Observing the man's atypical reaction, Isabell inquired with a stern voice tinged with anger, "You don't seem concerned about his condition, Mr. Black." Arcturus' indifference to Asterion's well-being truly infuriated the orphanage headmistress. Having devoted her entire life to caring for children, she particularly despised those who ignored a child's pain.
Arcturus coldly gazed at the woman, who concealed her anger behind a stoic facade. He held the cup and slowly tasted the tea.
"When you wear the crown, you must bear its weight," the indifferent voice lingered in the office air. He looked up, directly into the woman's eyes, and continued speaking slowly. "Asterion chose to live with a true Black; he placed the crown; now he must bear the weight that comes with it."
Isabell's eyes seemed frozen as she heard his words. "What weight should a nine-year-old child bear, Mr. Black?" Her kind voice transformed into a harsh and cold tone.
"That's no longer something that concerns you, Mrs. Morgan." He paused for a moment, looked at the woman, and continued, "If you'll allow me, I want to meet my great-grandson now." He finished by placing the teacup on the table.
Isabell took a deep breath, restraining herself from shouting and expelling the man from the orphanage. However, she knew she couldn't; the man in front of her had complete rights over Asterion as the likely guardian of the boy.
"Please follow me, Mr. Black," she said, rising from her chair.
Arcturus ignored the woman's cold tone; like a Muggle, she would never understand the weight a wizard carried.
He wasn't deemed noble merely by birth; he was regarded as noble for shedding blood and sweat for the country he loved. For over seven decades, he pressed on, engaging in an unyielding battle against the darkness, teetering on the brink of death numerous times. Survival in some instances was just a stroke of luck; relentless, he advanced, oblivious to the countless scars etched onto his body during years of tireless struggle.
Isabell accompanied Arcturus to the first floor of the building, where they finally stopped in front of a door. Knocking on the door, Isabell spoke in a gentle tone, quite different from the tone she had used with Arcturus earlier. "Asterion, you have a visitor. May I come in for a moment?"
"Come in, it's open," a low voice responded from behind the door, fatigue audible in his tone.
As Isabell was about to enter, she couldn't proceed as Arcturus had stopped her.
"Mrs. Morgan, I wish to speak with my great-grandson alone."
"That's impossible—" As she was about to continue, she saw Arcturus draw a beautiful wand and gesture in her direction.
"You don't need to worry, Mrs. Morgan. You can return to the office to prepare the necessary paperwork for Asterion's departure," he said with a stern tone, devoid of any emotion on his face.
"Yes, I'll be in the office if you need anything," Isabel said, showing a gentle smile as she headed to her own office.
Putting his wand back into the holster on his arm, Arcturus smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes. Then, he gripped the doorknob and opened the door.
The door swung open, revealing an impeccably clean and tidy room. Nothing extravagant, just a bed, a wardrobe, an old lamp on top of an even older desk.
So, Arcturus saw him, sitting in the chair in front of the desk, writing with full concentration on a piece of paper. Honestly, he thought that upon seeing the boy, he would recognize whether he was the son of Sirius or Regulus, but looking at his face, Arcturus had to admit that the boy bore no resemblance to his grandchildren.
Delicate and refined facial features, smooth black hair, and vibrant red eyes like two shining rubies. If there was anything indicating his paternal origin, it was the straight black hair, a trait inherited from Regulus, as Sirius had darker brown, more curly hair.
Arcturus focused on the red eyes and let out a low laugh. Even though he knew the information beforehand, seeing it for himself brought him immense joy. He could envision the House of Black once again rising to the top among all Noble Houses. He would ensure this happened before embracing death, satisfied in knowing he left a worthy heir in the world.
"Hello, Asterion," Arcturus said with his raspy, aged voice. His black eyes stared at his great-grandson with a content look. In terms of appearance, he had nothing to worry about. The boy, even without knowledge of his heritage, sat upright and with dignity.
He saw the boy stop writing and place the pen on the desk while looking him up and down.
"A relative of mine, I presume," said the boy, his melodic and serene voice resonating in the particularly quiet room.
"You presumed correctly, my dear grandson," Arcturus laughed at the boy's intelligence as he calmly sat on the bed while introducing himself. "I am Arcturus Black III, your father's grandfather and the current patriarch of the oldest and noble House of Black. Also, I am a Semi-Special Grade wizard at the British Ministry of Magic."
"Asterion Black, orphan and heir to nothing at the moment," Asterion said in a louder-than-usual tone with a humorous inflection. Arcturus laughed, enjoying the cheeky and bold attitude of the boy.
"I suppose you have questions, Asterion," Arcturus said, changing the atmosphere in the room.
"Yes, I have many unanswered questions, but for now, I'd like to know if my parents are still alive," Asterion looked at the elderly man sitting on his bed with a complex expression. He wanted to know who his parents were, and if they were indeed dead, he would avenge them—the least he could do for the people who brought him into this world.
"The truth is, I also don't know whose son you are," Arcturus looked at the still indifferent boy and continued, "If you are the son of my grandson, Regulus, then he's dead, killed by the Dark Lord, Voldemort. If you are the son of my other grandson, Sirius, he's currently imprisoned for blowing up an entire street, killing thousands of people in the process."
"No other options?" Asterion asked again after learning the fate of his potential father. Although there were some differences from what he knew, they were irrelevant at the moment.
"No, according to your date of birth, you are the son of Regulus or Sirius," Arcturus shook his head and answered honestly. After learning about the boy's existence, he himself determined the boy's paternal origins; he was the son of Regulus or Sirius, there was no other option.
"I am the son of Regulus," Asterion spoke, causing the room to fall into complete silence. The boy's response made Arcturus look closely at him with an extremely serious expression.
Translated by AI.
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Author's Thoughts: Honestly, some of you may find these chapters a bit boring, and I apologize for that, but they are necessary for world-building.
By the way, could you provide some help in choosing the cursed spirits for the main character? Believe me, it's difficult! The only requirement is that they must be powerful and malevolent legends.
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