and profound.
"The name Medivh indeed tends to stir controversy, which I've long since become accustomed to." Ian spoke truthfully, though he was now deliberately guiding others to believe he was different from the rumors.
Indeed.
Whether the Duke and Duchess truly believed him, they outwardly appeared to recognize his words, with the Duke even using his own "gossip" to analogize Ian's situation.
Indeed, it takes seasoned nobility.
They're truly adept at seizing every opportunity.
Ian sensed the Duke's emotions, feeling certain that if the rumored gossip had even a shred of falsehood, he'd gladly stage a show in Hogwarts' restroom. The Duke clearly intended to reassure Ian of his sincerity by using this ploy while subtly trying to convince his wife that the rumors weren't true either.
"Old men really know how to play psychological games!"
Ian couldn't help but give the Duke a thumbs-up mentally.
Of course, perhaps the Duchess Lady Igraine didn't believe either. Or maybe, for some reason, she felt guilty, interrupting her husband's babbling to change the subject.
"Speaking of which, recently the lifestyle of the people around our estate has been rather interesting. The farmers hold grand celebrations during the harvest festival, where people dance around bonfires and use straw to weave various shapes of decorations, hanging them at the door to pray for a prosperous harvest in the coming year."