Lady Igraine seemed to be very interested in this celebration.
"The harvest festival is one of the most important festivals here. Farmers have worked hard for a year, and finally, they can relax on this day and enjoy the joy of the harvest."
"Of course, seeing the farmers' harvest is also a good thing for us lords." The Duke immediately followed the topic with a heartfelt remark.
At this moment, Morgan also began to join in, "Those wandering minstrels, they walk the streets during celebrations, performing acrobatics and magic, telling various stories."
"Although their skills do not compare to real wizards, they do bring a lot of joy to ordinary people." Obviously, Morgan had also experienced those festivals and happiness among the commoners.
And quite liked them.
The Duke nodded and indicated to Morgan that he no longer needed to stand penalized, his tone carrying a hint of nostalgia: "Indeed, although those minstrels live a hard life, their performances always make people forget their troubles. I remember once a minstrel turned a rope into a live dove."
Such things, which seem quite ordinary to wizards, are considered special by ordinary people, and this Duke was evidently impressed by similar performances.
Riddle sat nearby, maintaining an elegant posture on the surface, but a trace of disdain flashed in his eyes. He whispered a comment to Ian beside him.
"Those minstrels' so-called 'magic' are just tricks meant to fool people. Real magic is not used to entertain ordinary folks."
Apart from the disdainful tone.
Riddle's voice also carried the arrogance of a wizard and blatant scorn for ordinary people, which very much matched Ian's impression of Voldemort.
"Tom, ordinary people's lives are not without value. If you can't understand the beauty in them, I think, even if given several chances, you will never be part of the legend."
"You must know, the operation of this world relies not on wizards, but on the ordinary people you look down upon." Ian rarely preached such things to others.
Riddle's views were indeed hard for him to accept.
To be fair.
Ian rarely spoke grand principles to others; however, Riddle didn't seem to listen. He merely stayed silent due to Ian's "Silver Power."
His gaze, when swept over the Duke and Duchess, still bore that wizardly contempt for ordinary people, but because of their noble status, he hid it quite well.
"A rotten wood cannot be carved."
Ian sighed in assessment.
The banquet continued. Although the Duke and Duchess still seemed a bit unnatural, at least the topic had shifted to relatively light content. Ian occasionally showed concern for the various cultures and customs of this era, which greatly relieved the previous awkward atmosphere.
Of course.
Ian's inquisitive curiosity, akin to someone who is "not part of the human world," made the Duke and Duchess exchange a knowing glance, inevitably speculating about Ian's circumstances.
Perhaps in the couple's view, Ian had just awakened from some long sleep and returned to the human world; that's why he seemed interested in things considered mundane in this era.
The smarter a person is, the more they enjoy speculating. After the banquet ended, the imaginative scenarios in the Duke and Duchess's minds were enough to write a long novel.
Their increasingly polite and reserved attitudes were easy to gauge—ending the banquet was certainly a relief for this couple.
Ian felt pretty much the same.
"I'm going to check on Malfoy's situation; do you want to come?" Ian saw the last musician come up to perform and seized the excuse to leave the hall.
"Of course, I'm quite interested in his recovery." Riddle elegantly wiped his mouth, stood up, and performed a courteous bow to the Duke and Duchess.
The two walked out of the dining room one after the other, heading down the castle corridor toward Malfoy's room. Ancient oil paintings hung on the hallway walls, with candlelight casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.
"Tonight's meal was decent." Ian's steps were light and relaxed, while Riddle followed behind, his gaze deep, seemingly pondering something.
Opening the room door, Malfoy was lying in bed, looking better than before. His breathing was steady, and the soul previously "polluted" by Helbo was recovering.
Clearly, Riddle's medical skills were quite good. After all, being someone involved in biochemical research and bloodline fusion, he was well-experienced and knowledgeable in treating such injuries.
In fact, Ian could also do such things, it's not that Ian couldn't save Malfoy; he just considered it too resource-intensive, thinking instead to take him back to Hogwarts for treatment.
Madam Pomfrey is most skilled with these difficult disorders, and importantly, the treatments at school use school resources. Ian was not keen on expending his prized herbs on unfamiliar classmates—after all, the Malfoy family hadn't paid much tribute, so being able to travel through time to save Malfoy already qualified Ian as a model senior.
"Your magic potion skills are quite impressive." Ian didn't hesitate to praise as he walked to the bedside, looked at Malfoy's situation, and raised his head to look at Riddle, his expression turning thoughtful.