Alan chuckled. "After all, this place represents the Solent family's remaining resources. It's a pity that it will disappear after today."
Erwin nodded, picking up a goblet. "Hmm. Even if you survive, you'll destroy this place. Let me guess—do you have any living dragons left here?"
Alan's expression didn't waver. "Of course not. I've witnessed your abilities. Keeping them around would only create problems. Besides, I know your preparations are thorough. Given your cautious nature, you would never allow your people to enter the manor unprepared."
Erwin shrugged, taking a sip of wine. "Indeed, you know me well. Let's go, then—it's lunchtime. I don't think you'd be stingy with a meal."
Alan smiled. "Of course not. I had them prepare the food before... well, before they served their final purpose. Just waiting for you."
Erwin nodded and stood. Alan extended a hand in a gesture of mock politeness.
"Then, please."
Erwin didn't hesitate. He walked directly into the manor.
Charlotte gave Alan a cold look, her eyes filled with barely restrained hostility.
Alan sighed. "Charlotte, don't look at me with such hatred. Today, there are only two possibilities: I die here, or you die here. Surely you're not too rushed for a final meal, are you?"
Charlotte's voice was ice. "You will die at the hands of my lord. There's no doubt about it. A dying man's final requests should be granted—that's what the master taught me."
Alan nodded, his smile tight. "Yes, Erwin is right. So, I can't let you go hungry."
Charlotte followed Erwin, ignoring Alan entirely.
Alan guided them to a dining table set with silverware. The food was already laid out—roast chicken, treacle tart, and steamed vegetables.
"Try it, Erwin," Alan said, gesturing with a fork. "I think it'll be much better than your last formal dinner. After all, I've studied your preferences."
[Note: Removed "the food you had at the Demos family's last meal" which was an awkward reference. Simplified.]
Erwin took a bite. "Hmm. Not bad. I can tell you've put thought into this. It's true what they say—the one who studies you most carefully is often your adversary."
Alan smiled. "Thank you. This might be the last meal for both of us. As long as it suits our tastes, that's good."
Erwin ate slowly and deliberately, showing no sign of an impending confrontation. He carefully removed the scallions from his dish.
"It's unfortunate this is the last meal. Otherwise, you'd know for next time that I don't eat scallions."
Alan watched him, leaning back in his chair. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark—now emitting a faint, black mist.
"There's no other way," Alan said quietly. "My time is running out. If you don't die, I will. This is my last chance."
Erwin glanced at the mark. "So that's how it is. Bargaining with dangerous forces ultimately leads to being consumed by them."
Alan let out a bitter laugh. "Erwin, do you know what it's like to be born into servitude? An entire family marked as servants from the moment of birth?"
Charlotte looked at Alan sharply. "Our family has never mistreated yours!"
Alan nodded. "Yes, the Cavendish family has never mistreated the Solent family. But how much has the Solent family sacrificed for the Cavendish family? Every patriarch of the Solent family has died in the power struggles of the Noble Houses. Whether wars begin or not has nothing to do with us. We are servants, expendable pawns. Even if you treat us well, can it compare to our lives?"
Charlotte fell silent. She didn't know what to say. According to Alan, it didn't seem entirely unreasonable. The vassal families existed as tools in the hands of the Noble Houses. No one ever asked them if they were willing. When danger arose, it was always the vassal families who paid the price. Even Charlotte herself had never deeply considered the feelings of the Solent family. In her mind, they were servants—nothing more.
But from the Cavendish family's perspective, being betrayed by vassals was a blood feud. Charlotte felt a flicker of confusion. Who was right and who was wrong?
Just as she was pondering this, a soft sound broke the silence.
Erwin set down his fork. "Not bad, Alan. Very eloquent. I must admit—in terms of rhetoric, you could rival anyone."
Alan frowned. "Erwin, from the moment you were born, you were the master. How could you possibly understand the burden of servitude?"
Erwin leaned forward. "Alan, I used to respect you. Now, I pity you. You're mistaken. A servant? Yes, you're right. The vassal families have been bound to service since their founding. You couldn't choose your birth; you were marked from the moment you were born, your fate not entirely your own. This is indeed a difficult position."
He paused, his voice dropping to a cold, precise tone. "But have you ever considered why the vassal families exist? As a traitor, you shouldn't know the true history. Some information is only preserved by the Noble Houses. Let me enlighten you about why there's a distinction between primary and vassal families. When Merlin divided the Dragon Speaker bloodline, he didn't intend to create these so-called vassal families."
Alan's eyes widened. "What?"
Erwin nodded. "It's true. It's precisely because of your Solent family's ancestors that the concept of vassal families exists. Your ancestor was a close companion of the Cavendish family's ancestor. Although they were master and servant by station, the Cavendish family's ancestor treated the Solent family's ancestor as a true brother."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "At that time, your ancestors had no magical power and were not qualified to enter the magical world. It was the Cavendish patriarch who requested that Merlin separate a portion of his Dragon Speaker bloodline. That granted the Solent family the ability to wield magic."
Alan stared at him, his expression frozen.
Erwin continued, his voice calm but cutting. "Therefore, the Solent family inherently possesses a trace of the Dragon Speaker bloodline. Otherwise, do you think you could extract Dragon Speaker essence through the methods you obtained? The magic in your veins is a gift—a gift from the Cavendish family."
Alan's hand trembled. The Dark Mark on his arm pulsed, a reminder of the desperate alliance he'd made to survive. He looked from Erwin to Charlotte, then back to his plate.
For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fireplace.
Then Alan laughed—a harsh, broken sound.
"A gift," he repeated, the word bitter. "And yet here we are."
Erwin stood, pushing his chair back. "You chose this path, Alan. You traded your loyalty for power, your honor for survival. The Solent family's history is one of partnership, yes—but you've twisted it into something unrecognizable."
He gestured to the table. "This meal was a courtesy. A final courtesy. But the confrontation is coming, Alan. And you've chosen your side."
Alan looked up, his eyes burning with a mix of defiance and despair. "Then let it come. I won't die on my knees."
Erwin nodded once. "I didn't expect you to."
He turned to leave, Charlotte following closely behind. At the door, Erwin paused.
"The Solent family's legacy isn't what you've made it," he said softly. "It was a legacy of trust, of partnership. You've betrayed that trust. And now, you'll face the consequences."
The door closed behind them, leaving Alan alone in the silent dining room. He stared at his half-eaten plate, the mark on his arm pulsing like a heartbeat.
Outside, the sky darkened. The final confrontation was about to begin.