The bright candles on the ceiling flickered.
Candlelight spilled across the room, illuminating the exquisite silverware and porcelain plates on the dining table. The Duke's dining hall was spacious and magnificent, with portraits of generations of family members hanging on the walls. The air was filled with the aroma of roast meat and the rich scent of wine. It looked warm and pleasant enough, but the atmosphere was somewhat delicate now.
"Really, you must have misunderstood what I meant." The Duke still sat at the head of the long table, holding a glass of red wine, his expression somewhat stiff. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the rim of the glass, and his gaze occasionally flicked toward Ian across from him, carrying a hint of unease.
The Duchess sat beside him, seemingly elegantly cutting into a piece of roast lamb, but her movements were noticeably slower than usual. The sound of knife and fork striking porcelain was especially distinct in the quiet dining hall.
"Heh heh." Riddle sat to one side, the corner of his mouth curling slightly into an almost imperceptible smile. Delight glimmered in his eyes, as though he greatly enjoyed the Duke's timid, anxious appearance. It could only be said that Riddle's mindset was exactly Voldemort's innate fondness for other people's fear.
Some of Voldemort's traits had already begun to show themselves at this time.
"Well..."
Seeing that the Young Wizard remained silent.
Sweat began to seep from the Duke's forehead. It could not be helped. Although he had already thought highly of Ian, Little Morgan had just given him another shocking piece of news.
The forest that had suffered such terrifying destruction that morning was where his daughter's teacher had fought the Legendary Wizard Merlin—and the result of that battle had supposedly been a draw.
Five minutes.
Merlin