Dusk.
A brilliant streak of gold stretched across the horizon.
It spilled down like molten sunlight, slowly draping every stone and brick of the ancient castle.
At this hour, the castle's back garden appeared especially serene, and it looked as if nature itself had draped a golden veil over the centuries-old structure.
A breeze brushed against Ian's cheek, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers with it. It whispered through the neatly trimmed hedges, while the occasional call of a night bird added to the deep stillness.
His gaze passed through the layers of blossoms and finally settled on the elegant lady in the distance. She wore a deep green gown, its hem swaying lightly with each step as if she were one with the garden.
This was Morgan's mother, Lady Igraine.
Lady Igraine had not noticed Ian's arrival. She knelt among the flowerbeds, trimming the plants herself. Though this should have been a gardener's task, she worked with remarkable ease.
Perhaps it was a pastime she often indulged in.
Standing in the shadows of the castle's back garden, Ian was struck by how reality could be even more outrageous than rumor.
This is a pregnant woman... Who is having an affair with King Uther!
'The early Middle Ages are messier than I ever imagined!' Ian silently thought to himself.
"If empresses in the palace came here, she'd be a rookie!" Ian muttered, lowering his gaze to the chess piece in his hand, the king piece he had retrieved from Slytherin's chamber. At that moment, it glowed faintly.
It trembled as if alive, resonating with the unborn child in Lady Igraine's womb. That child was most likely none other than the legendary King Arthur of ancient Britain.
But why would this piece resonate with Arthur when he was still only a fetus?
This artifact came from Slytherin's Chamber. Even if it were one of the earliest items crafted by Salazar Slytherin, it would date back to the Founders' era, which is centuries later than Arthur's time.
What exactly was going on with Salazar Slytherin?
Surely there must be some hidden reason for him to create or at least keep an object that could resonate with a legendary king of the distant past.
"Of course, it's possible that this was just one of Slytherin's collected relics and not something he crafted. But even so, for it to locate a true king with such precision, it can't be just any trinket."
Ian couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here, and with that came a creeping unease.
After all, his impression of Salazar Slytherin was not a good one. That guy always felt like a schemer, pulling strings from the shadows.
Just as Ian's thoughts circled endlessly, faint sounds stirred not far away.
The rustle of thorny leaves brushing against the leather of a boot.
Soon, three maids emerged from the castle, each carrying a silver tray. The lace hems of their skirts brushed the stone ground as they passed, and the sweet, heady scent of perfume mingled with the aroma of baked apples.
On their trays were delicate pastries, a luxury enjoyed only by nobles in this era. Seeing them draw closer, Ian quickly retreated a few steps without a sound. He murmured a spell under his breath, and in an instant, his body seemed to dissolve into the air, vanishing without a trace.
The Disillusionment Charm.
A practical little charm, much favored by Peeping Toms. Wizards in this castle were already rare, and Ian, a Legendary Wizard, had no reason to worry that his somewhat unpolished charm would be detected. As expected, the maids passed right by without noticing him, continuing until they disappeared into the deeper parts of the garden.
"Unlike Headmaster Dumbledore and Grindelwald, who bend the rules of magic at will, no such troublemakers exist here..." Ian thought to himself as he watched the maids approach Morgan's mother. They carefully helped Lady Igraine into a chair and set the pastries neatly on an ornate stone table in front of her.
The stone table was adorned with intricate decorative patterns, the artistry of which was no less refined than that of later eras. Paired with exquisite desserts, it was exactly what modern young women might imagine when dreaming of an elegant afternoon tea.
"Madam, you've been getting hungry more quickly these days," One of the maids said softly as she poured a cup of tea with careful hands. "So we've prepared some pastries that aren't quite so fattening."
Though it was called tea, it was far from the black tea that would not be known for another thousand years. At best, it was some sort of herbal infusion.
"Yes, I have found myself getting hungry very quickly lately, and my appetite has become quite particular. Those sickly-sweet things always remind me of the honey jars rotting in the cellar when I was a child."
A trace of helplessness flickered in Morgan's mother's eyes as she nodded slightly and reached out with delicate fingers to pick up a pastry. She took a graceful bite, every movement poised and deliberate.
Nobility was not only about rituals and ceremonies; it was also in the way one ate: slowly, measuredly, and refined down to every detail.
Of course, to Ian, it all seemed rather dull. He much preferred hearty meals, wolfing down meat and rice without fuss.
His inner criticisms were, of course, entirely unknown to Morgan's mother. She continued to nibble and chat softly with the maids, even breaking into fits of laughter at the occasional joke. Yet, Ian noticed that her eyes always held a hint of unease.
Perhaps the impending birth filled her with both anticipation and anxiety. Or maybe it was the guilt of carrying another man's child while married to her lawful husband.
Who could ever hope to fathom the heart of a noblewoman?
Ian did not intrude upon his teacher's mother's thoughts, nor did he intend to continue spying on her. After a moment more of quiet observation, he brushed the pollen from his robes and prepared to leave.
"This thing..."
He looked at the glowing chess piece once more, then tucked it away for the time being.
He turned and withdrew silently, remaining just as unnoticed as when he had arrived. He followed the stone-paved path back into the ancient castle.
By now, night had fallen. The castle, however, blazed with light. Candles burned lavishly in every corridor, their brilliance a stark contrast to the stillness and gloom outside.
The walls were lined with portraits, but, unlike those at Hogwarts, these did not move, nor could they speak. Ian paid them no mind and went straight toward the room where Riddle was.
A master–servant bond connected them.
Ian could clearly sense Riddle's presence and state.
Pushing open a heavy wooden door, Ian stepped inside. Riddle stood at a stone table with a vial of deep violet potion in his hand.
"Hoot, hoot, glug~"
It wasn't the sound of Malfoy willingly drinking potion. Rather, it was the sound of Riddle forcing the liquid down his throat. Malfoy was still unconscious under a Stupefy spell and had a tube inserted into his stomach for delivering the potion.
Riddle's expression showed a flicker of impatience, yet his movements were surprisingly gentle, as though he feared hurting his patient.
"Tsk, tsk . . . You're quite attentive to your servant," Ian said, arching a brow and lacing his tone with amusement. Who had ever heard of the Dark Lord showing such patience in tending to someone?
"It's only proper. Only proper." Riddle looked up, startled by Ian's sudden entrance. He quickly set down the potion vial and cast a wary glance toward the door.
"Where's Merlin?"
There was a trace of tension in the Dark Lord's voice.
"Why, I chased him off, of course." Ian never passed up an opportunity to show off, especially when it was handed to him on a silver platter. He let his voice fall into an air of calm indifference, as though defeating the legendary King of Wizards were no harder than eating or drinking.
Admittedly, it was somewhat theatrical.
But it was also true.
And it had the desired effect. Riddle's pupils shrank, and disbelief swept across his young face.
"You're saying... you defeated Merlin?"
Ian only nodded lightly as though it were nothing at all.
Riddle froze for a long moment, then swallowed hard.
"You really are a terrifying monster..." Whether this was meant as a compliment or an insult was unclear, but his expression was undeniably shaken, with emotions swirling beneath the surface.
His tone carried both awe and something more complicated, perhaps even relief. If Ian had managed to bring down Merlin, then his own defeat at Ian's hands didn't seem so pitiful.
(To Be Continued…)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395