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However, wizards' understanding of genetics and bloodlines was underdeveloped. They had yet to realize that genetic diversity could also produce geniuses who required no inherited blessings because they would become similarly powerful or even stronger than those revered ancestors.
Many Muggle-borns or half-bloods who rose to greatness did so precisely for this reason.
"You really do have a fixation with giant creatures, things like basilisks," Ian thought with amusement upon hearing Riddle's words. He didn't bother to argue. After all, he had already shown off enough in front of Riddle that day.
Showing off twice in a row loses its thrill. It would be better to save some of that for later, assuming he'd even get another chance to show off in front of Riddle.
"I'll need to study this little thing carefully." Ian paid no mind to Riddle's opinion. He simply shook the bottle containing the great gray wolf, preparing to extract information about the Soul Hall from it.
Of course, he'd need a secluded room for that. If the wolf revealed sensitive secrets, the last thing Ian wanted was for Riddle or anyone else to hear them. Ian knew himself all too well.
…
The coming of night did not cast the castle into darkness.
On the contrary, under the glow of countless candles, the castle radiated warmth and an enchanting brilliance.
Ian, Riddle, and Malfoy had assumed they would continue to drift quietly through the days within the castle. However, to their surprise, after a full day and night of ignoring their presence, the Duke suddenly announced that he would host a grand banquet in honor of his daughter's teacher.
Perhaps it was because the great gray wolf had failed to complete its quest. Or perhaps some secret intelligence had reached the Duke about Ian capturing a Soul Hall entity. In any case, the Duke no longer bothered to pretend ignorance in this matter.
The banquet was held with extraordinary pomp.
The castle's great hall was decorated magnificently. Crystal chandeliers hung like clusters of dazzling stars, showing that each one of them was clearly a priceless treasure.
Bathed in the glow of burning candles, they shone all the more brilliantly. The banquet tables were heaped with all manner of dishes. As Ian had expected, there was not much variety, but every dish was made with the rarest and most carefully chosen ingredients.
Steam rose in fragrant curls, filling the hall with a mouthwatering aroma. One must admit that for Britain, so often mocked as a "culinary desert," this was undoubtedly a lavish feast.
Several maids in black-and-white uniforms stood quietly by, ready to serve at any moment. Ian thought it was a pity that some of the "maidcraft tools" of future eras had yet to be invented; otherwise, the scene might have been even more pleasing to the eye.
"Ah, roast lamb without chili or cumin. It really feels like something's missing." This thought stirred in Ian's mind, but he remained composed outwardly, slowly cutting a small slice of lamb and chewing with refined grace.
His face wore an ever-polite smile.
Duke Gorlois of Tintagel and his wife, Lady Igraine, were dressed splendidly tonight. The Duke wore a deep red robe embroidered with golden patterns. His bearing was solemn and dignified, though a spark of irrepressible joy shone in his eyes.
Lady Igraine looked every bit the picture of elegance and nobility in a pale violet gown. From time to time, her gaze fell upon Ian, brimming with admiration and expectation.
"Mr. Prince, Your Distinguished Self."
The Duke lifted his goblet, his voice resonant and hearty. "Welcome to my domain, and thank you for agreeing to instruct my daughter, Morgan." At last, she has found a true wizard of power. This brings me immeasurable relief."
There's an old saying: One cannot strike a smiling face.
Ian answered with a faint smile, raising his own glass. The liquid inside, secretly swapped for cola, swirled as he spoke with practiced ease. "Your Grace flatters me. To teach Miss Morgan is, without question, my own great honor."
His voice rang clear.
Of course, this polished courtesy owed much to his strong survival instincts and vigilance.
Ian slipped in a few subtle magical tricks he had seen professors use in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, just enough to ensure that Morgan, seated nearby, would hear and remember his words distinctly.
Today, the young dark witch was dressed in a pale blue gown, her long, dark hair draped over her shoulders, giving her a look of poise and elegance. With her head slightly lowered, she delicately held a silver fork, sliced off a small piece of cake, and placed it gently into her mouth.
Morgan's manners were flawless and refined, just as Ian remembered them. The only difference was that her elegance now seemed more deliberate and less effortless; it was clear she was playing the role of a lady.
She was the epitome of a bad woman, polished from an early age.
In comparison, Riddle—this adolescent version of Voldemort—was no slouch at acting, either. After all, he was the kind of villain who could fool every professor except Dumbledore.
Dressed in a black suit and holding a glass of red wine in his hand, he swirled it lightly from time to time like a true nobleman before drinking it.
Though he said nothing, his gaze swept across the hall's decorations, and his eyes shone with vanity fulfilled. Clearly, being able to attend such a banquet was a genuine delight for him.
"Mr. Prince, it is clear at a glance that you are a wizard of extraordinary ability. I am certain you will be able to make Morgan into an outstanding witch." Lady Igraine, whom Ian had met previously in the back garden, or more specifically, peeked at, raised her goblet toward him before speaking.
Her eyes, fixed on Ian's face, were full of admiration.
"Even without my teaching, Miss Morgan is destined for greatness," Ian replied smoothly. However, he did notice that the duchess's gaze seemed to carry a trace of appreciation for his appearance as well.
Clearly, the lady of the duchy was also a worshipper at the altar of beauty, believing that looks are justice. One could only wonder what she would think if she learned that, on the first day of lessons, Ian had taught Morgan not only dark magic but also one of the Unforgivable Curses.
"I have no doubt our daughter will grow into someone remarkable," Duke Gorlois interjected. "But you, Your Distinguished Self, will make her even greater." His flattery was hardly without cause or purpose.
"Your Distinguished Self, I have a request I hope you will consider."
The true reason for all the pampering and praise throughout the banquet was finally revealed. Ian had been waiting for this moment, of course.\
(To Be Continued...)