Riddle's scheming didn't concern Ian in the slightest. The Paradox Thrall could never escape his control anyway. Right now, what mattered most to him was- 'what's for breakfast.'
He hadn't t the master of this castle yet; the duke of legend seed to be away. Fortunately, Morgan had risen earlier than him and had already ordered the servants to prepare breakfast.
Under Morgan's arrangent, Ian was led to a finely decorated Feast Hall. The long dining table was laid with delicate silverware, and steaming hot dishes released an alluring fragrance.
The spread included traditional bread, lamb, and cheese, along with carefully prepared fried eggs and fresh fruits. Each dish carried a rich, classical flavor. Perhaps this combination couldn't quite compare to Hogwarts' variety, but to enjoy such food in an age where supplies were scarce, it was indeed sothing to be happy about.
"At least the bread is soft." Ian's expression and deanor did not escape Morgan's watchful gaze, making the young Morgan realize that her teacher's life might have been far more luxurious than she had imagined.
Of course, according to her thoughts- for a powerful wizard, it wasn't strange at all.
After breakfast, Ian stepped out of the Feast Hall and found Riddle still fully concentrated on refining potions, so absorbed that the world around him seed not to exist. Ian didn't disturb him and instead walked straight outside the castle. He wanted to see the morning of this era, and Morgan, neatly dressed, quickly followed after him.
But the castle's butler tried to stop them.
"Oh, Your Highness, you're actually wearing the sa dress you wore last week? If outsiders were to see this, they'd think your father was unduly harsh with you."
The butler's words weren't directed at Ian. He was long used to Ian's presence; perhaps Morgan often brought back "wizards." What he ant to stop was simply Morgan's attire.
"I like this black dress. Besides, we're only strolling around nearby," Morgan said, glancing at her outfit, giving an answer the butler clearly wasn't satisfied with.
Still, the butler reluctantly nodded and left.
Leaving behind a faintly pouting Morgan, and Ian who secretly smacked his tongue in surprise. 'What do you an you can't wear clothes from last week again? So this was the extravagance of the nobles in the legends!'
Ian now had so understanding of why luxury clothing in later eras had such terrible quality that a single wash in the machine would ruin it. Clearly, it was a way of paying homage to the old aristocrats' practice of limiting wear ti!
"This is quite eye-opening."
Following Morgan's lead, Ian ca to the grassy fields outside the castle. The weather was fine today. The morning sunlight, filtered through thin mist, fell upon the ancient castle, gilding it with a layer of golden brilliance. From the forests beyond, the birds' calls rose and fell, weaving together a lodious chorus.
Passing through a carefully manicured garden, Ian spotted a training ground. There, the duke's Knights were engaged in their daily drills.
Their movents were uniform; every swing of their swords, every marching step, carried rhythm and imnse force. Ian noticed that these Knights' physiques far exceeded ordinary n. Their muscles were well-defined, their strikes swift and precise, and it was as if every inch of their bodies brimd with terrifying strength.
Ian even saw the boulders they used in training, which weighted no less than a ton each, yet they hefted them like dumbbells, performing strength routines in sets of dozens.
One could only call these n humanoid beasts.
The astonishing sight once again made Ian click his tongue.
"Have these Knights' bodies been magically altered?" He couldn't help but speculate. Since no one was bare-chested, he couldn't confirm whether magic had been used to strengthen them.
"Hmm?"
Hearing her new teacher ask, Young Morgan froze for a mont, glancing at Ian in surprise. "They're Knights trained in the Knight's Breathing Technique. Through this breathing thod, Knights constantly temper their bodies, awakening their latent potential. Almost every great noble family trains their own Knights."
This was common knowledge across the world. Morgan hadn't expected Ian to be astonished by it. But after a mont's thought, she quickly realized why.
Judging by the era when the Dark Bible had been written, her teacher must be unimaginably old. Perhaps his long isolation from the world left him with little knowledge of its recent developnts.
The Knight Breathing Technique was, after all, sothing that had only beco popular in recent years. It originated from that renowned Legendary Wizard of the past few decades; her own teacher had even ntioned that wizard's na just last night.
As this thought crossed her mind, Young Morgan imdiately began giving Ian a detailed explanation.
"Only the most gifted Knights can learn the Knight Breathing Technique, because its training requires many rare and precious body-training materials. Even in our family, we can only nurture a few hundred Knights. Even the king himself commands only a little over a thousand true Knights."
Her tone carried a faint sigh of lant as she spoke.
Upon hearing this, Ian once again looked at the Knights in training. One after another, they resembled humanoid beasts. He couldn't help but feel once more how wondrous this age of sword and magic truly was.
He was originally from the late 20th century.
Ian had never once read about any so-called breathing techniques that even ordinary people could practice. He didn't know whether they had been lost to history or whether places such as the Departnt of Mysteries had deliberately concealed them. Just like the countless other truths they had buried in secrecy, locking real history away where no one could reach it.
"No wonder my good brother Arthur could fight a dragon one-on-one." Ian mused to himself.
He did not know the reasons why such breathing thods had been forgotten, but he could feel it, this era truly was an age where sword and magic coexisted, brimming with mystery and power.
"What Arthur?" Young Morgan had caught Ian's muttering, and her curiosity was piqued.
Ian turned and looked at the young witch.
"Oh, right, yes, our good brother." He hastily corrected himself, though the words only left Young Morgan utterly confused. No matter how long she thought about it, she couldn't recall ever knowing such a person.
Just as the young witch was about to press him for answers, Ian had already continued walking forward.
The two of them left the training grounds, following a narrow path toward a small river outside the castle. The water was crystal clear, the breeze rippling across the surface in gentle waves.
Fish swam happily in the shallows, and Ian even spotted a few greenish crayfish. Alongside the riverbank, however, were dozens of small earthen mounds.
"What's inside those?" Ian's eye twitched slightly.
"They're my forr… teachers." Young Morgan hesitated but finally answered. Seeing Ian's expression change, she quickly explained.
"They were all frauds, conn trying to deceive and swindle my money. None of them were real wizards, and they were certainly not my true teachers." Her tone carried a trace of anger as she spoke.
She clearly felt no guilt about their deaths. On the contrary, she acted as though this was the only natural thing that should be done. One could only say that a wicked woman's grudges and thirst for revenge truly reveal themselves from an early age.
"Then I should count myself lucky I'm a real wizard," Ian remarked wryly. "Otherwise, I'd probably be lying under one of those mounds too." He was relieved that last night he had entered into a pact with Morgan.
He wasn't afraid of the girl before him seeking revenge, but the Morgan that lurked in the Twilight Zone? Who knew if she might hold a grudge for an entire lifeti?
"You are different from those swindlers." Young Morgan seed unsure how else to respond, so she simply emphasized that Ian was not a fraud.
"I'm different from most wizards as well."
Standing there, Ian couldn't resist glancing back at the towering, majestic castle. Suddenly, he realized in shock that it was identical in shape to the gloomy fortress he had seen within the Twilight Zone.
"So this place also bears the weight of a past my teacher could never let go of…" Ian silently mused to himself, convinced that he had glimpsed one of Morgan's deepest secrets.
Looking at the slightly tense young witch beside him, he suddenly asked, "Miss Morgan, I want to know, have you ever tried to learn magic for yourself?"
The abrupt question stunned Young Morgan.
(To Be Continued…)
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