There was no way that old man was Lord Vermillion.
Lord Vermillion was dead, and all that remained of him was his legacy of knowledge as a brave wizard who dared to oppose King Victor Dragomir's regime.
But every time I saw him, I couldn't deny that he was indeed the Lord Vermillion I often encountered in my memories as Atreus Vermillion.
"Hey, son. Why are you silent? You haven't answered my question," the old man said, breaking my reverie.
"What question?" I asked again.
"About Leysha… what else? Why did you choose her to be your wife?"
"She's loyal and reliable," I replied curtly, still staring intently at Lord Vermillion.
Even though I wasn't actually Lord Vermillion's son, Atreus Vermillion's memories of him as his father were still so strong that I felt awkward not referring to him as "father."
"...even though you and her are so far apart in age, son? I mean, she's ten years older than you, and—"
