Walking along the unfamiliar road, Lucius wrapped his robe tighter around himself and hurried forward.
He found himself in an estate—much like the one he once owned, with its tall and expansive buildings, luxurious decorations, maids occasionally passing by in the corridors, and... Upon seeing someone approach from the opposite direction, Malfoy stopped and stepped aside to make way.
And the hills covered with vines and the peculiar inhabitants.
Indeed, peculiar people—
Wearing white robes that barely covered their essential parts, with crowns woven from golden branches on their heads, faces obscured by white masks, and voices strange and theatrical. Even though Lucius considered himself old-fashioned, he wouldn't dress in such an outdated manner—for some reason, he felt as if these folks had been dug up from some ancient, forgotten graveyard.
Finally, after those ancient Greek-speaking figures passed by, Lucius Malfoy continued his walk through the estate's deep corridors.
Beneath his feet was cold, meticulously polished black stone, smooth enough to cast reflections, while the walls were entirely white, engraved with curious reliefs that perhaps made them appear less monotonous—
At the corridor's end, a magic torch emitted a faint light, shadows dancing between the wall and ceiling carvings. As mentioned before, there were quite a few "maids" in this estate.
Only, these maids in white robes seemed less like... living beings?
Faces pale as wax, eyes hollow, movements fluid yet lifeless like marionettes controlled by strings. They either carried golden trays or polished the already gleaming floors, disregarding Lucius's presence as if he were nothing but a wisp of scentless air.
Nonetheless, Lucius maintained his composure, slightly lowered his head, and pressed forward quickly, endeavoring to ignore the unsettling stares around him.
At last, he arrived at a heavy wooden door, its surface roughened with texture, and the next moment, the door silently parted before him.
A distinctly different atmosphere washed over him.
The world beyond the door appeared relatively more "modern." A yellow flame danced in the fireplace, a massive bookshelf embedded into the wall occupied an entire side, and a sleek, dark velvet sofa set in the room's center. In the room's corners floated cold white glowing orbs, together with the flames dispelling the interior gloom.
Two people sat on the sofa.
Facing away from Lucius was a young man, his figure tall and slender, dressed in an impeccably tailored black wizard robe, without a single extra crease, clearly demonstrating his effort. The youth's black short hair contrasted starkly with his fair skin.
His appearance—handsome indeed, even when scrutinized critically—
Understandable, considering, with just an ordinary face, no matter the eloquence from his mouth, how else could he attract an experienced rich lady?
This person was definitely not the "master" from Lucius Malfoy's memory, but after several soul rendings, this soul hidden within Hufflepuff's Golden Cup was no different from Voldemort, only younger and lacking decades of experience.
Opposite the young Voldemort sat a man who appeared much more weathered.
This man seemed somewhat contradictory; his robust body and youthful posture made him seem no more than a young lad, yet his head full of ash-gray, lifeless hair and a face lined with wrinkles made him appear quite old.
"Master!"
Without further hesitation, Lucius hurried forward, his voice trembling slightly as he kneeled a few steps from the sofa, deeply bowing his head, in a tone perfectly mixed with fervor and the relief of surviving by chance, "Master! I have returned, thank you for your protection, your power... your radiance..."
Tom slightly raised a hand to halt Lucius's customary declarations at each meeting—
The first couple of times, they were pleasant enough, but the same vocabulary every time... became somewhat tiresome, "Rise, Lucius." His voice was deep and pleasant, like fine velvet brushing over metal, each syllable etched clearly into one's mind, "Seeing you safe and sound pleases me. Oh, this is Mr. Helbo—"
"...Yes, Master! The servant shall dedicate everything for your glory!"
Lucius kept his head low, body trembling, kneeling even lower with apparent excitement and humility—as if he hadn't heard Tom's latter words, using this over-enthusiastic display to mask his near-imperceptible tremor.
Despicable Helbo...
"Enough."
Voldemort once again calmly interrupted, his gaze not lingering on Lucius for a single moment longer, "Find a place to settle yourself. I have matters to discuss with Mr. Helbo." The tone was gentle, yet carried an undeniable command.
"As you command, Master!"
Lucius responded immediately, swiftly retreating, tactfully and respectfully positioning himself in the room's corner near the massive bookshelf, head lowered, hands crossed before him, minimizing his presence, almost merging into the corner's darkness and the shadows cast by the bookshelf.
However, within the concealed depths of his dropped gaze, the 'Mecha Pilot' had fully awakened.
William's magic-constructed firewall, simulating the fervent emotions of the Death Eaters, steadfastly maintained the outward emotional flow—
But behind that firewall, within the core bastioned by Occlumency, the real Lucius Malfoy's thoughts churned—'Despicable Helbo,' this name had surfaced in the news recently, albeit briefly, but Lucius had learned quite a bit—
For instance, this person had been defeated by William.
For instance, this person had previously cooperated with Voldemort... though the outcome wasn't exactly pleasant.
Now, however, he was aligning himself with a new Voldemort... So, is Voldemort some kind of symbolic mascot? Like the ADC in a team combat?
At this moment, Helbo's voice broke the silence, "Riddle." His voice was somewhat coarse, "Have you considered it yet?" He paused, his eyes showing unmasked impatience, "You should be aware that we don't have much time to wait, remember, you don't have room for negotiation, all these remaining options are what I've managed to secure for you..."
"I understand, Mr. Helbo,"
Tom nodded, maintaining his dignified posture, one hand casually resting on the sofa's armrest, his fingers tapping rhythmically, "Or how should I address you now? Hermes... sir? Oh, would it be impolite for me to refer to a god this way?"