Chapter 58: I'm full, may I ask—

Standing in the sunlight was a tall, slender man with a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Apologies, I couldn't quite control my strength."

Vell Nott’s gaze swept over the shattered remnants of the door, then shifted to Maurice standing in the threshold, his mouth twitching violently.

Hailing from a pure-blood lineage, he considered himself a man of immense refinement.

Though fury raged within his breast, he suppressed the impulse, gently straightened his lapels, and forced himself to calm down.

"Maurice, it has been a long time."

Vell stood up, forcing a stiff smile, and made a welcoming gesture, even attempting a lighthearted joke to ease the atmosphere.

"Since you are here, do come in and take a seat. Surely you didn't come all this way just to kick my door in."

Maurice smiled, stepping into the grand hall. Sunlight poured through the wide-open doorway, bringing a touch of vitality to the somewhat gloomy space.

He glanced around, the familiar furnishings deepening the smile at the corner of his mouth.

"It seems not much has changed here," Maurice remarked casually, his eyes sweeping over the ornate crystal chandelier and the portraits of pure-blood ancestors on the walls. "Though it is perhaps a bit... quieter than I remember."

With that, he walked straight toward the dining table and, under Vell's somewhat embarrassed gaze, picked up the cutlery and began to eat.

Vell watched him, his smile freezing for a fraction of a second before quickly returning to normal.

"Since you’ve already taken a seat, I shall take it that you accept my hospitality. Today's dishes are not something ordinary people could ever hope to enjoy; every single one is worthy of careful savoring."

With these words, his gaze swept over the table laden with food as he personally introduced the dishes to Maurice.

"This is roasted squab, exceptionally tender. The birds are of the finest quality, raised under the sun and drinking only spring water." He paused, offering a slight smile. "To maintain optimal muscle tone, their flight time each day is strictly regulated."

Maurice continued to eat with his head down, offering no response. The sound of silver cutlery clinking against porcelain was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.

Vell’s gaze shifted to another platter. "This is braised oxtail, prepared from high-mountain yellow cattle specially raised for aristocratic banquets. Their growth cycle is extremely brief; to achieve a unique texture, each beast is raised for only nine months before being slaughtered."

He continued, his eyes turning toward a plate of enticing cheese with a glistening surface. "As for this dish, it was prepared with the 'assistance' of a virgin Squib girl, using a special magic..."

"This dish is crafted from a dragon's heart, using a Squib as bait to lure and hunt the creature..."

"This dish..."

Maurice remained silent, mechanically cutting, chewing, and swallowing.

Yet, upon closer observation, one might notice—

Every time Vell mentioned that a dish contained components derived from a Squib, Maurice would unconsciously steer clear of it.

Watching Maurice devour the food like a whirlwind, Vell’s mouth twitched once more.

Suppressing his mounting displeasure, he walked to the opposite end of the table, pointed to a small tureen of thick soup, and let out a chilling smile. "This soup is called the 'Stream of Life.' Rather poetic, isn't it? Its ingredients include a rare herb paired with a small amount of... human blood, ensuring that every sip is brimming with vitality."

At this, he paused deliberately, fixing his eyes on Maurice's face.

Yet Maurice still showed no reaction, as if these luxurious yet blood-soaked descriptions failed to reach his ears. He focused entirely on the food before him, the cutlery moving effortlessly in his hands without the slightest hesitation.

Though Maurice's table manners fell far short of etiquette, for reasons unknown, an inherent sense of aesthetic arose from his movements—perhaps a beauty one might call "simplicity," or perhaps... "efficiency."

In short, it made him appear vastly more productive.

Vell's expression grew increasingly dark. To be honest... from the moment this bastard Maurice had set foot across his threshold, he had endured a great deal.

If not for the instructions of those individuals urging him to recruit Maurice, how could he possibly have allowed such a lowly creature to trespass into his manor?

Under normal circumstances, the man wouldn't even be qualified to lace his shoes!

And if not for those incompetent fools letting Maurice escape from Austria, why would he suffer such humiliation within his own manor today?

However, these thoughts did not alter his outward expression; the rigid smile remained plastered across his lips.

Vell slowly sat down, resting his hands folded upon the tabletop, and asked tentatively, "Maurice, surely you have something to say? At least tell me what you think of these dishes."

Maurice halted his movements, looked up at Vell with a strange expression, then lowered his head once more to resume eating, remaining entirely mute.

"Since you refuse to speak, I shall speak for you."

"You know I have always appreciated your intelligence and capability."

Hearing those words, the chewing motion in Maurice's mouth paused for an imperceptible fraction of a second.

"But you also understand the rules of the wizarding world—sometimes, bloodline is the only thing that allows you to stand firm."

"I know you have been pursuing your own endeavors out in the world, doing quite well and accumulating a certain degree of influence."

"Yet if you desire broader influence, or wish to truly reach the pinnacle of the wizarding society and forever shake off the shackles of that lowly surname 'Maurice'—you must return to the family."

From Schneider's perspective, the scene in the parlor at this moment could almost be described as heartwarming:

An elder of the family patiently admonishing a younger member, pointing out the proper path for his life's journey.

Yet for some reason, Schneider suddenly felt a chill, a coldness that made his entire body shiver.

He glanced around stealthily. At some point unbenounced to him, the atmosphere in the parlor had quietly turned icy and bleak.

Vell, however, seemed entirely oblivious. He lifted his chin, standing upon a self-perceived moral high ground of absolute superiority, looking down at Maurice.

"You know, Bourne, the Nott family holds many secrets, along with enviable power and resources."

"Today I sought you out to offer you an opportunity, or rather, a chance at rebirth."

"I am willing to make an exception, in my capacity as the head of the Nott family, to allow you—in the guise of my nephew—to return to the noble Nott family."

As he spoke, Vell grew increasingly animated, excitement gleaming in his eyes as he immersed himself in the rosy blueprint he had painted.

Indeed, he truly believed he was bestowing a grace upon Maurice.

To Maurice, this was supreme honor!

"You will no longer need to live that humble existence; you shall reclaim everything that is rightfully yours."

"You will return to the embrace of the family, possessing wealth, status, and even power."

"In time, you will become one of the core members of the Nott family."

"You must understand, Bourne, what returning to the Nott family means for you."

"It means you will win true recognition from the wizarding world, rather than relying on those mediocre, middle-ground pursuits to achieve your less-than-noble ambitions."

"Bloodline is the foundation of wizarding society."

"..."

Maurice offered no response throughout, quietly continuing his meal.

When he finally finished eating and laid his fork down with deliberate elegance beside his plate, Vell's endless stream of persuasion had long since faded into silence.

Maurice raised his head, locked eyes with Vell, and asked with polite courtesy, "I am finished. Could you tell me where the washroom is?"