Voldemort didn't immediately accept. He stood where he was, weighing the pros and cons.
Ragdeff I didn't seem eager to hear Voldemort's answer. He stood before him with evident interest, looking him up and down.
"What could you possibly offer me that would be of any real help?"
After a moment's thought, Voldemort asked him. Then he added, displeased, "I don't like being looked at that way, Ragdeff I—even on your own turf."
Voldemort's words left the stone hall in silence.
The slaves serving Ragdeff I were so frightened that they dropped straight to their knees.
Ragdeff II also glanced at Voldemort in surprise, then looked toward his grandfather with concern.
These two outsiders might not know it, but he knew how hot-tempered his grandfather was, despite wielding immense power in Egypt.
If the Dark Lord was the most terrifying dark wizard in the British Wizarding World, and even in the European Wizarding World,
then his grandfather was the most powerful wizard king in Egypt—and across the continent.
He embodied the power, status, and will of all the wizards here.
Unlike the open-minded Wizarding World of England, this place was strictly hierarchical, with everyone knowing their place.
At least, for as long as Ragdeff II could remember, he had never seen anyone speak to his grandfather like that.
No.
More precisely, ever since the name Ragdeff I had been passed down through the generations, no one had dared to speak that way to its bearer.
The tense atmosphere unsettled Bellatrix. She quickly drew her wand, but Ragdeff I merely reached out.
"Whoosh."
The wand flew from Bellatrix's hand.
"Smack."
It shot upward and stuck fast to the ceiling of yellow-brown stone.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes and promptly drew his own wand.
Before he had even raised it all the way,