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One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 197

Chapter 197: Kai Blunders Into the Combat Testing Arena! The Traitor York!

Punk Hazard, outer perimeter.

“Thanks for the hard work.”

Kai hung up the call from Enel, forcing down the smile tugging at his mouth.

Since Enel had already located Vegapunk, it was time for Kai to take the stage.

“How do we get in?” Kuma asked quietly beside him.

According to Vegapunk’s intel, today’s “guests” inside the facility were far beyond what they had expected.

Kai lifted a brow, his grin turning bold and reckless.

“Is that even a question?”

He planted a foot and shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

“We charge straight in.”

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, his body blurred into a streak and slammed head-on into the towering alloy perimeter wall.

A barrier built to withstand heavy artillery was as fragile as dried cardboard before his monstrous strength.

It exploded open with a massive hole.

In the same instant, an ear-splitting alarm tore through the base’s silence, screaming across every sector.

Inside the base, the combat testing arena.

The people preparing to begin Seraphim testing all froze at the sudden alarm.

“What happened?”

“That is a top-level intrusion alarm. A powerful enemy has broken in,” Shaka explained quickly, a note of urgency slipping into his usually flat tone.

“A powerful enemy?” Tokikake looked pleased instead of worried, a grin full of interest spreading across his face. “Which unlucky bastard picked this timing to force his way in?”

Was that not perfect?

They had walked straight into the gun barrel.

The other vice admirals chuckled too, relaxed.

With this lineup, unless an entire Yonko crew was storming the facility, everyone else was just delivering themselves for free.

But Admiral Kizaru and Kuzan traded a quick look.

Both frowned slightly as the same bad feeling rose in their chests.

Moments later, an emergency call from the surveillance room confirmed it.

“Ad‑Admiral Kizaru! I‑it’s him—Disaster Kai! Disaster Kai is here!”

The Den Den Mushi voice shook with terror.

“What?”

Kizaru’s lazy gaze sharpened at once. “Where is he now?”

“We—we can’t track his exact route!” the Marine blurted, voice cracking. “He broke in from the east and just kept going straight west—smashing through everything, nothing’s stopping him—”

Then he suddenly screamed, almost choking on the words. “Wait—his line… it’s straight for the combat testing arena! He’s heading right for it!”

The room went still.

And in the next heartbeat.

Boom.

A deafening blast exploded.

The special wall that even Pacifista lasers could not budge was punched through like paper, leaving a jagged-edged hole.

A black shadow wrapped in smoke and debris shot out of it.

Several vice admirals positioned up front could not react at all. They only felt an unstoppable, violent force slam into them.

Their bodies flew up like kites with snapped strings, hurled hard into the air.

The shadow did not slow, still on course to smash through the opposite wall and escape.

“Cannot let you leave that easily.”

Kuzan’s voice was as lazy as ever, but his movement was lightning fast.

He raised his right arm. A terrifying surge of freezing air became a pale shockwave and blasted out.

“Ice Time Capsule!”

The freezing strike aimed at the shadow’s back was met by a casual backhanded palm.

Frost spread instantly, locking the entire arm and part of the torso inside a thick shell of ice.

“Kai, leaving without even saying hello?” Kuzan lowered his hand and spoke slowly.

Almost at the same moment Kuzan moved, a dazzling golden flash appeared behind Kai like a teleport, forming a perfect pincer.

Gion and Tokikake reacted instantly, spreading left and right to seal two more angles with sharp pressure.

In a breath, a ring formed around Kai, built from two admirals and two admiral candidates.

“My, my. So it is you all.”

Kai sounded completely unhurried.

“Admiral Kizaru, Admiral Kuzan, and Vice Admiral Gion. What a grand welcome.”

Faced with that luxury blockade, Kai greeted them as casually as if he had run into acquaintances on the street.

He gave his right arm a small shake.

Crackling sounds rang out as the ice shattered under strain, and it collapsed to the floor in chunks, revealing him completely unharmed.

Kai brushed at his shoulder as if dust might be there, then flicked his gaze toward the vice admirals lying on the ground, groaning in pain.

A bright, mocking smile spread across his face.

“Oh? Those guys I just sent flying were vice admirals? My mistake. I thought they were speed bumps.”

“Enough!” Gion’s voice snapped like a whip. “Kai, today is the day you go down and get taken in!”

Her named sword Konpira rang as it left the sheath, tip leveled at his chest, her eyes gone cold.

New grudges and old surged in her chest.

Today, she would settle them here.

“Is that so?” Kai laughed softly. “Not so sure about that.”

He looked away like he did not care, turning his attention to the Pacifistas and Seraphim moving in under Shaka’s command.

So because Kuma wasn’t in the Warlords anymore, they used Edward Weevil as the template instead?

That did fit.

But what caught Kai’s eye most were the small Seraphim with black wings on their backs.

Click.

Kai pulled out an Image Den Den Mushi and casually adjusted the angle toward the Seraphim, then pressed the shutter.

“Mmm. Perfect angle.”

Kai’s mouth curled.

“Never thought Mihawk as a kid would be pretty cute.”

Just imagining printing the photo into an album and slapping it down in front of the World’s Strongest Swordsman made Kai’s shoulders tremble with excitement.

This kind of joke would feed him for a lifetime.

“You bastard!”

Seeing Kai act like he was alone even while surrounded, Gion clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, fingers whitening on the hilt.

With this many monsters around him, he still dared to ignore them?

She shot a look at Kuzan and Kizaru, waiting for the order.

“Kai-kun, it would be better if you stayed and explained yourself,” Kizaru said, hands in his pockets, tone still unhurried.

But the gaze behind his lenses had grown heavier.

“If you make too much of a mess, even an old man like me is going to get a headache.”

“A headache?” Kai lifted his brows, then grinned. “Then do not deal with it.”

Under everyone’s stunned eyes, he made Kizaru a blunt offer.

“Want to switch jobs and join the Beasts Pirates? The pay and perks will be generous.”

“Mmm. I will pass,” Kizaru said, rubbing his chin with a shrug. “Never wanted to work for pirates.”

“Everything has a first time,” Kai said, sweeping his gaze across the arena. “Besides, are pirates and the Government really so different?”

“Looks like we cannot negotiate,” Kizaru said.

Kizaru fell silent for a moment, then said nothing more.

His hands crossed in front of his chest, golden light bursting from his fingertips.

“Yasakani no Magatama!”

A storm of brilliant light bullets poured down like a violent rain, instantly opening the siege.

“Ice Block: Pheasant Beak!”

Kuzan moved almost at the same time, freezing the air, condensing it into a huge ice bird that shrieked and dove.

“Rokushiki Secret Art: Finger Pistol: Boar Rush!”

Tokikake stabbed a finger forward, and a boar-shaped shockwave blasted out.

“Blooming Flowers: Soaring Swan!”

Gion’s sword light burst like flowers in full bloom, slicing in from all directions.

And it was not over.

Under Shaka’s command, seven Seraphim and ten Pacifistas attacked at once.

In a single instant, a dazzling, lethal storm swallowed Kai completely.

Deafening blasts and blinding light devoured the entire testing arena.

“Did we hit him?” Gion stared at the boiling smoke and chaotic energy.

In her Observation Haki, Kai’s presence had not moved at all.

“Tch. The newspaper made him sound like a god, and this is it?” Tokikake whistled, a cocky grin on his face.

He did not notice that neither Kuzan nor Kizaru had relaxed even slightly.

If anything, their faces had grown more severe.

In the next second, Kai’s voice drifted out from the center of the smoke, calm and almost lazy.

“Nice power behind those moves. I approve.”

A gust swept through. The smoke peeled away.

And the moment the scene inside became visible, everyone’s breathing stopped.

“How, how is that possible?”

Gion’s pupils shrank as her voice slipped out.

“No way… how is he still standing?” Tokikake grabbed at his hair, his face full of disbelief.

At the center of the battlefield, Kai still stood exactly where he had been, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

Not only was he uninjured, but even his clothes showed not a single tear.

Faint light flowed across his body, as if he were wrapped in a crystal armor.

Kuzan’s brow knotted hard. A deeply ominous feeling rose in him.

Was it this whole setup doing it? Otherwise, there was no way to explain it.

Two admirals. Two admiral candidates. Seven Seraphim. Ten Pacifistas.

A full combined strike like that, and he was untouched.

This was beyond anything Kuzan knew about defense.

Forget Kaido.

Even Charlotte Linlin, the so-called iron balloon, could never do something like this.

“So this is the power of technology,” Kai thought.

“That’s enough talk. I’m leaving.”

Kai never bothered to explain his abilities to his enemies.

While they were still stunned, his body flickered and blurred into an afterimage, charging again along his chosen route.

“Stop him,” Kuzan and Kizaru moved almost at the same time.

Freezing air and violent lasers intertwined again, striking Kai’s back perfectly.

But whether it was frost or light, the moment they hit that crystal sheen, they sank like mud into the sea and did nothing.

“How can this be?” Gion’s pupils tightened.

But her combat instincts crushed down the shock instantly.

“Do not freeze up. Chase him.”

Tokikake stomped, using Soru to explode forward into pursuit.

“Wait,” Kizaru’s voice cut in, low and suddenly sharp.

He had already pulled out a special encrypted Den Den Mushi and pressed it to his ear.

Whatever he heard on the other side made his expression darken at a visible speed, like storm clouds gathering.

He slammed the call shut, jaw tight. “Move. Now,” he snapped. “Mother Flame project laboratory, double-time—Vegapunk’s in trouble. We got played; this is a diversion.”

A little earlier.

Vegapunk’s excited barrage of questions at Enel had woken York from sleep.

“Mmm. What is going on?”

Rubbing sleepy eyes, she sat up. Her blurred gaze quickly focused.

Enel, surrounded by the main body and the other satellites, came into view.

York jolted.

Sleep vanished in an instant.

Very quickly, she learned the whole story from Vegapunk himself.

When the other satellites heard that Vegapunk had struck a deal with Kai and planned to break free of the World Government’s control, they all expressed willingness to leave with the main body and pursue real scientific freedom and ideals.

“Then let us work together and open a new future,” Vegapunk said.

He was not surprised by their decision.

They shared the same memories.

Even if their personalities were slightly adjusted, he believed the pure heart that wanted to use science to benefit humanity and explore the unknown was something they all shared.

Under the World Government, that ideal would never be allowed to stretch its wings.

But drowned in excitement, he did not notice the flash of panic that crossed York’s eyes.

“Ah. I need the bathroom. It is time to, you know, go,” York suddenly said.

Vegapunk did not suspect a thing. He only urged her on.

“Go and come right back. I have temporarily looped the nearby surveillance into normal footage, but it may not fool them for long. The guards in the monitoring room could notice at any time.”

“Got it. I will be right back,” York said quickly, nodding, and trotted out.

Enel glanced at York’s retreating back, a faint sense of wrongness pricking at him.

But seeing that Vegapunk and the other satellites showed no reaction, Enel forced the doubt down.

Kai said the old man was the smartest in the world.

Nothing should go wrong, right?

Elsewhere.

York left the lab, but she did not head for any bathroom.

Her steps quickened until she was nearly running through the empty corridors.

She charged out of the core research zone, ignoring the startled looks from passing researchers.

To be safe, she kept running until she reached a quiet corner with no one around, then stopped, panting.

With her back against cold metal, the innocent look she usually wore was gone.

In its place was a twisted resolve.

“Do not blame me. You are the ones betraying the World Government.”

She pulled a Den Den Mushi from an inner pocket, preparing to contact the only person who could help her now.

“Admiral Kizaru. Save me. The Beasts Pirates broke in!”

York cried like her world was ending.

After receiving Kizaru’s definite reply, she finally relaxed and ended the call.

Goodbye, Vegapunks.

I will be the only Vegapunk.

York cast one last look toward the laboratory, then turned away without hesitation.

That was when a cold, indifferent voice spoke, and the world dropped out from under her.

“So tell me. What should a traitor’s ending look like, York?”

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 309

Chapter 309: The Hidden Entrance

“Are you sure it’s here?” Holding a torch aloft, Sothia eyed the trembling dove beside her with deep suspicion.

She could hardly be blamed for doubting it. The towering rock face in front of them looked completely ordinary, with nothing about it that suggested any hidden secret.

“Coo!”

Under the terrifying human woman’s sceptical stare, the dove leader nodded frantically, so fast it looked as though it might peck its own head clean off.

But after nodding, it stared at the rock wall and immediately found itself at a loss.

Back then, they had fled here in blind panic. After one of its flock blundered into that place, the rest followed in a rush. In that state, none of them had stopped to observe the precise location of the entrance.

They were not even sure there truly was an “entrance” at all.

And when they escaped, the disaster inside had been so relentless that they had only thought of running. There was no chance they would have remembered where the opening was.

Where was it again…?

The more the dove tried to think, the more chaotic its thoughts became, spiralling into something close to despair. What if this human woman realised it could not find the spot and took her anger out on it? That would be bad enough. What if she simply threw it and its companions into a pot and boiled them?

Its flock was still not far away, being guarded by that enormous monster.

The more it thought, the more panicked it became. After about half a minute, the dove suddenly fixed its gaze on the rock wall, then sprinted forward and slammed into it, so fast that Sothia did not react in time.

What was wrong with this bird?

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sothia lifted a hand. A ribbon of water floated toward the dove leader, spreading and shaping itself into the outline of a net.

But just as the net was about to form, her hand paused. Surprise flashed through her eyes. The water net fell apart at once and drifted back to her side.

The dove leader kept charging, eyes squeezed shut. It had not seen the net form and dissolve. Its mind held only one desperate idea: if it died proving the truth, its flock might still have a chance to escape the fate waiting for them.

And in Sothia’s eyes, she watched the dove rush forward. The instant its head touched the stone wall, it sank straight into the rock as if the surface were water.

Staring at the perfectly ordinary wall, Sothia rubbed her chin, interest sparking in her gaze.

Evans had once mentioned that the train Hogwarts used to collect students from the Muggle world relied on this sort of magic at its station, didn’t it?

When she got back, she would have to find a way to ride it at least once.

With that thought, she stepped forward slowly and placed one hand against the wall.

Cold stone met her palm. It felt exactly like rock. If the dove had not just passed through, and if the wall had not given off the faintest magical ripple at that moment, she would never have realised it was hiding anything at all.

“So how do you get through a barrier like this again?” Sothia muttered. “Close your eyes, and keep telling yourself you can definitely pass…”

She closed her eyes and stepped forward.

Her leg, which should have hit solid stone, felt nothing. It moved through as easily as walking on level ground. A cool draft brushed her skin, and the roar of water filled her ears.

When she opened her eyes, the rock wall was gone.

In its place was a waterfall pouring from above, draping everything ahead like a curtain. On either side of the falls, eerie green flames burned. The dove that had vanished into the wall stood in front of the water now, head cocked, seemingly puzzled about how it had entered at all.

“This is… Thief’s Downfall? It’s even more impressive than the one at Egypt’s Gringotts!”

Staring up at the endless waterfall, Sothia’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

Compared to this, the Thief’s Downfall they had broken in Egypt back then looked like a small trickle.

And for her, a larger flow was nothing but good news.

She did not know why the water in the Great Lake had refused to respond to her call, but she could definitely command the water in this waterfall.

With a source this vast, plus the water she already had stored in several filled boxes, she would have answers for almost any danger she ran into.

Eyes bright, she spread her arms toward the waterfall. Her pale‑gold hair lifted as if in a wind that did not exist. As her arms opened wider, the waterfall slowed, then parted at its centre, creating an opening wide enough for several people to pass through at once and revealing what lay behind.

A corridor stretched beyond, unusually broad, lined on both sides with eerie green flames that extended inward until the far end vanished from sight. At a glance, it looked plain enough. Nothing stood out.

Sothia started to step forward to take a closer look.

Then the dove behind her cried out in sudden alarm.

“A trap?”

Hearing the warning, Sothia did not enter recklessly. She flicked her hand. Water gathered into a faceless human shape and walked into the corridor.

In the next instant, enormous fireballs and several skull‑like faces burst out from the surrounding walls, striking the figure at once and blasting it into a splash of water.

The dove leader shrank back, shaking violently, but Sothia stared at the puddle on the ground, frowning slightly in thought.

“This trap… isn’t it a bit too crude?”

She rubbed her chin, replaying the barrage. It was certainly powerful, an overwhelming volume of fire and curses, but it felt stiff. Almost mindless.

Normally, traps like these triggered one after another, ensuring every strike landed properly. They did not vomit out every stored attack in one brutal wave.

Because that kind of outburst burned through energy at an absurd rate. Even if the wizard who carved the arrays had been extremely powerful, even if the stored energy source were enormous, no one would waste it like this.

Unless…

Unless these arrays and mechanisms were meant to be controlled by something. And for whatever reason, age or accident, they had lost their controller and could only run on a fixed, preset pattern.

Reaching that conclusion, Sothia’s eyes lit up.

A preset pattern might still be dangerous for someone encountering it for the first time, but she was a Spring Nymph.

How could mindless mechanisms possibly stop her?

Especially with this much water behind her.

She lifted her hand slightly. The waterfall surged. Within moments, stream after stream peeled away from the falls and flowed toward her, gathering into a massive sphere of water.

Then, from within that sphere, pale blue knights stepped out one by one, each gripping a lance and clad in heavy armour. They formed a line at the corridor’s mouth, standing as if awaiting their orders.

Pokémon: Rebron as Red, The Strongest Champion - 300

Chapter 300: Lightning Versus Flame, A Clash Between Legendary Birds

“Let us look forward to the Legendary showdown between Zapdos and Moltres!”

As soon as the announcer finished speaking, the bell rang across the battlefield.

“Moltres, use Flamethrower!” Ryden Wataru ordered first.

“Zapdos, Thunderbolt,” Red said calmly.

Moltres immediately unleashed scorching flames from its beak, shaping them into a thick pillar of fire that surged toward Zapdos.

But in terms of attack speed, how could Moltres ever compare to Zapdos?

Zapdos gave a disdainful, icy sneer. It beat its radiant wings, electricity whipping around them. In an instant, a towering lightning column formed and crashed forward.

“How is that possible?!” Ryden cried, shocked.

In Ryden’s eyes, the massive fire pillar barely held against the lightning for a moment before being shattered by Zapdos’s Thunderbolt. The lightning spearheaded straight through, nearly piercing Moltres head-on.

“Moltres, use Agility, now!” Ryden shouted urgently.

Moltres stared in fear at the incoming lightning. Thankfully, it reacted to Ryden’s warning in time, using Agility to slip away and narrowly avoid the Thunderbolt.

Bzzzt.

The very next second, the lightning column slammed into the ground. The battlefield scorched black where it struck.

“Moltres, use Ancient Power while you have the chance.”

Ryden immediately changed tactics, ordering a Rock-type move that could threaten Zapdos.

Several strange, glimmering stones appeared out of nowhere around Moltres. Under its control, they shot toward Zapdos at high speed.

“Looks like my luck is not very good…”

When Moltres failed to get the stat boost that sometimes comes with Ancient Power, Ryden shook his head with a disappointed sigh.

He had been hoping to gamble on that rare boost, raising Moltres’s Attack, Defense, Sp. Atk, Sp. Def, and Speed all at once.

Unfortunately, that was wishful thinking. Luck like that was never something you could count on.

“Zapdos, use Thunderbolt again.”

On Red’s command, Zapdos released another surge of high-voltage electricity. It condensed into a massive lightning serpent and tore straight through the incoming Ancient Power, shattering the stones into fragments that clattered onto the field.

“What terrifying electric damage. Zapdos has gotten even stronger!” Gary said in amazement from the stands.

“That makes sense. It was once revered by ancient people as the Thunder God. Its control over electricity is naturally extraordinary,” Leaf agreed, nodding.

“As expected of big bro’s Zapdos!” Ash said excitedly.

“Red really is Pallet Town’s rising star,” Professor Oak said with a heartfelt sigh.

“Moltres, use Heat Wave!” Ryden ordered quickly, seeing Thunderbolt bearing down again.

Bang.

Moltres beat its flame-wreathed wings with full force, turning fire into a scorching gale. Heat Wave collided with the incoming electricity, and both attacks broke apart, neutralizing each other.

“Use Agility, then chain into Wild Charge,” Red said evenly.

In Moltres’s vision, Zapdos’s body blurred. In the next instant, it was behind Moltres, slamming into it with an electric-coated body.

Moltres was jolted by the electricity on impact, its body taking damage. Fortunately, Wild Charge could not inflict paralysis.

After landing the hit, Zapdos pulled back with smug ease, also avoiding the flames Moltres lashed out in fury.

Zapdos took recoil damage equal to a quarter of the attack, but it did not seem affected at all. Moltres, however, looked strained and kept gasping for breath.

“Your strength is getting weaker and weaker,” Zapdos said with a regretful shake of its head, clearly dissatisfied with Moltres’s performance.

“You arrogant bastard!” Moltres roared, then fired back with Fire Blast.

A searing blaze erupted from Moltres’s beak, taking the shape of a blazing kanji-like burst as it surged toward Zapdos.

“Zap Cannon.”

Zapdos gathered high-voltage electricity around its body, compressing it near its beak into a thick, brutal Zap Cannon shot.

With Zapdos’s control, the electric blast fired straight into the approaching Fire Blast.

In the brief clash, Zap Cannon broke through the Fire Blast. The remaining force kept pushing forward toward Moltres.

“Moltres, Flamethrower again!”

Moltres blasted a stream of fire to destroy the leftover Zap Cannon. The collision triggered a violent explosion that surged upward, shaking even the highest space over the arena.

When the black smoke finally cleared, Zapdos’s figure had already vanished from its previous position.

“Moltres, watch behind you! Use Agility to dodge!” Ryden shouted in panic.

Right as he spoke, the crackling sound of electricity rose behind Moltres.

Under Moltres’s horrified gaze, several strange, glimmering stones floated into existence around Zapdos. Under Zapdos’s control, they shot straight into Moltres.

Bang.

Ancient Power struck repeatedly. Moltres cried out in agony and could no longer maintain flight, dropping heavily to the ground.

After all, Rock-type damage against Moltres was a quadruple weakness.

Seeing Moltres badly hurt, Zapdos did not press the advantage. Instead, it hovered above with a victor’s posture, looking down at Moltres lying on the field.

“Moltres, use Roost, now!”

Ryden seized the moment while Moltres was grounded.

Moltres took a deep breath, forcing its body to relax. Its strength returned as it recovered half of its stamina.

“Sky Attack.”

As soon as Red spoke, Zapdos dove straight down. Golden energy flared around its body as it launched Sky Attack.

“Moltres, use Burn Up!” Ryden shouted urgently.

Moltres’s flames boiled violently. It released a massive pillar of fire to meet Zapdos head-on.

“Interesting,” Zapdos said with a light laugh.

It beat its electric-wreathed wings harder. The golden aura swelled dramatically. In Moltres’s terrified gaze, Zapdos broke through the massive fire pillar and slammed into Moltres, dealing immense damage.

“Press the advantage with Ancient Power.”

At Red’s command, hard stones shimmering with strange light gathered around Zapdos again. Under its control, they slammed into Moltres in quick succession.

Within moments, Moltres collapsed, too injured to continue.

“Moltres is unable to battle!”

The referee announced regretfully. No one expected the Indigo Conference’s sacred flame to fall like this to the Thunder God.

Some spectators shook their heads in disappointment, but their feelings eased slightly. At least Moltres had lost to another of the three Legendary birds, Zapdos.

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 196

Chapter 196: Seraphim! Operation Save Private Vegapunk Begins!

Yes, the ten massive figures standing before them bore the unmistakable features of Edward Weevil, the current Warlord of the Sea, who calls himself "Whitebeard's son."

"Admittedly, Edward Weevil has significant intellectual deficiencies," Shaka said, reading the doubt in their eyes with perfect calm.

"However, in terms of pure physical power, Edward Weevil is without question at the peak among the Warlords. That is precisely why the Doctor chose him as the base template."

Even better, low intelligence was a flaw for the growth-oriented Seraphim, but for Pacifistas it was a massive advantage.

From the start, Pacifistas were designed to be war machines with absolute obedience and flawless execution.

They only needed to follow orders perfectly. They did not need, and should not have, any extra thoughts.

"Now, allow me to formally introduce the PX series Pacifistas," Shaka said.

He turned slightly toward the ten towering figures, addressing the Marine officers.

"They will be a critical force for the Marines to counter major threats on the seas in the future."

"The Pacifistas are combat robots modeled after Edward Weevil, equipped with Admiral Kizaru's laser abilities, with no autonomous consciousness."

Tokikake stroked his chin, looking at the ten clearly expensive giants.

“These things look pricey. How much does one cost to build?”

Shaka's answer was casual.

"Not counting the initial R&D investment, purely in terms of manufacturing cost, each Pacifista is equivalent to one standard Marine large-scale warship."

"One large warship? That is it?" a Marine vice admiral nearby gasped, his voice cracking.

As military personnel, he understood exactly what a capital warship cost.

How many warships did the Marines commission each year?

"Rest assured," Shaka said, his tone still calm but radiating confidence.

"The strategic value they bring far exceeds their cost. Seeing is believing."

Instead of more verbal explanations, he led the group to the observation area at the edge of the testing ground.

Then he turned to one of the Pacifistas and issued a concise command.

"PX-1. Targets A-7 through A-10. Demonstrate attack mode. Intensity level: standard annihilation."

"Command confirmed."

The designated Pacifista's eyes flashed red as it emitted a flat electronic voice.

Its massive body turned toward the target zone with agility that did not match its size, movements smooth and precise, with no clumsiness at all.

The next second, the shocking demonstration began.

PX-1 raised its thick arm, and the armor plates on its palm slid open, revealing the complex energy-gathering device inside.

Blinding golden light gathered rapidly, accompanied by a high-frequency hum of charging energy.

Even from a distance, everyone could feel the surge of raw power building up.

Whoosh.

A dazzling golden laser beam lanced out, striking a heavy target a thousand meters away made of simulated warship armor material with perfect accuracy.

Boom.

A massive explosion echoed.

When the smoke cleared, a huge hole gaped in the target.

It was not over.

PX-1's palms flashed continuously, pouring out a storm of lasers like a downpour.

In moments, several targets in the testing zone were riddled with holes.

Then PX-1 demonstrated its terrifying close-combat abilities.

Its huge body surged forward, one fist lashing out in a simple, direct motion, carrying enough force to shatter mountains.

An intact warship armor target crumpled inward, twisted, and deformed under the blow.

Then it followed with a side kick, sending another heavy target flying like a toy to crash into the far metal wall with a dull roar.

The entire demonstration lasted barely two minutes.

When the red glow in PX-1's eyes faded and it came to a halt, returning to silence, the testing zone that had been full of solid targets was nearly "plowed" clean, leaving only devastation.

The observation area fell into dead silence.

Gion's red lips parted slightly, the ruins reflected in her beautiful eyes, full of disbelief.

It was not that the Pacifista's strength shocked her. Based on its current performance, an elite vice admiral from headquarters could do the same, or even better.

But the problem was, this was a robot.

A robot that could be mass-produced on an assembly line.

How many vice admirals like that did the Marines have?

One large warship?

Compared to the strategic power this humanoid weapon could bring, enough to change the shape of a local battlefield, not to mention the Marine casualties it could prevent...

Shaka was right.

This was... incredibly worth it.

Gion, with her strength, could still maintain relatively calm analysis, but the headquarters vice admirals behind her were already starting to sweat.

The instant firepower density, accuracy, and close-combat destructive power this single Pacifista demonstrated could, in a real naval battle, probably deliver a fatal blow to a standard Marine warship in an extremely short time, or even... annihilate it entirely.

With robots like these, what purpose did they serve anymore?

They left for one mission and came back to find their jobs on the verge of collapse?

Kuzan's normally half-lidded eyes opened a bit wider as he took in his colleagues' shock and the faint unease beneath it.

He spoke slowly, deliberately.

"The Pacifistas' power is certainly impressive. However, no matter how powerful a force is, without the mind and will to wield it, it is just a pile of expensive metal."

"Correct," Shaka said, nodding openly.

"At this stage, Pacifistas can only accept preset or brief tactical instructions. Complex battlefield judgments, situational analysis, and the formulation and adjustment of strategic objectives still depend on a commander's experience and wisdom."

The Marine vice admirals' tense shoulders relaxed imperceptibly.

Of course. How could cold machines completely replace human officers who had been tested by blood and fire?

However, that breath of relief had barely left their lungs when—

"Therefore, to compensate for the Pacifistas' lack of autonomy and adaptability to complex environments, while also pursuing more comprehensive and powerful individual combat strength," Shaka said calmly, "the Doctor has simultaneously led the development of another project: the Seraphim Project."

He raised his voice slightly.

"Come out, Seraphim."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor again, but this time the sound was completely different.

The steps were no longer uniform like drumbeats, but carried subtle differences. Some were light, some dragged slightly, some had steady spacing, and others bounced with a bit of randomness.

That "unevenness" gave off an unsettling sense of life.

Kuzan, catching that detail, grew more serious, his lazy posture sharpening.

Soon, seven "children" emerged from the shadows one after another.

They varied in size, each with distinct height and build, their faces all different.

But they all had snow-white hair, star-shaped pupils, black wings on their backs, flames burning behind their heads, and a container of unknown liquid bubbling green gas fixed to their right arms.

Despite their childish features and soft, rounded lines typical of kids, every Marine officer present recognized the familiar outlines almost instantly.

"Dracule Mihawk, Jinbe, Edward Weevil, Boa Hancock, Gecko Moria, Kuma, Donquixote Doflamingo?!"

Before them stood child versions of the Warlords of the Sea.

Though their auras were nothing like the real people, the signature facial features were enough to send chills down the spine of anyone familiar with these great pirates.

"That is correct," Shaka said, his voice still steady, as if introducing an ordinary research result.

"They are artificial humans created using the Lineage Factor blueprints of the Warlords of the Sea, combined with the bloodline of the Lunarian race."

While the Marine officers reeled from the Seraphim's appearance, Punk Hazard welcomed another group of uninvited guests.

"Kai, how do we get in?" Kuma asked.

He looked at the heavily fortified stronghold before them, covered in surveillance and patrolling guards, a slight frown on his usually calm face.

With their strength, forcing their way through would be easy.

But their goal was not destruction. It was rescue. So brute force was not the best approach.

Kai's gaze swept over the fortress, a confident smile tugging at his lips.

"We split up."

He turned to Enel.

"You use your ability advantage to infiltrate and find the Doctor. Our top priority is ensuring his safety. Kuma and I will go to another location to retrieve the Doctor's brain."

Vegapunk's brain was something Kai was determined to obtain on this trip.

Without that brain, which stored Vegapunk's lifetime of knowledge and research data, even if they successfully rescued the Doctor himself, his value would drop dramatically.

As for Vegapunk's safety, he could only entrust it to Enel.

Kai thought it over. The risk should be manageable.

With Enel's Observation Haki and speed, even if Kizaru arrived immediately, it would be hard for him to kill Vegapunk right under Enel's nose.

Moreover, given Borsalino's usual unpredictable nature and his habit of "ambiguous justice," whether he would really be willing to kill his longtime friend Vegapunk was still an unknown.

In the original story, he finally acted on Egghead largely because the Five Elders were personally overseeing the situation, leaving him no excuse to stall.

But even under their noses, he had still held back.

He only struck when he could not delay any longer.

"Tch, seriously. Dumping boring guard work on me," Enel grumbled, picking at his ear with clear distaste on his face.

But his body was already honestly transforming into free-flowing electricity and vanishing, leaving behind only a fading complaint.

"Hurry up and finish this. This place is dead boring. Not interesting at all."

Punk Hazard, core laboratory.

Vegapunk, who looked like Einstein with a massive apple-shaped skull and his tongue hanging out, was busy at the console.

Only his usually swift fingers were slower now, carrying a trace of distraction that was hard to detect.

Around him, aside from "Shaka the Righteous," who was outside receiving the Marines, the other five Satellites had gathered here in a rare assembly.

Lilith, representing "evil." Edison, representing "thinking." Pythagoras, representing "wisdom." Atlas, representing "violence." And York, representing "greed."

Most of them were absorbed in their work.

The lab echoed with the hum of instruments, data readouts, and Edison's occasional strange laughter.

Oh, except York.

Huge and round like a ball, with a cute face dotted with freckles, she was constantly stuffing food from the automated cooking machine into her mouth.

Her loud chewing was especially prominent.

After the last piece of delicate cake disappeared into her mouth, she burped contentedly, her eyelids drooping as a shiny snot bubble instantly popped out from her nose.

"Zzz..."

Yes, her main task was not research but handling eating, drinking, bathroom breaks, and sleep for the other Vegapunks.

Besides the six Vegapunks, several white-coated research assistants were also in the lab helping with operations.

And on either side of the heavy alloy door, four elite security personnel in special uniforms stood guard like statues.

Crack!

Without warning, a high-power electrical outlet on one wall of the lab suddenly burst with a cluster of dazzling blue-white sparks.

The electricity did not dissipate immediately. Instead, it coiled and condensed as if alive, instantly sketching out a tall, bare-chested outline with tomoe thunder drums on his back.

Enel's lazy form fully materialized from the lightning.

He looked around the room full of strange contraptions with interest, his gaze finally settling on the old man with the most distinctive features in the crowd.

"Hey, you Vegapunk?" he asked, chin raised arrogantly.

"Intruder!" one of the guards shouted before Vegapunk could answer.

At the same time, his hand shot toward the emergency alarm button at his waist.

Enel did not even look at them properly, simply lifting a finger casually.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Four lightning bullets fired instantly, piercing their bodies.

The powerful current paralyzed every nerve in an instant.

"Urgh!"

Their short grunts of pain were drowned by the hiss of electricity. Four bodies went down smoking in unison, twitching twice before losing consciousness completely.

"Who are you?" one researcher finally asked.

Only now did the researchers in the lab snap out of the lightning-fast change.

Enel clicked his tongue in annoyance and waved his other hand carelessly.

A lightning whip cracked through the air, sweeping across the researchers.

The intense numbness from the high-voltage current left them unable to even cry out. Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed in waves.

In an instant, the once-busy, orderly core laboratory was left with only the six Vegapunks.

"Now, can you answer my question, old man?" Enel said.

His gaze fell back on the apple-headed elder, one eyebrow raised.

But the response was not fear.

It was Vegapunk's burning stare and a rapid-fire barrage of eager questions.

"That is the Goro Goro no Mi's power, right? Absolutely is! A Logia-type Devil Fruit recognized as having top-tier attack power and speed!"

"Tell me, when you control lightning, what is your subjective experience? Is it absolute control like commanding an extension of your limbs, or do you need some kind of mental guidance to direct the flowing energy?"

"What is the upper limit of voltage you can stably control?"

"And the fine changes in electrical current form—what is the smallest current you can manipulate?"

"And, and..."

The machine-gun questions buried Enel completely.

Pokémon: Rebron as Red, The Strongest Champion - 299

Chapter 299: The Legendary Birds Take the Field

“As expected of Lord Red’s carefully trained Sylveon. It has defeated Ryden Wataru’s Dragonair and Gyarados back-to-back. What a sight for everyone here!”

“Of course, Dragonair also deserves immense credit. Without Dragonair’s earlier effort, Sylveon’s victory would not have been nearly so smooth.”

The announcer explained excitedly. He was one of Red’s most devoted fans, so seeing Red seize the momentum first naturally put extra joy in his voice.

Sylveon’s stunning performance also made many Trainers in the stands who raised Eevee set a new goal. They wanted to train their own Eevee into a Sylveon, hoping that one day they could reach Red and Sylveon’s level.

As for whether they would ever get there, that would depend on the bond between them.

“Thank you for your hard work, Gyarados.”

Ryden’s expression stayed calm as he recalled the fainted Gyarados into its Poké Ball.

He ignored the questioning looks from part of the crowd. After a brief pause, he lifted his eyes with steady resolve. Under the audience’s expectant stares, he reached to his waist and took out a brand-new Ultra Ball.

The instant they saw the Ultra Ball, the spectators realized Ryden was about to send out something truly powerful.

“Show them your divine might, Moltres!”

Ryden shouted, then hurled the Ultra Ball with all his strength.

The dazzling light faded. A Legendary bird appeared, its feathers blazing red, its beak straight and sharp, a sleek crest crowning its head, and a tail of surging flame, as if it were made entirely of fire.

“That Pokémon is?!” Ash gasped, then pulled out his Pokédex. The device immediately spoke in its mechanical voice.

“Moltres, the Flame Pokémon. Fire and Flying type. One of the Legendary bird Pokémon. When it flaps its blazing wings, even the night sky will glow.”

(The sacred flame that serves the Fire God.)

Moltres, soaring high above, ignored the crowd’s shock. Its gaze locked onto the torch stand not far away. It could sense a powerful energy faintly emanating from the sacred flame there, a power it did not possess but desperately desired.

(I want to absorb that power.)

“Incredible, truly incredible! Ryden Wataru’s Pokémon is Moltres, one of the three Legendary birds, and the source of the sacred flame used in the Indigo Conference!”

“Ryden Wataru, last year’s Silver Conference Champion, is actually a Trainer of Legendary Pokémon!”

The announcer yelled, overwhelmed by what he was witnessing.

“A Legendary!”

“It is Moltres!”

“Am I dreaming?!”

Moltres’s arrival set the stadium ablaze with excitement. This was a Legendary Pokémon, something ordinary people would never see in their lives.

Cameras immediately came out all over the stands as spectators tried to capture Moltres’s majestic figure.

Some people even questioned whether it was real. They simply could not believe someone around their age, like Ryden, could earn Moltres’s acknowledgment on his own.

But after feeling the oppressive pressure radiating from Moltres, they ultimately accepted it. Their eyes turned to Ryden with pure longing, wishing they could become someone as extraordinary as he was.

“So it is the Moltres we ran into at the crater on Cinnabar Island. I did not expect you to capture it,” Red said calmly.

When Moltres stared at him with open battle intent, Red finally recalled its origin. This was the wild Moltres that had once been completely overwhelmed by Zapdos back then.

“Earning Moltres’s acknowledgment was luck,” Ryden said with a hint of embarrassment. “Even though Dragonite and I defeated Moltres, I think the bigger reason was you and Zapdos.”

Ryden was not wrong. He had not truly gained Moltres’s recognition in the purest sense.

Why had Moltres agreed to become Ryden’s partner? The reason was simple.

Moltres wanted to meet Zapdos again. It wanted to defeat Zapdos with new strength and reclaim its pride as a Legendary bird.

That was why Moltres chose Ryden. Moltres believed Ryden would one day face Red again and that a fierce rematch would happen.

(Good. I did not bet wrong.)

Thinking that, Moltres quietly let out a breath, which only made Ryden even more confused.

“What is with Moltres? Why is it sighing out of nowhere?” Ryden muttered.

“Really. So Zapdos and I were the key reason you two became partners,” Red said with a teasing smile.

As he spoke, Red slowly took out an Ultra Ball of his own. Under Ryden and Moltres’s excited gaze, he threw it firmly.

The intense white light faded. Above the battlefield, pitch-black thunderclouds suddenly rolled in. A pillar of lightning slammed down from the sky, scorching the ground below. Blinding arcs of electricity flickered and flashed, stinging the spectators’ eyes.

“When the sky turns dark, and lightning falls without end, this Legendary Pokémon will appear…”

Ryden stared, murmuring in disbelief.

(This entrance is as arrogant as ever.)

Moltres watched Zapdos’s appearance with obvious disdain, yet jealousy seeped through its eyes. It had been shaken by that dramatic arrival, and it wanted an entrance just as overwhelming.

When the towering lightning pillar finally dissipated, Zapdos’s form emerged clearly before everyone.

Bzzzt.

A Legendary bird with bright yellow feathers and a long orange beak took the field. Its wings and tail bristled with sharp, spiky plumage, and black feathers lined the back of its wings and the inner side of its tail.

“It is here! The second Legendary Pokémon of this year’s Indigo Conference has appeared!”

“And Lord Red does not disappoint. He has sent out Zapdos, one of the three Legendary birds as well. This round is a battle between Legendary Pokémon, a civil war among the three Legendary birds!”

The announcer shouted, thrilled beyond words.

A Legendary showdown was the kind of phrase that drew eyes like nothing else. The crowd practically held its breath. Nobody dared leave their seat, afraid someone else would snatch it.

“Jackpot!”
“Business is booming!”
“We’re rolling in it!”

Of course, Team Rocket’s trio, weaving through the stands, was comfortably making a fortune.

They never missed Red’s matches. Red’s battles always drew the biggest crowds.

“So even you, a descendant of the three Legendary birds, have chosen to become a human’s pet?”

Zapdos mocked, throwing Moltres’s old arrogant words back in its face and turning them into a sharp insult.

“…”

Moltres froze in pure embarrassment. Those were the exact words it had once used at the volcano crater, mocking Zapdos. Now Zapdos had returned them perfectly.

Zapdos did not care about Moltres’s discomfort. It beat its wings once and held itself at the same altitude, staring Moltres straight in the eyes.

Crack crack crack.

Zapdos did not need to do anything else. A single flap produced explosive cracking sounds, like thunder breaking overhead. That was one reason ancient people once called Zapdos the “Thunder God.”

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 195

Chapter 195: Reactions Around the World! The Marines Arrive at Punk Hazard!

The tsunami set off by the World Economy News Paper was never going to hit only the World Government.

The entire world was left speechless by the news, and then it plunged into a level of uproar and unrest like never before.

“Is a new Pirate King about to appear?”

“Who can stop the Beasts Pirates now? The Marines?”

“Do not make me laugh. Against that kind of power, the Marines can barely protect themselves!”

“Hahahahaha! The biggest winner of this era is about to be born! The old balance is finished. This is the perfect time to bet big on the future! I am heading to the New World to join the Beasts Pirates!”

“The Marines... can they still protect us?”

People reacted in every possible way.

But compared to ordinary citizens who had little connection to the New World, the figures standing at the very top of the world were hit far harder.

Whole Cake Island.

Charlotte Linlin’s eyes went wide as she stared at the horrifying photo in the newspaper. For once, even her beloved cream cake failed to tempt her.

“This has to be a joke... Kaido, that bastard, really lost?”

On the surface, she and her “little brother” were always trading insults, as if she never took him seriously at all.

But deep down, she had always kept her guard up against Kaido’s strength.

There was no doubt it was power on the same level as her own.

And now, the so-called strongest creature had fallen.

“Mama. Whether we want to admit it or not, the Beasts Pirates now have the terrifying strength to sweep aside any single force in the New World,” Katakuri said.

He had arrived immediately, and his voice was tight like a drawn wire, carrying a rare heaviness.

“We need to plan for what comes next.”

If the Charlotte Family held that kind of overwhelming power, they would not tolerate many dissenting voices in the New World either. Charlotte Linlin sank into thought.

It stung, but she understood: as things stood, her family could not match the Beasts Pirates.

Her thick fingers tapped the armrest of her throne, over and over.

After a moment, her gaze shifted in the direction of Hachinosu.

Maybe... it was time to reconnect with a certain “old friend.”

The New World, a calm stretch of sea.

The Moby Dick, like its aging captain, moved slowly across the surface.

But today, the deck held none of its usual bold noise.

Even the sea wind seemed heavier, brushing over silent shoulders.

Even the commanders who were normally the most upbeat stood quietly now, either staring at the newspaper in their hands or looking toward the distant horizon with knitted brows.

“This is... bad,” Vista the Flower Sword murmured, stroking his curled mustache, his voice low.

Even with absolute faith in Pops’ strength, anyone would feel uneasy looking at the Beasts Pirates’ current lineup.

“Pops?” Marco finally broke the suffocating silence.

His gaze held hesitation and worry as it landed on the pillar of the Whitebeard Pirates.

Whitebeard had several IV bottles hanging from his arm. His towering body was still grand, but fatigue bled through it no matter how you looked.

Marco suddenly realized it.

The Pops in his memories, always standing tall enough to hold up the entire sea, really had grown old.

“Gurararara... relax,” Whitebeard boomed, laughing with his usual fearless swagger.

“My old bones are not rusted yet.”

Noticing the shadow that would not leave Marco’s eyes, and the others’ too, he laughed even louder, the sound like a great bell driving fog away over the deck.

Afterward, he deliberately shook the thick arm with the IV line, forcing confidence back into his family.

“Besides, the ones burning with wild ambition like a wildfire are probably even less able to sit still than we are.”

Marco caught the meaning at once, a bit of light returning to his eyes.

“Right. And the World Government too... they will not just watch the Beasts Pirates swell without restraint.”

“That is right!”

“The Beasts Pirates will not get to act arrogant for long!”

The crew’s anxious hearts eased little by little.

Familiar smiles and fighting spirit returned, and the dull heaviness on deck finally started to move, laughter spreading again.

And yet, in the middle of that laughter, a dark, heavyset officer quietly lowered his head, hiding the strange look on his face in the shadows.

He could hear it.

Behind Pops’ laughter, there was a trace of hesitation, a hint of strain.

That realization sent a cold shiver creeping into one corner of his heart.

Maybe... staying on this ship to the bitter end was not the only path.

The New World, another sea.

Aboard the Red Force, Shanks lowered the newspaper in his hand.

His finger tapped lightly against the wooden railing as he stared at the far horizon, his gaze long and distant.

“The waves of this era are getting harsher.”

Benn Beckman lit a cigarette and walked up beside him. Through the drifting smoke, his eyes looked especially sharp.

“Should we prepare?”

“For example, form an alliance with the Whitebeard Pirates?”

It was not good for morale to say it, but in his gut, he believed only two Emperors could stand against two Emperors.

Of course, merging was impossible.

But with their good relationship, watching each other’s backs should not be hard.

“Not a bad idea,” Shanks said, rubbing the stubble along his jaw and nodding.

He glanced around, taking in the tension on his crewmates’ faces.

Then he suddenly flashed a wide grin, carefree and unrestrained.

“If it really comes down to it, we turn the ship around. Back to the Grand Line. Back to the four seas. Dying in some territory war with a bunch of lunatics is not the kind of adventure I want.”

“Hahahaha, that is a great idea!”

“Perfect. We can go check on Yasopp’s kid. I wonder if the little brat’s nose is as long as his old man’s, hahahaha!”

That “unambitious” escape plan earned immediate, unanimous approval.

Knowing laughter burst across the deck, and the tension vanished.

Grand Line, Kuraigana Island.

After finishing his daily work, Hawkeye leaned at a castle window and unfolded the newest paper.

Those hawk-like eyes swept across the headline and photo, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Kai. Looks like you have gotten stronger again.”

“I am looking forward to our next meeting more and more.”

Calm Belt, Amazon Lily, deep within the palace.

Hancock, more breathtaking than ever, pressed the newspaper with Kai’s photo tightly into her cleavage with an almost reverent, possessive intensity.

A blush spread across her perfect cheeks, and her eyes turned into hearts.

“Kai-sama is getting more handsome by the day!”

“I cannot wait to stand at your side openly!”

The Florian Triangle, Thriller Bark.

Moria’s ever-rounder bulk sank into his throne as he held the newspaper, staring at the report of Kaido’s defeat.

First, he let out a suppressed chuckle.

Then the laughter grew.

Then it became a mad roar that shook dust from the castle ceiling.

“Kishishishishi... Kaido! So you can fall too!”

He looked happy like a four-hundred-pound little boy.

Below him, his subordinates looked at their captain like he had lost his mind, traded helpless glances, and sighed together.

Hopeless.

While the seas boiled and screamed over the Beasts Pirates, a warship with no flag and an intentionally low-profile design slipped quietly into Punk Hazard’s hidden harbor.

The hatch opened, and a squad stepped out, all wearing Marine “Justice” coats.

“Long time no see, Kuzan. And Gion-chan, you get prettier every time we meet, do you know that? Got a boyfriend yet?” Borsalino drawled as he strolled up, voice slow as ever.

Gion answered with a charming, annoyed look.

“No.”

Before the word even finished leaving her mouth, a man in a tan striped suit and wooden geta poked his head out behind her, grinning.

“That is because I still have not officially succeeded in confessing!”

“Tokikake, if I remember right, you have confessed more than sixty times,” even Borsalino could not help saying. “Still not giving up?”

He had been stubbornly chasing Gion for years.

“Wrong!” Tokikake raised one finger, his face weirdly proud. “Seventy-one times!”

Everyone went quiet.

“Alright, we can talk later,” Borsalino said, turning away with both hands in his pockets. “First, I am taking you to the lab. Business comes first. I do not want Sengoku-san docking my pay.”

He led this extravagant team, one admiral, two admiral candidates, and three vice admirals, deeper into the island toward the heavily guarded SSG base, Vegapunk’s laboratory.

On the way...

Roar!

A deep, dignified bellow rolled down from above, riding a powerful gust.

They looked up and saw a massive dragon, its scales blazing red like fire, spread its wings and sweep over their heads.

“A dragon? A creature like that... really exists?” Gion, visiting for the first time, could not help widening her eyes.

“Oh, that?” Borsalino glanced up, tone unchanged.

“That is one of Dr. Vegapunk’s ‘works,’ made to guard this island.”

“I hear it can adapt to almost any environment. Pretty impressive, right? Even the Celestial Dragons personally gave it a name.”

He paused, the corner of his mouth curving.

“But the name is too hard to say. Nobody on the island remembers it. These days, everyone just calls it the Fire Dragon.”

The vice admirals could not hide their shock.

They had long heard of Vegapunk’s reputation. Sea Prism Stone-inlay technology was one of his masterpieces.

But creating life out of thin air...

That was beyond absurd.

That stepped into the realm of “gods.”

Borsalino saw their reactions and simply smiled, as if it were nothing special.

“The outer areas do not have much to see. The real surprises are inside the lab.”

Sure enough, when the group passed layer after layer of strict identity checks and security gates and finally stepped into the core laboratory zone, even veterans like Momousagi and Chaton could barely close their mouths.

Everywhere they looked, the world felt unreal.

A machine that manufactures artificial diamonds.

Flowers that bloomed inside gunpowder.

An unmanned cooking unit that produced full meals at the press of a button.

One invention after another, all beyond common sense, all overflowing with imagination, displayed and operating neatly behind transparent partitions.

“What kind of genius does this take?” Gion whispered, her eyes shining, when she learned these were all led by Vegapunk’s research.

Only now did she truly understand why the World Government would pay any price to keep Vegapunk tightly in their grip.

With enough time and resources, this one scientist could move forces that might rival the shock of an entire Yonko crew.

“This is not even the best part,” Borsalino said, still wearing that secretive, teasing look.

“Next, what you are here to receive and take away... that is the top result of this island so far.”

He guided them through the final heavy alloy door.

The space beyond opened wide.

A vast chamber with a futuristic feel spread out before them.

It looked less like a laboratory and more like an arena built to test raw combat power.

The chamber formed an enormous silver-white oval dome, and the walls and floor were made of a matte metal that seemed designed to absorb impact.

In the center, several target devices gleamed with a cold metallic sheen, their material clearly not ordinary.

“Took you long enough, Uncle,” a booming voice called out.

A man approached with steady, heavy steps, carrying a giant axe nearly as tall as he was. He had a thick build, wore a red bellyband, and had a huge rope knot tied at his waist.

Borsalino shifted slightly and gestured to his colleagues.

“This is Sentomaru, Dr. Vegapunk’s personal bodyguard.”

Sentomaru nodded at the high-ranking Marines, his tone serious.

“Welcome to the combat testing ground.”

Kuzan looked around the empty chamber and asked casually, “Where is the Doctor?”

“I cannot tell you,” Sentomaru said at once, puffing out his chest. “Because I am the tightest-lipped man in the world.”

Then, before anyone could react, he naturally raised his hand and pointed toward the center.

“The Doctor is waiting for you in there.”

Everyone fell silent.

After a brief pause, the corners of several elite Marines’ mouths twitched.

He had just told them.

What part of that was “tight-lipped”?

Borsalino, who had watched Sentomaru grow up, looked completely unsurprised.

He only pushed up his sunglasses with mild resignation and led them onward.

Soon, a man came into view, wearing a helmet marked with the number 01 and a deep blue coat.

Borsalino introduced him.

“This is Dr. Vegapunk.”

“Good morning,” the man said with a small nod.

“Huh? He... he is Dr. Vegapunk?” the group blurted, dumbfounded.

In their minds, someone like Vegapunk should have been white-haired and ancient.

But even with the helmet hiding his face, his voice and build did not match “old” at all.

“No need to concern yourselves,” the man explained calmly, his voice filtered through the helmet with a flat, mechanical clarity.

“I am one of Dr. Vegapunk’s satellites, code name Shaka.”

“The main body is currently handling a set of key data in the core laboratory and cannot come in person. I will guide the handover and testing.”

After the concise explanation, Shaka said no more.

He raised his hand and clapped twice.

Thud. Thud. Thud...

Heavy, perfectly synchronized footsteps came from a deep corridor behind him.

Their eyes were drawn over.

From the shadows of the passage, ten enormous figures emerged slowly.

They formed a line, marching with uniform steps like soldiers under inspection.

Each was nearly seven meters tall, like a moving fortress, their sheer size bringing silent pressure.

They all had the same appearance: wild blond hair, two long white mustaches pointing up toward the sky, and matching custom combat suits.

“Edward Weevil?” Gion could not help crying out.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 368

Chapter 368: The Decision

“Moria. The Dwarves’ great miracle.”

“A miracle?”

Not only the Hobbits, but even Boromir was a little curious.

He had grown up in Gondor. The moment he came of age, he had gone to the front, day after day under the Witch-king’s pressure. Forget the Dwarves’ underground kingdom; he had barely even seen Dwarves a handful of times.

“Yes. A miracle,” Gandalf picked up the thread. “A marvel no less than Roadside Keep, even the Water-city. Even if only empty halls remain now, gathering dust, its grandeur is beyond what most can imagine.”

“Exactly. Gandalf speaks the truth,” Gimli agreed at once, completely forgetting how Gandalf had needled him earlier on the road.

Most Dwarves were like that. Quick to flare up, quick to cool down.

“When we reclaim Moria, it will surely return to its former prosperity,” Gimli said, already picturing it.

Gandalf continued, “Balin often spoke of it to me. For decades, he brought it up from time to time, but I never encouraged him. There are still dangers there. To go now would be to meet the same end as those before.”

“But when will it be safe?” Gimli asked earnestly.

Among the Free Peoples’ Dwarves, there was not one who did not long to reclaim their lost homes.

Gandalf looked at Gimli for a long moment, then sighed. “Soon, Gimli. Do not rush it. Soon. In your lifetime, you will see it. You will.”

As they talked, the company pressed on. Before long, the sound of shouting washed over them, drawing every eye.

Halfway Town.

They had arrived.

“So lively. Should we find somewhere to rest?” Sam suggested.

“I am hungry.”

“So am I.”

Merry and Pippin echoed him.

For once, Gandalf agreed.

“There is a place over there called the Halfway Tavern. We might have a look.”

“Brilliant!” Pippin clenched his fist and was about to dash ahead.

But then the commotion not far away caught his attention.

A crowd of Halfway Town residents was gathered, arguing fiercely about something. Their emotions were running high, their voices bouncing through the tunnel and carrying far.

“Quiet! Quiet!”

The mayor, standing at the highest point, pressed his hands down. The noise dwindled, and after he swept his gaze over the town, it fell silent altogether.

As the manager chosen by the townsfolk, the mayor clearly had the standing for it. He had enough authority and reputation to lead them.

Sensing something was wrong, not only Pippin but the rest of the Fellowship squeezed in as well, eager to hear what the mayor would say.

Gimli jumped up and down, frantic, and pawed at people nearby. “Can someone tell me what is happening? I cannot see!”

Boromir, ever helpful, looked at him and said, “Want me to lift you up, Master Dwarf?”

“No. Do not even think about it. Never,” Gimli refused at once.

“All right, then you can stay down there,” Boromir said with a shrug.

Gimli fumed, but Dwarves always had a sudden, clever idea.

A moment later, copying the Hobbits, he scrambled up onto a nearby streetlamp.

“Now I can see, but he had better speak quickly. This thing is hard to hold…”

“Do not get worked up. Nothing is certain yet!”

Once he had quieted the crowd, the mayor finally spoke.

He raised his voice again. “Even an Elf’s words may be mistaken. We should look with our own eyes and search with our own hands, rather than venting our feelings blindly over a single rumour or message.”

“Well said!” Gimli, clinging to the streetlamp, was the first to agree.

His voice drew a good number of looks. At first, some thought his interruption rude, but when they saw he was a Dwarf, they understood and let it pass.

“We must not blindly follow what Elves say!” Gimli continued, making Legolas below feel an intense urge to shoot him down.

Realising the look he was getting from his companion, Gimli hurriedly added, “Er, so has anyone got the kindness to tell me what message you heard from the Elves?”

At that, every member of the Fellowship pricked up their ears.

The townsfolk, however, fell into a collective silence.

At last, a resident closest to Gimli spoke.

“They said our High Warden, the great legend, Lord Levi, has left this world.”

“What?”

Clang.

Gimli’s grip slipped, and he fell off the streetlamp.

Everyone froze, struggling to digest the words.

“Gandalf?” Frodo looked up, hoping for a denial.

But Gandalf only shook his head, as if he had expected this, and said nothing.

Aragorn strode over, his tone urgent. “You knew already? What is going on?”

“No. I did not know.”

“Rumour,” Gimli muttered, but his voice came out raw. “It has to be a rumour. Say it isn’t, Gandalf.”

“I fear it is not, Gimli. Since the moment we set out, I have not been able to sense his presence,” Gandalf said.

Gimli lowered his head and fell quiet.

Now it was clear why Gandalf had been so irritable. Something real had been weighing on him.

“I know you,” said a well-informed resident nearby. “You are the Grey Wanderer, the Grey Wizard, Gandalf.”

“If even you are saying this…”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. That is not the same thing as death,” Gandalf cut in. “Tell me. When did you last hear from Levi?”

“Deep in the Northern Waste,” the mayor answered, settling Gandalf’s doubt.

Gandalf went still.

This time, he truly could not judge what it meant.

The Fellowship fell into silence. The townsfolk resumed their arguing and shouting. Gandalf stood among them for a time, listening, and discovered they were actually discussing marching into Mordor, seizing Sauron, and forcing answers from him about Levi.

“Madness,” Gandalf said. “Mordor’s host numbers far beyond a hundred thousand. The only entrance is the Black Gate, wrought of iron and unbreakable stone. Do you understand what it would cost to break in? Do you understand how vicious the creatures within are?”

“We do, Wizard,” a resident replied. “And not only do we know. We have seen it with our own eyes.”

“The host is at the tunnel’s end. The Vale of Anduin is in upheaval. If you are only travelling, it is not wise to go on. Stop here and turn back.”

“What?” Gandalf’s heart jolted.

Ignoring the warning, he hurried towards the end of the tunnel.

No one had the stomach to rest now. The others followed at once.

Hiss!

“The tunnel’s end did not open on blinding sunlight, but a dim sky, where Great Eagles fought vicious flying beasts above. One of those beasts gave a shriek so harsh everyone instinctively looked up."

Worse still, a Nazgûl rode its back. It gave off a dreadful radiance, swooping after Eagles one moment, then circling low to spread terror the next.

The Sky-road’s railings and the walls below were crowded with soldiers of the Free Cities. The Vale commander was leading men against an Orc host of unknown origin. Attack and defence ground against each other in utter chaos.

Thud.

As the beast shrieked again, Frodo felt his heart seize. Where the One Ring lay against his chest, pain tore through him.

High above, a Nazgûl seemed to sense something. It dove straight down, aiming for the tunnel mouth.

“Loose!”

At the critical moment, a disciplined volley of arrows swept in, forcing the Nazgûl to climb and break its descent to avoid the strike.

“The archers of the Woodland Realm,” Legolas said, eyes on the fletching. An Elven force was arriving as reinforcements.

They were from the Woodland Realm.

“Back!”

Seeing the danger, Boromir and Aragorn each grabbed two Hobbits and pulled them behind, retreating quickly.

“Does no one care about me?” Gimli yelped as he ran after them.

Legolas said earnestly, “If you do not mind, I can.”

Gimli ran faster, eyes wide. “Do not even think about lifting me. I can run on my own!”

Hiss!

Another shriek rang out. After the Elven volley struck home, a second Nazgûl dove, trying to peer into the tunnel.

The Elves had no time to react, but another force stepped into the gap.

Men of Halfway Town—their garrison.

“Shoot!”

Swish.

A sheet of arrows covered every approach, but the vicious beast beat its wings and surged back into the sky, just like the first Nazgûl, evading the volley.

Many of the human soldiers were visibly shaking, hands trembling under the Nazgûl’s terror. Yet there was something stronger than fear in them.

Rage.

Some furious, nameless anger let them draw bow and loose again, forcing down the dread in their hearts.

The Nazgûl itself seemed taken aback.

Damn them. Why were these people not afraid?

Inside the tunnel, hidden from the Nazgûl’s gaze, the Fellowship’s hearts hammered.

The others could manage, but the four Hobbits had never seen anything like this. They were shaken to the bone.

Frodo was more than shaken. He was in agony, as if some unseen thing were tearing at him.

Boromir, watching the Hobbits most closely, said, “We cannot stay here. That Nazgûl must carry some evil curse that resonates with the Ring. Frodo is suffering.”

“This road is not safe,” Gandalf said grimly, thinking fast. “The Orcs below are thicker than at the Crossroads.”

“We can climb down from here, use the Free Cities’ army as cover, and move south in secret, and then…”

Boom!

As he spoke, a heavy sound rolled from the south of Mirkwood. A flare of radiance lit the sky, tangling with the clouds above.

“Dol Guldur…” Gandalf’s scalp went numb.

So Dol Guldur was in battle too. That meant the road through Rhovanion was not safe either.

“We can take the Gap of Rohan,” Boromir said, stealing a glance at the warring hosts outside. “This war is larger than any I have known. From what can be seen, the Free Cities’ defenders here number at least twenty thousand. The Enemy must be twice that.”

“Mordor has likely thrown its main strength at this place, but it is clearly struggling. The Free Cities’ defences are too strong. This assault could continue for half a year, even a full year, and still gain nothing.”

“That is our chance.”

Boromir turned back to the others. “Mordor has committed most of its strength here. It may have little left to threaten Gondor. If we take the Isen crossing and go to Gondor, we can seek my father’s aid.”

“No. We cannot go that way,” Aragorn rejected at once, before Gandalf could speak.

He knew too well what the burdened man in front of him was thinking. If they truly went that route, leaving aside whether they could even reach Gondor safely, it would be all too easy for disaster to strike and ruin everything they had fought for.

“Indeed, we cannot,” Gandalf agreed.

The reasons had already been spoken of before.

“Then what road is left to us?” Gimli could not help asking.

Gandalf let out a long, heavy sigh, as if some inescapable doom was drawing near.

“We can turn back and use the Water-city’s cover. There is still a chance to keep this hidden.”

“There is still one passage the Enemy cannot see.”

“But where we go from here, whether we keep pressing forward, or change course entirely, must be decided by our Ring-bearer.”

Clank, clank…

In Halfway Town, the residents who had been quarrelling moments ago were now armoured and equipped, marching out in squads to take their places.

Iron golems, drawn by the alarm, clanked towards the edges of the Sky-road, staring down at the Orcs below and up at the Nazgûl above, unblinking.

Amid all that noise, every voice in the Fellowship fell quiet.

All eyes turned to Frodo, waiting for the Hobbit to choose.

In Middle-earth with Harry Potter Sign-In System! - 378

Chapter 379: The Council Begins

Rivendell’s council hall.

Representatives of the Free Peoples from all across Middle-earth had gathered here.

Among the Elves were Elrond, lord of Rivendell, and Glorfindel; Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien; Galdor, a secretary serving as the Grey Havens’ envoy; and Legolas, representing Mirkwood.

Among Men were Boromir, son of Gondor’s Steward; Théodred, son of King Théoden of Rohan; Bain, lord of Dale and son of Bard; Grim Beornson, son of Beorn and heir to the vales of Anduin; and Aragorn, chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain.

Among the Dwarves were Glóin and his son Gimli, representing the Kingdom under the Mountain; Brin, son of Balin, representing Moria; and Thorin III Stonehelm, son of Dáin Ironfoot, representing the Iron Hills.

Among the Hobbits were Bilbo Baggins and Frodo Baggins.

Among the Wizards were Gandalf the Grey, Radagast the Brown, Morlëda the Blue, and Kael.

So many people being able to gather in Rivendell so quickly was thanks to the full support of Kael’s Ministry of Magic, specifically the Department of Magical Transportation, which had set up a Floo Network spanning all these realms and allowing them to arrive by fireplace.

Before the council formally began, everyone exchanged greetings and introductions.

Glóin, the Dwarf representing the Lonely Mountain, spotted Kael and Bilbo at once and shouted with delight, sweeping both of them into a crushing embrace.

“It’s been ages! Bilbo, Kael, I never thought we’d meet again here!”

Glóin had been one of the thirteen Dwarves of the Company that had once set out for the Lonely Mountain, and seeing old friends again filled Bilbo with genuine joy.

Even though Kael and Thorin Oakenshield had once had their share of friction, time had passed, wounds had faded, and the meeting carried the warmth of old grievances forgotten.

“I’m glad to see you again, Glóin,” Kael said with a smile, looking him up and down. “You’ve been doing well these years. You’ve put on more than a little weight.”

Glóin laughed and patted his belly, his gray beard trembling. “I can’t compare to you lot. I’m old now, and you still look just the same as ever. It’s unbelievable!”

Then he reached behind him, yanked a broad-axe-carrying Dwarf forward, and introduced him proudly. “Let me present my son, Gimli, one of the finest of the younger generation!”

He followed it up by smacking the back of Gimli’s head. “Go on, Gimli. Say hello to Bilbo and Kael. They’re old friends from our expedition!”

Even Kael and Bilbo felt a phantom ache at the sound of that slap. Was he trying to knock sense into the boy, or knock it out?

Gimli wore a Dwarven helm, and his face was so buried under a reddish-brown beard that it was hard to guess his age at a glance.

He looked honest enough, but the quick roll of his eyes hinted at sharpness behind the rough exterior. In a blunt, earnest tone, he greeted them. “Hello. I’m Gimli, son of Glóin. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Kael studied him with interest. So this was Gimli, one of the future Ring-guard.

On the original course of events, this young Dwarf would fight bravely, earn great merit in pivotal battles like the Pelennor Fields, break through old Dwarven prejudice against Elves, and forge a deep friendship with Legolas.

After the war, he would lead some of his folk to settle in the Glittering Caves and build a new realm there, becoming the Lord of the Glittering Caves.

He would even become one of the very rare Dwarves to sail West, departing at last with his Elven friend Legolas.

“Hello, Gimli. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kael said, with the air of an elder looking at a younger man. He flipped his hand and produced a brooch. “A first meeting calls for a gift. Take this enchanted brooch. It can block three lethal strikes. I hope it’ll be of use to you.”

Gimli’s eyes lit up instantly. He took it without the faintest thought of refusing, pinned it right to his chest, and patted it happily.

“Heh. Thank you, Lord Kael!”

Seeing his son receive such a gift, Glóin couldn’t help being delighted. He thumped the back of Gimli’s head again as the boy grinned like an idiot. “Lucky, daft lad. Kael, you have my thanks!”

As an old companion of Kael’s, Glóin knew exactly how valuable that gift was. Something that could save a life three times over was not an easy thing to refuse, so he could only set the debt firmly in his heart.

After that, Boromir of Gondor, Théodred of Rohan, Bain of Dale, and Grim Beornson of the Anduin valley all came forward on their own to greet Kael.

Their fathers or grandfathers had known Kael, which made these men, more or less, the next generation.

Boromir and Grim Beornson, in particular, chose more familiar forms of address and called Kael “Headmaster” or “Professor Kael.”

Boromir, as a Dúnedain, and Grim, as a skin-changer, both possessed magical talent and had once received Hogwarts letters, studying magic there for seven years.

In addition to their usual weapons, both carried wands.

Kael did not hold back with the descendants of old friends. He handed out small protective enchanted trinkets as easily as if he were giving away candy.

These trinkets could block only three ordinary spells, but they were still more than capable of saving a life against blades and arrows.

Once the greetings were done, everyone took their seats around the round table, and the council formally began.

Elrond, as host, should have been the one to speak of the One Ring.

But because of the Fidelius Charm that had been set, no one but the Secret Keeper, Kael, could speak of the matter aloud.

When Elrond had summoned them, he had not explained the details, only emphasized that the matter concerned the fate of Middle-earth itself.

So among those present, some had come without knowing that the One Ring was the true subject at hand.

To everyone’s surprise, Elrond yielded the host’s place and asked Kael to explain the council’s purpose.

Kael did not refuse. He rose slowly and addressed them. “Before you arrived, some of you did not know the nature of this council. Because secrecy magic is involved, Lord Elrond and the others could not speak of it. So I will lay the matter out plainly.”

“You have all heard the legends of the One Ring. In the War of the Last Alliance, Isildur cut the Ring from the hand of the Dark Lord Sauron, and victory was won. The One Ring became Isildur’s spoil of war, but Isildur later fell to an Orc ambush, and the Ring was lost, its whereabouts unknown.”

“But now the Ring has surfaced again. Decades ago, Bilbo Baggins found it by accident. To ensure its safety, we entrusted it for many years to the ‘Eldest,’ Tom Bombadil, to keep it secure, until in recent years the Ring’s power has grown increasingly active.”

Kael continued, piece by piece, laying out everything they knew of the Ring’s situation for all who sat at the table to hear.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 367

Chapter 367: Gandalf, Somewhat Irritable

It was a startling thing to say.

Left this world?

The Vale of Anduin commander, listening in, felt his mind catch for a moment. He simply could not process it straight away.

Did it mean what he thought it meant?

For Men, the phrase “left this world” was usually just a more polite, more presentable way of saying someone had died.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Thranduil asked, one brow lifting.

Sometimes it was not only Men and other peoples who were thrown by Elvish riddles. Even Elves could be left confused by their own kind’s loaded, roundabout way of speaking.

But someone was even more confused, and far more anxious, than Thranduil. The commander could not sit still any longer. Forgetting propriety, he stepped forward and pressed for an answer.

There was none to give, and there would not be any certain answer.

“That is beyond what I can do,” Lady Galadriel said, admitting the limits of her power.

Thranduil glanced at the commander and reminded him, “Do not guess at visions you cannot see. What matters most is what lies before us.”

“I trust my ally. Do you not trust your own leader?”

The commander nodded, forcing down the turmoil in his chest. “I will cooperate with this operation.”

Another regional war had begun.

Yet that was not all.

In a certain manor in Dorwinion, an utterly ordinary master of a vineyard sensed the unrest brewing among the Easterlings nearby. He clutched his head as a dull ache spread behind his eyes.

“It has only been how many years,” he muttered, “and they are marching again?”

So he saddled a horse, pulled up his cloak to hide his identity, and once more rode west. He took the Wine-road, recently repaired as a matter of course by craftsmen of the Free Cities, and he went alone, without a single attendant, travelling in his own name.

Trouble had come too often of late. Even if the last time had been decades ago, to an Elf that was not long at all.

Still, the changes in these years were truly great.

In the past, no one would have dared travel this road alone without guards, unless they were very confident in their own strength.

As for now, some bold human traders walked it without escorts at all.

It was… something to see.

…

“It truly is a headache.”

West of the Misty Mountains, on a stretch of wild highland, Gandalf lit his pipe and smoked as he thought.

Behind him came the clack and thump of blades. Boromir was teaching swordplay to Pippin and Merry, but the two of them were clearly not behaving themselves. With a little trick, they managed to trip Boromir and send him sprawling, a most unexpected “surprise”.

“For the Shire, bring him down!”

The two Hobbits pounced on Boromir and pinned him. He struggled, and for a moment he actually could not get back up.

“Hahahaha, you two little rascals…”

Soon even the thoughtful Captain of Gondor was dragged off course by them. He laughed and tussled with the pair, taking neither the ambush nor his hard fall to heart.

Aragorn watched them, especially Boromir, and found himself smiling too.

Boromir was not truly difficult to live with. Though he held high rank, he carried no airs. In essence he was kind and gentle, and surprisingly easygoing.

Only the weight on his shoulders was too heavy. Far too heavy.

With that thought, Aragorn rose.

For now the company’s mood was harmonious. All seemed well.

All, that is, except for Gandalf. Over the past few days his face had grown stern, as if he had learned something or felt something coming.

Best not to interrupt him while he was thinking.

“All right, you two, that will do.”

Aragorn walked over, intending to pull the Hobbits up and end the wrestling.

Instead, with one careless step, he was tripped as well. The two mischievous Hobbits immediately changed targets and “subdued” him too.

“Oh!”

Aragorn fell backwards with a groan, then lay there smiling in helpless amusement.

“We cannot go south.”

Gandalf’s single sentence ended the play at once.

“The Dunlendings’ allegiance is uncertain, and Saruman’s troops are unaccounted for. Either way, it is a great danger.”

Gimli offered, “Then why not take the Sky-road in the north?”

“Indeed. An excellent choice, Gimli. If you had not said so, it might truly have slipped my mind that there is a shortcut so obvious the whole world knows it. What timely counsel.”

Gandalf nodded as he spoke, his tone so pointed it was almost sharp. His eyes were full of meaning. He was talking to Gimli, yet his attention did not seem to be on Gimli at all, leaving the Dwarf blinking in confusion.

“What did I do to offend him?” Gimli muttered.

Yet to his surprise, Gandalf stood and went on, “All right. We will try it.”

“It is time to move, my friends. Let us go north.”

“If luck favours us, we can stay under the Free Cities’ protection the whole way, and enjoy fine scenery that never repeats itself on either side of the road.”

“And if it does not?” Pippin asked, proving he always knew exactly where to poke.

“If it does not, I will throw you off the road, so you learn what that ill-omened tongue of yours brings.”

Pippin fell silent at once.

“He seems to be in a foul mood,” Pippin and Merry grumbled under their breath after being snapped at.

“Who is not? Wizards are like that. Strange-tempered, changeable.”

“Just endure it. Perhaps he slept poorly last night. Once he has a midday nap and rests, he will be fine.”

“That makes sense.”

Pippin nodded solemnly and hurried after Gandalf, not caring about the small slight at all.

So the company went north, climbed up onto the high Sky-road, and made for the far side of the mountains with eyes wide open for the views.

“I have never been this high in my life!”

“Nor have I!”

The Hobbits leaned over the railing and looked down, feeling their hearts open with the height and air. They knew they would never forget the view.

Clank, clank…

As they walked, now and then they glimpsed iron golems patrolling along fixed routes by the roadside, and the sight only made everything feel newer still.

Once they were on the road, even Gandalf’s mood eased a little. He even had room to talk, explaining things as they went.

“Travelling this way is a pleasure. Since it was built, I have walked it no fewer than a hundred times. Most days, walking here is leisurely and restful…”

“Oh, here we are. Look ahead.”

When they came to the face of the Misty Mountains, Gandalf pointed forward with his staff, and the others followed his gaze.

In a vast, deep tunnel, countless warm yellow lights were burning, and people were moving about within, talking and passing to and fro.

“This is one of the Sky-road’s most important crossroads: Halfway Town,” Gandalf said.

“It used to be a Goblin-hole. Later, Levi led folk here and cleared the Goblins out completely. Then he carved and reshaped the stone until it was level and fit for building.”

“After that, Halfway Town was established. Every year great numbers of merchants and travellers pass through, so it has become lively and prosperous, and many choose to settle and live here.”

“Remarkable,” Frodo said, staring up at the enormous town built into the mountain. His eyes could barely take it all in.

“That is because you have never seen the Dwarves’ realms, Mr Baggins,” Gimli said, lips pursed.

“Whether Erebor, or the halls recently reclaimed in the Grey Mountains, their scale is far greater than this. The Kingdom Under the Mountain, that is what outsiders like to call our homes.”

“I have heard of it,” Frodo said, nodding. “Bilbo told me the tale of the Lonely Mountain, the great Dwarf-kingdom, Erebor…”

Gimli was clearly pleased. He nodded and said, “Your uncle Bilbo has good sense. I know it well. Long ago, he was granted the title ‘Friend of the Dwarves’. The elders of my house speak of him often, that brave Hobbit.”

“But…” Gimli paused, then went on, “In truth, even Erebor only represents part of the Dwarves’ glory.”

Frodo asked, curious, “Is there a Dwarven work greater than Erebor?”

“There is,” Gimli said slowly, and spoke a single name.

“Moria.”

In Middle-earth with Harry Potter Sign-In System! - 378

Chapter 378: Gathering in Rivendell

After arranging the castle and school affairs, Kael, Gandalf, Frodo and his three companions, Bilbo, Legolas, and the others gathered in Kael’s private tower.

Bilbo, as the former bearer of the One Ring, needed to attend the council as well.

Legolas was there as a representative of the Woodland Realm, traveling to Rivendell to attend the meeting Elrond had called.

Because the One Ring was involved and might cause accidents with the Floo Network, Apparition, or Portkeys, they chose the safest method available. Even with the Phial of Galadriel and basilisk venom suppressing its influence to the lowest possible level, Kael still refused to risk even the smallest chance.

So Frodo was carried to Rivendell by Kael in Phoenix form.

As for the others, they simply used the fireplace and went straight to Rivendell.

In Rivendell, the scenery was unchanged. Mountain flowers still bloomed in abundance, as if time had never touched the valley and it had remained forever as it first was.

To the immortal Elves, a few decades passed in the blink of an eye, barely worth noticing.

On the white courtyard that led toward the Last Homely House, a burst of flame appeared out of nowhere.

The commotion put the Elven guards instantly on alert. They fixed wary eyes on the fire and shifted into defensive stances.

But the moment a magnificent phoenix emerged from the flames, the guards relaxed, and the sharpness in their gazes softened.

The phoenix, gripping Frodo by the shoulder, alighted on the white courtyard. It wheeled through the air above Rivendell and cried out a clear, beautiful call that carried a strange magic, stirring courage and hope in anyone who heard it.

Elves across the valley lifted their heads, looking up toward that holy, radiant figure.

Inside the halls of the Last Homely House, Elrond had been writing. Hearing the sound, he looked up toward the window and smiled.

A graceful male Elf, drawn by the phoenix’s song, arrived at the white courtyard.

He looked up at the circling phoenix, smiling as he applauded and spoke in a familiar tone. “A phoenix’s song is so beautiful that no music can compare. Kael, my friend, you’ve brought us a delightful surprise.”

The phoenix dropped to the ground and became human again. Smiling brightly, Kael stepped forward and embraced him warmly.

“Lindir, it’s been a long time!”

As Elrond’s trusted secretary, Lindir had a good relationship with Kael.

After the embrace, Lindir turned to the Halfling Kael had brought, his curiosity polite and gentle. “Kael, and who is this guest?”

“This is Bilbo’s nephew, Frodo Baggins,” Kael said. As he reached the latter part, his voice lowered slightly, with meaning. “He carries a great responsibility. The subject of this council is, in fact, on his person.”

As Elrond’s secretary, Lindir knew many secrets. At Kael’s hint, he immediately understood that the One Ring was with Frodo.

His pupils tightened, and his body almost retreated on instinct.

He had heard many tales about the One Ring and knew how dangerous it was. Part of him wanted to keep as far away as possible.

Even so, he forced himself to stay, keeping a courteous smile. “Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins.”

But he still maintained a subtle, careful distance.

Kael then introduced Lindir to Frodo. “Frodo, this is Lindir, aide and attendant to Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and also my father-in-law’s trusted confidant. He is held in high regard.”

“Hello, Master Lindir,” Frodo said, a little stiffly.

Just then, green flames kept flaring in the public fireplace beside the courtyard, and one figure after another stepped out. Gandalf, Bilbo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Elthir Black, and Elroth Black arrived in quick succession.

“Uncle Lindir!” The moment Elthir and Elroth saw him, their eyes lit up, and they dashed over happily.

Seeing the two of them, Lindir’s expression softened into unmistakable warmth.

“Elthir, Elroth, you came too?”

“They heard I was coming to Rivendell and insisted on coming along,” Kael said with a laugh. “They said they missed you all.”

Elthir and Elroth were doted on in Hogwarts, beloved by students and professors alike. In Rivendell they were no less cherished, indulged by their grandfather Elrond, their two uncles, and by Lindir and the other Elves; no wish of theirs was too small to grant, and no request ever went unanswered.

And because they were half-human, they did not have the Elves’ usual distant calm. They were lively and expressive, like two warm little suns.

Elves adored them for it. Their overflowing emotions always seemed to brighten the people around them, drawing smiles without effort.

Elroth, even more spirited than her brother, hugged Lindir at once and pleaded sweetly, “Uncle Lindir, Elroth missed you! Did you miss Elroth?”

Lindir’s smile turned impossibly gentle. His whole presence softened as he crouched to meet her eyes and spoke lightly. “How could anyone not miss our little princess? I have Miruvor, brewed with the first flower-honey of spring. Shall Elroth and Elthir taste it later?”

Elroth’s eyes flashed bright. She nodded again and again. “Yes! Thank you, Uncle Lindir!”

Even Elthir, usually the steadier of the two, showed clear delight.

Miruvor was a sweet cordial that the Noldor of Rivendell were skilled at making. They gathered nectar from the flowers of Rivendell’s gardens and brewed it by a special method, producing a drink that was warm and fragrant, sweet on the lips, and quick to drive away fatigue and restore energy.

Elthir and Elroth both loved it. Whenever they spent their holidays in Rivendell, they always drank it.

Even among the Elves of Rivendell, Miruvor was not something one tasted often. But for Elthir and Elroth, who were spoiled by everyone, it was never in short supply.

In fact, they drank so much of it that they always seemed lightly perfumed, carrying the scent of many flowers, enough to draw butterflies after them.

After sharing a moment with the twins, Lindir greeted Gandalf, Legolas, and the others as well.

Then, taking Elthir by one hand and Elroth by the other, he led the group toward the Last Homely House to meet Elrond.

Elrond was already waiting in the hall.

“Grandfather!” The moment Elthir and Elroth entered, they let go of Lindir’s hands and ran to Elrond in excitement.

Elrond’s face softened with gentle affection as he looked at his grandson and granddaughter.

He gathered them close, asked after them warmly, and only then kept them at his side and lifted his gaze to the guests arriving behind them.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 366

Chapter 366: A Warning on the Cold Wind

The Fellowship of the Ring, all nine of them, set out from Rivendell. Elrond watched their departing backs, and a sigh escaped him.

The world was sliding into chaos and unrest, and there was nowhere that could be spared.

Even the Free Cities, which had always seemed so peaceful that evil was almost unheard of there, were no exception. In the past, Sauron would never have dared to set his sights on them, but the moment their leader left, the North and South Vales were thrown into war.

Thranduil tried to lead his people to reinforce the front, only to run into a host of savage Orcs attacking neighbouring Dale the instant he emerged from the forest. Above them, Nazgûl wheeled through the sky.

Beorn’s son led men out to meet the Orc host head-on, holding the ground forces in place. At the same time, the Great Eagles swept down from the mountain peaks and tangled again and again with the Nazgûl and other vicious flying beasts, drawing their attention and keeping them from harrying the Men below.

This was the fourth wave of enemies to strike. No one knew where this new Orc host had come from.

The only thing that could be confirmed was that they were not from Dol Guldur, and they were not from Rohan or Isengard.

Thranduil was as baffled as anyone. He had no tidings at all, no warning, no clue.

Not until Lady Galadriel arrived.

She revealed the source of that fourth army.

Moria.

The Orcs there had been terrified by Levi. At one point, they had been slaughtered so thoroughly that they were nearly wiped out.

But under Sauron’s careful tending, a remnant had still survived there in secret. While the powers of the Free Peoples stood tall, they had kept their heads down and dared not show themselves. They would not even attack ordinary travellers.

Now, at their master’s command, they had crawled out at last, and the border guards of the Golden Wood had spotted them.

With turmoil rising on every front, Lady Galadriel had felt a premonition. Her gaze went north, beyond even the northern Men’s lands, to the Northern Waste, and she chose to act.

In the war-torn region, within a reception hall that was still quiet enough to speak in, Lady Galadriel met with Thranduil and Glorfindel, who had come to reinforce the effort.

With them was a legion commander from the Vale of Anduin, one of the Free Cities’ officers.

Three Elves and a legion commander held a small council together, mainly discussing the situation nearby and the repeated delays in rescuing Saruman.

The commander mostly listened. His duty was to coordinate with the Elves according to Levi’s written instructions.

Lady Galadriel spoke first.

“I can feel it. The North’s legend is fulfilling an obligation that should never have fallen to him. Our long-lost kin are returning.”

“Kin?” Thranduil echoed, puzzled.

Among the three Elves present, he was the youngest, only a little over five thousand years old. The other two were older by a full age, or even two, and their power far surpassed his.

Both of them had once bathed in the holy light of the Two Trees. If they stood in a room at night, there was no need to light a lamp. They shone.

“In the time of my birth,” Lady Galadriel explained, “many Elves were seized by Morgoth and tormented. Though Morgoth was defeated at last and his stronghold was broken, many of the taken were never accounted for. Their fate remains unknown.”

“I sense that Levi is searching for them in a place far below and far beyond, and that he is freeing them and sending them home to Valinor.”

“A great deed,” Glorfindel said in sincere praise.

Thranduil nodded as well, though his feeling ran less deep. He agreed and honoured the act, but the matter did not strike him as personally as it did the others.

Compared with two who had lived through the age when many Elves were taken, his impression of it was faint. Still, his lore was broad and deep enough that the moment they spoke of it, he remembered the old grief.

Behind their words, the Vale commander quietly felt a weight lift from his chest.

So Lord Levi was only away in some far place, occupied with urgent business, not harmed by some accident.

As that thought took shape, the commander lifted his head slightly and realised something else.

This message might have been spoken on purpose, so that he could carry it back and let the various realms know, so they would not panic.

Elves… every movement, every word, seemed to carry meaning. You had to listen carefully to catch it.

The commander understood at once.

And yet…

He raised his head again, looking at Lady Galadriel, who had suddenly gone still, as if struck by something unseen.

A thread of doubt rose in his heart.

What now? What had happened?

…

“Haah…”

Outside the fortress of Utumno, Levi let out a long breath and blew away a flicker of flame.

The fighting had been ferocious. Great sections of the fortress exterior had collapsed. There were gouges from impacts, and wide black scars where fire had licked the stone.

His rune shield had shattered who knew how many times, drained and recharged, recharged and drained again. If the essentia dropped by slain creatures had not been replenishing his staff, the staff’s stored essentia would have run dry long ago.

He slapped at the stubborn flames still clinging to him, then rolled his shoulders and stood up from atop the vast, drained corpse of a Balrog.

“Dangerous enough,” he muttered.

A swarm of grotesque, hulking beasts had rushed him all at once, driven forward by a Balrog behind them.

In the cramped fortress, where there was little room to manoeuvre, they had jammed the passage completely. More than once, their combined pressure had genuinely hurt Levi and threatened his true body.

In the end, he had still come out on top.

Now, looking down, none of the beasts were intact, and the Balrog’s wings beneath his feet had been hacked to pieces.

Once Levi had cleared the beasts one by one and beaten the Balrog into a battered state, it had tried to flee.

It had not mattered.

Levi had stopped worrying about conserving resources. He had drawn out the Dragonbone Bow, etched with Strength V, and paired it with Dragonbone Arrows to shoot the creature down. Then he had taken his greatsword and chopped apart those huge wings, whether they were true flesh or living fire.

Now the Balrog, too, had become nothing but materials.

And yet…

Even with looting on his side, it had only dropped a single Flame of Udûn. Levi could not help feeling mildly displeased.

This Balrog felt a little weaker than the one he had encountered in Moria. Weaker even than the one he had killed with his own hands before.

Of course, it might have been an illusion. Levi himself was not the same anymore. Compared with his first clash with a Balrog, he was now more than twice as strong.

After dealing with the Balrog that had practically delivered itself to his doorstep, Levi carved through the fortress and purged every dark creature he could find.

When he was sure nothing remained, he began digging deeper.

Tap.

Near the centre of the fortress, he broke through a thick wall and stepped into a room that was, for this place, strangely open.

“To find somewhere this well preserved…”

With a fresh night-vision potion warming his belly, Levi took in the room’s layout.

There was nothing.

Nothing at all, except for a black, deep shaft in the centre that led down.

The stairway fell away without end. You could not see the bottom, and it was not even whole. At some point, it broke away entirely.

Looking down from the edge, it was like staring into a void. There was no bottom. It made the heart quail.

Go down?

The moment that thought rose, something descended upon him.

No. Not so much a sign, this time, as a warning.

Unlike before, this warning came from another presence entirely.

A cold wind crossed an immense distance from the surface world, slipped down into the deep, entered the fortress, and brushed Levi’s face, stirring his hair and delivering its meaning without words.

A warning from Manwë Súlimo, Lord of the Breath of Arda, Elder King and chief of the Valar, who watches over the world and seeks to set its wrongs right.

Levi understood its message.

“Below this shaft is malice gathered and hidden in its purest extreme. A fallen world of darkness. A remnant evil will broods over it, cutting it off from all outside, even from the awareness of the Valar.”

The Valar were forbidden to interfere too directly in the affairs of Middle-earth. Their dwelling place had long been set apart from Arda by the One who made the world.

Even with only that separation, they were already distant. With another barrier laid atop it, under so many limits, if Levi went deeper still, even the Valar might not be able to help him.

From that point on, everything would depend on him.

Every craft had its master.

Perhaps there was a Vala who, by sheer strength alone, could beat Morgoth to his knees, shatter mountains and rivers with a single blow, even crack the very lands.

But in certain other matters, they might truly not match Morgoth.

Just as in this.

And yet…

“A new challenge, then. That suits me,” Levi said, smiling faintly.

He stepped forward and jumped into the void.

A wind coiled around him at once, wrapping him in a ward woven into the world’s own order, so that no fall or blow could harm him.

…

“I can no longer sense him.”

Far away, Lady Galadriel stared north, her eyes unfocused, confusion creeping into her face.

“What do you mean?” Thranduil asked sharply, turning towards her.

Glorfindel, who had experience with such matters, answered for her.

“Levi has left this world.”

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 308

Chapter 308: Melvin

Beneath the tower, Nicolas Flamel faced a woman in a pure white gown. Both of them looked drained, as if they had just come through a fierce confrontation.

The churned‑up ground around them, and the mass of grey‑black mist tightly wrapped in countless runes, were proof enough of that.

Yet from the calm, almost orderly way they were speaking now, it was clear the standoff had been over for quite some time.

“Melvin…”

Hearing the woman speak that name, a complicated look flashed through Flamel’s eyes. There was anger there, and grief so heavy it nearly drowned everything else.

His fists tightened slightly, then loosened again. The movement was small, but it still caught the woman’s attention mid‑sentence.

She stopped and looked at him steadily. Ravenclaw’s voice was calm as she asked softly, “You seem to care a great deal about that name?”

Flamel did not answer at once. After a long silence, he spoke in a low voice.

“It’s nothing. It’s all in the past.”

Then he lifted his head and asked, “You mean Melvin was Herpo’s vessel?”

“Not exactly a vessel,” Ravenclaw explained. “He was a real person. It’s just that he found Herpo’s Horcrux and ended up sharing a body with him.”

“Sharing a body…” Flamel murmured.

He remembered Albus telling him that the Dark Lord had once possessed a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. It seemed liches all had that trick.

“He was an ordinary‑looking boy, nothing special,” Ravenclaw continued. “Salazar only took him as a student because Merlin’s disappearance made him want a new apprentice, someone to help with errands and to be taught certain knowledge he did not wish to leave behind at Hogwarts.”

“At first, Godric did sense something off about the boy. His instincts were always sharp. When we travelled the world together, that intuition saved us from danger more times than I can count.”

“But at the time, he was quarrelling with Salazar, and we thought his emotions were making him oversensitive. We did not interfere much. We only checked the student’s background, placed him inside a seal woven from detection magic, and after he passed every test flawlessly, we all went back to our own work.”

“Looking back now… if we had truly kept him under full watch, noticed the odd way he sometimes muttered to himself, perhaps we could have pulled that child out of Herpo’s grasp. Perhaps none of what came later would have happened.”

Ravenclaw’s voice dipped for a moment. She paused, then went on.

“You may not know this, but a Horcrux maker’s possession causes immense damage to the host’s body and soul. Melvin’s body was well suited to Herpo, but even so, he could not remain inside him for long.”

“It is the same dilemma that troubles many liches. They may live forever, but each body has a limited lifespan. No flesh can sustain them in this world indefinitely.”

“So he wanted to extend his life by other means?” Flamel guessed. “The Philosopher’s Stone?”

“No. The Philosopher’s Stone can prolong life, but it cannot resist the ageing of the body. That is not the immortality he wanted,” Ravenclaw said quietly. “What he wanted was true agelessness.”

“He really was greedy,” Flamel said, and there was bitter weariness in the word. “He failed, I assume?”

After all, Flamel himself had lived for centuries. If a truly ageless Dark wizard had emerged in the Dark Age and survived to the present, Flamel would not have remained unaware.

“Yes. For now, he has not succeeded,” Ravenclaw said, nodding.

“For now?” Flamel repeated, puzzled.

Ravenclaw did not answer immediately. She hesitated, glanced back at the tower behind her, then at the mass of imprisoned grey‑black mist not far away, and let out a soft sigh.

“I told you before that we created this place to preserve vital intelligence about the Dark Age. To preserve information that has been completely sealed away, we needed to build a space entirely cut off from the Hall of Lost Dreams, for example, this place.”

“It is not affected by the Hall of Lost Dreams, so it cannot form a link to that sealed era. It was meant to be nothing more than a barrier for isolating information.”

“But I do not know whether Salazar let something slip. Somehow, his good student learned about this place.”

“A few years after we created it, he crept here in secret and sealed himself inside as well. He meant to taint us, seize our control of this space. If he succeeded, he could use the space’s separation from the Hall of Lost Dreams to complete his plan.”

“A plan to transform himself into a wraith, without being constrained by a wraith’s body.”

“That should be the most perfect path to immortality he ever devised.”

“Fortunately, he still has not succeeded. But this fragile balance may not hold much longer. Once you leave, you should…”

Ravenclaw had not finished when Flamel’s eyes suddenly widened, as if he had just heard something unbelievable.

“Wait,” he said sharply. “You’re saying Melvin left himself here, on purpose, to taint you?”

He looked so shocked that the wrinkles on his face seemed to deepen.

“Are you certain?”

Ravenclaw frowned. “We watched him seal himself into that separate space and release the mist. Unfortunately, by then our bodies were already dead, and our souls had entered the sealed Hall of Lost Dreams. I believe that was the opportunity he had been waiting for.”

“His body was close to its limit at the time. Trying to use the space we left behind to complete the final step of his immortality makes sense.”

“But he likely did not expect our echoes to possess consciousness of their own. Over these many years, we have never relaxed for even a moment, and we have never given him a chance to fully occupy us.”

“Without gaining all of us, he cannot control this space. That is why, I suspect, he created so many abnormalities here. He was trying to lure other wizards in.”

“Once we complete our mission, we will no longer be able to maintain our own existence. That is when he can take advantage of the gap and seize this space completely.”

“Actually, once I finished telling you everything, I planned to ask you to find that place, find his body, and destroy his Horcrux and soul entirely…”

Ravenclaw stopped. Flamel’s face was turning worse by the second, and her own expression grew grave.

A bad feeling curled tighter and tighter in her chest, growing sharper with every breath.

Then Flamel swallowed, and in a slightly trembling voice, he spoke.

“I told you before. My companions and I created the Philosopher’s Stone to stop a plague that was spreading across the whole continent.”

“The one who created that plague was also called Melvin.”

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 307

Chapter 307: Trust in Your Friends’ Courage! Final Boss – The Stone Queen of Hearts!

Fred had already been knocked out again by that last strike.

The shimmering barrier of his Protego Shield Charm shattered, breaking into points of light that faded from the air.

Cedric stared at the looming black shape that had turned its horse and was now pacing toward him, unhurried and relentless.

His breathing quickened.

His mind went blank.

How was he supposed to defeat something like this? A monster in human form?

Impossible. Completely impossible.

"Are you all right?!"

The urgent shout yanked him back to himself.

He jolted and turned his head.

Harry was sprinting toward him down another passage. That earlier cry of "Look out!" had been his.

"Harry!"

Cedric pushed himself upright on instinct.

He did not want anyone to see him sprawled in the dirt.

"What is that thing?" Harry blurted. "Is Ethan actually trying to kill us?"

One look at the glaive, almost half as tall as a person, had already frozen his blood.

His imagination had no trouble providing the image of himself sliced clean in two.

There was no time to think.

Clatter. Clatter.

The scrape of armour drew closer, steady as a heartbeat.

Like a giant about to squash a bug.

The horse’s pace was so calm, so utterly unconcerned.

Cedric was tall and well-built by Hogwarts standards.

Next to the black knight, he looked like a boy beside a man.

He was not even as tall as the warhorse.

"Krum is already through," Cedric said, voice tight.

"I do not know why he has not taken the cup yet, but we do not have time to waste."

He tightened his grip on his wand.

In the space of a heartbeat, he made his choice.

"Harry, take Fred’s wand and send up a distress flare. I will hold this thing off. You get past it."

Harry started. "But you—"

Cedric cut him off.

He raised his wand and levelled it at the oncoming knight.

"Go, Harry!" he shouted.

"We cannot let Durmstrang beat us."

"…Do not worry."

His smile was stiff but confident. "Once I have chopped this tin can down to size, I will meet you inside."

Two seconds later, Harry’s expression hardened.

He nodded once.

He snatched Fred’s wand and fired a red flare into the sky.

Then he ran straight at the knight blocking the path.

Before the Tournament, he and Cedric had barely known one another.

Now Harry could trust him with his life.

Danger had forged a bond.

Ethan had already taught them that.

The warhorse reared, front hooves lashing the air.

The knight’s gauntleted hand closed on the glaive.

He thrust, the motion smooth and vicious, driving the blade straight at Harry’s chest.

"Confringo!"

The red spell struck the helmet dead‑on and burst with a bang.

For an instant, the knight’s movement hitched.

It was all Harry needed.

He dropped and rolled.

The glaive’s edge skimmed over his scalp.

In a single breath, he was past the knight, scrambling up again and sprinting down the narrow passage ahead.

Victory belonged to Hogwarts—and to the Morning Star Club.

The warhorse’s iron hooves crashed down.

The knight turned, ready to give chase.

A second spell flared against him and stalled him again.

"Your fight is with me," Cedric said hoarsely, wand raised.

Sweat slid down his temple as the towering knight stilled.

He had let two of them slip by.

Now he turned his helmeted head toward Cedric.

Smoke curled from the impact marks on the metal, but there was no damage.

Empty darkness stared out at Cedric.

The air grew heavier.

Black mist seemed to coil more thickly around the knight’s armour.

The glaive’s point scraped along the ground with a grinding hiss, leaving a narrow groove in the earth.

The warhorse snorted and stepped forward.

Step by deliberate step, the knight closed in.

He would cut Cedric down.

Cedric shut his eyes.

He drew a long breath in, then let it out slowly.

When he opened them again, they were steady.

His job was simple.

Fight.

Keep the knight here.

Buy his friend time.

Magic surged through him.

It flooded down into his wand.

Light glowed at the tip, then thickened, stretching, changing shape.

At last he held a greatsword formed entirely of light, nearly two metres long and semi‑transparent, its edge humming with power.

It moved like a feather in his hands.

A casual flick sliced clean through a thorny branch.

Scarlet rose petals drifted down around him.

"Ethan, this is the magic you taught me," Cedric said quietly.

"Now I am going to use it to win."

He fixed his gaze on the knight’s advance and raised the sword in both hands.

A second skin of magical armour wrapped around him.

His palms were slick, his heart hammered in his chest.

But his thoughts were calm.

The moment he wrapped his fingers around the hilt he remembered.

No matter how terrifying the Darksoul Knight seemed, no matter how unbeatable he looked, he was nothing compared to Ethan in training.

"This is our bond!" Cedric roared, charging to meet the glaive.

He trusted his years of practice.

He trusted every ounce of muscle in his body.

They would not fail him.

"Let us see what kind of body you have under all that armour," he shouted, "and whether it has been forged as hard as mine."

Steel met light with a ringing crash.

Elsewhere in the maze, Harry flinched at the sound of metal on magic.

He glanced back, worried.

The thorns twisted together behind him, blocking the view.

He could not see a thing.

"Cedric will be all right. He will beat that knight," Harry told himself, gripping his wand tighter.

"And my job is to stop Krum and keep him from taking the cup."

He turned and ran on.

Once again, he could not help marvelling at Ethan’s tournament design.

Every task was "exciting."

And every one had taught them courage and trust.

Ethan’s unnerving side tended to overshadow his frightening brilliance.

Harry stumbled out of the narrow corridor at last, panting.

The sight that met him made his jaw drop.

A colossal statue towered over a wide clearing.

The upper body alone was as tall as a house.

It was a girl in stone.

A crown rested on her head; a great, wheel‑shaped ruff framed her face.

Her heavy hair had been sculpted into the shape of a heart.

She bowed her head, both hands pressed flat to the earth.

Beneath her chin, where her gaze fell, a ring of stone formed a pool.

It was bone dry.

Viktor Krum stood before the statue.

His back was to Harry as he said slowly, "Ethan really has left no loopholes."

"The cup is hidden. Looks like the only way to get a clue is to beat the knight outside."

He turned.

A bloody gash ran across his face, oozing down his cheek.

It made his features even more savage.

"But I think," he went on, "it is much easier to force answers from someone who has already beaten the knight."

He levelled his wand at Harry.

Madness flickered in his eyes.

"Do not blame me, Harry."

"The one who takes the cup—the one who defeats Ethan Vincent in front of everyone—"

"Will be me."

"You should look behind you," Harry blurted.

Krum, wound tight with nerves and urgency, felt the gust of air at his side.

He half‑turned to see what it was.

The stone palm caught him full-on, like a wrecking ball.

He flew like a cut kite, slamming into the ground again and again in a series of bone‑jarring thuds.

He finally came to rest, limp and still.

The statue had moved.

One vast marble hand still hung in the air where it had swatted him aside.

Harry hissed in sympathy and squinted.

"That was brutal."

Trust Ethan to hide two bosses in one task.

Wait.

He broke off, staring up at the enormous figure as it ground and creaked, slowly straightening.

From where it stood, it sat at the very heart of the maze.

Which meant—

It had to be stronger than the Darksoul Knight.

The knight had been an elite monster.

This was the true boss.

"Is it too late to go back for Cedric?" Harry thought wildly.

The corridor behind him was now nothing but knitted thorn.

A scream like tearing metal ripped through the air.

The ground shook.

The stone girl threw back her head.

Thick, tar‑black liquid poured from her blank eyes like oil and splashed into the dry pool at her feet.

At her chest, where her heart would be, a knot of black mist began to churn.

"Wait…"

Harry frowned.

There was something familiar about that darkness.

It looked a lot like the Obscurus from the second task.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 465

Chapter 465: The Dark Lord Withdraws

In the second stage of the duel, neither of them wasted another word.

Sean took a single step forward and vanished.

Voldemort raised his wand at once, ready to unleash a sweeping curse to flush him out, when a razor‑sharp killing intent sliced in at his right neck. He reacted instantly, jerking his head to the left. Even so, a long, narrow cut opened along the side of his throat, and blood began to seep slowly down.

“Severus’s Sectumsempra…”

He murmured the name under his breath, his expression darkening. Stepping back, he swept his wand in a tight circle. Blue‑white mist spun up around him, whirling at high speed. Invisible blades screamed in from all directions and were caught and broken by the circling light. For just a moment, faint, jagged rents in the air itself showed where the cutting curse tried to bite through before being diverted.

At first, Voldemort remained composed.

He had seen Snape’s Sectumsempra before and knew very well how dangerous the spell was. But as the seconds ticked by, Sean’s casting speed rose higher and higher. The slashes came faster and closer together, until Voldemort could no longer block every strike.

Rip.

The cloth of his left sleeve dropped to the floor, neatly sliced away.

A line of blood opened along his right thigh. It was not long and not deep, but it was a wound all the same—a clean break in Voldemort’s defences.

His face went utterly black.

He lashed his wand.

The blue‑white mist around him detonated outwards like a tidal wave. Floor tiles tore free and exploded, stone pulverised to dust. Lightning crawled through the air in wild, snaking arcs.

Caught in the blast, a figure flickered into view.

Sean.

For the first time, his level‑5, max‑rank Disillusionment Charm had been shattered head‑on.

As expected of Voldemort.

Sean filed away a silent note of respect, then blurred backwards, retreating at speed. Voldemort had no intention of letting him go. He poured on the pressure, driving Sean with a hailstorm of spells that filled the air.

Sean dropped back until his shoulders almost brushed the wall. He let his eyes flick down, gauged the size and thickness of the floor tile beneath his feet, then hooked his fingers into the gap between the slabs and wrenched.

The heavy stone tore free.

He swung it up like a shield, taking the brunt of the spellfire on its surface while he quietly gathered power. In the instant the tile exploded into shards under the curses, Sean snapped his wand forward.

“Thunderclap!”

A lance of lightning shot out, so swift and bright it looked almost like a solid beam. It punched through the remnants of Voldemort’s spells and streaked straight for his chest.

Voldemort did not even consider dodging.

He lifted his wand to meet it.

For the second time, they locked together in a direct contest of power.

“Avada Kedavra!”

This time, the clash of magic dwarfed the last.

There were no more crackling arcs spraying wildly from the contact point. Instead, waves of force pulsed outwards in steady, brutal beats. Each shockwave that spilled free hammered the hall around them, tearing up stone and shuddering through everyone present.

Dumbledore, Gavin, and Amelia stepped forward as one. Their wands rose, and together they conjured a huge shimmering shield to catch the worst of the backlash and keep it from obliterating the witches and wizards behind them.

Even through the protection, the onlookers stared in naked terror and awe.

None of them had ever truly grasped how terrifying Voldemort would be if he fought without restraint. Now they were seeing it with their own eyes.

What they had not imagined was that anyone could meet that power head‑on.

And Sean was doing exactly that.

Voldemort watched the boy over the joined beams and could feel it clearly: Sean was several times stronger than he had been during their first power struggle. He was already perilously close to the level that only Voldemort and Dumbledore had ever reached.

He had said this was a “special day”.

What was special about today?

Could his strength be tied to particular times?

The thought formed in Voldemort’s mind even as he let his gaze sweep the edges of the battle.

Death Eaters were either fleeing or being dragged down in chains. The Order of the Phoenix and the Aurors were pressing hard. Most of those under his command who could escape had already done so—or soon would.

He began to consider his own retreat.

If he kept fighting, he should, in theory, be able to defeat or even kill Sean. But the atrium did not contain Sean alone. Gavin Bulstrode was there—the man he had personally tried and failed to kill. So were the Ministry’s Aurors. And, most dangerous of all, Dumbledore.

If he bled himself white to kill Sean, only to be struck down in turn by Gavin and Dumbledore fighting side by side, that outcome would be utterly unacceptable.

Once he was certain the bulk of his Death Eaters had either slipped away or been taken, Voldemort lost all interest in continuing.

He let his gaze rest on Sean for a moment.

Anyone else might have missed it, but Sean saw the calculation in his eyes. Voldemort had also noticed that Sean’s magic was running low. The only thing keeping him standing so tall was that monstrous physical resilience of his, as if there were a troll, even a giant, wrapped in human skin. One Killing Curse would not be enough to end him. And Voldemort had yet to see Sean use that strange Animagus ability of his in this fight.

If he kept going, there might very well come a point where the question was no longer whether he wanted to leave, but whether he still could.

Voldemort’s wrist twitched.

The Killing Curse he was forcing through the beam suddenly surged, detonating the connection. Sean had to pour everything he had left into his own spell to meet it. The impact blew out in a single, colossal shock.

A tidal wave of magic ripped through the atrium.

Columns shattered. Walls split and fell. The polished floor cracked in a spiderweb of fissures.

By the time the echoes died, Voldemort was already gone.

Black smoke curled where he had stood, then dispersed into the air.

Sean did not move to stop him.

He still had cards left to play, but this was not the time to gamble his life in a death match. He was not yet certain he could truly defeat Voldemort. More importantly, the Horcruxes were not all dealt with. Killing the Dark Lord now and forcing him to slink back into the shadows to rebuild around those soul fragments would be far worse than letting him run.

Better to break every Horcrux first.

Then finish it.

After tonight, the boost from his most recent magical awakening had been completely pushed to its limit and worked into his casting. Give it a little time, and he would be ready to draw out the next of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

With the Dark Lord’s departure, a new era for the Ministry of Magic began.

Sean crossed the ruined hall to where Dumbledore and Gavin were standing. He looked from Amelia to Marchbanks to the other officials and Aurors, then spoke.

“Everyone,” he said, “the Ministry has taken a terrible blow. This is precisely the moment when we need to rebuild from the ground up.

“I think the first thing we should do is set out a proper framework.”

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 355

Chapter 355: Lupin's Answer

Lupin had clearly not expected anyone to ask such a question. He paused, visibly taken aback.

Usually, when students faced a Boggart, they either panicked or wanted to know how to defeat it. Dudley, however, had gone straight for one of the trickiest angles imaginable.

If Lupin had not already known that Dudley was exceptionally gifted, he might have thought the boy was deliberately trying to make him look foolish.

"That is an excellent question," Lupin said after a moment's thought. "I confess I have never really considered it before."

"However, we can make some assumptions and work backwards from there."

At that, everyone's eyes widened. They all wanted to hear how Lupin would answer.

Dudley, too, looked genuinely interested.

"First, when a single person faces a Boggart, it will turn into whatever that person fears most," Lupin began. "From that, we can infer that your fear is what feeds it."

"To defeat a Boggart, we must take that fear and twist it into something ridiculous, all while casting the charm: Riddikulus."

"To some extent, we can control our own imagination. We can make the Boggart take a shape we choose."

"Following that logic, I believe Boggarts can read what is currently in our minds. They can also sense our fear and use that emotion to make themselves more vivid and terrifying."

"That said, they cannot reach into your deeper memories."

"In truth, the most frightening thing in the world is fear itself."

Lupin spoke confidently. Though he did not know exactly what answer Dudley was looking for, his method of reasoning backwards gave a thoughtful and meaningful response.

"Mr Dursley, does that answer satisfy you?" Lupin asked with a smile.

"Absolutely," Dudley said, nodding.

Lupin's explanation made sense. Put simply, Boggarts could access the shallow layers of a wizard's fear but could not fully invade their thoughts.

If that was the case, Dudley could test the theory easily enough.

All he had to do was face the Boggart himself.

If it exploded on the spot, that would mean it could read memories in depth, sifting through everything to find what the wizard feared most.

If it did not explode and simply turned into something he was afraid of, then its ability to read minds was relatively crude and would not reach the deeper, more fundamental parts of memory.

"Right, let us carry on," Lupin said. "In fact, I have already told you how to deal with a Boggart while we were talking just now."

"The incantation is Riddikulus..."

Over the next few minutes, Lupin explained the principle behind defeating Boggarts in detail, then selected Neville as his first volunteer.

To everyone's amusement, and yet somehow complete understanding, Neville's greatest fear turned out to be Professor Snape.

Lupin guided him step by step, asking him to imagine what Snape would look like dressed in his grandmother's clothes.

Once Neville had the image firmly in mind, Lupin flicked his wand and opened the wardrobe.

The door swung wide. A figure stepped slowly out.

It was Professor Snape.

The moment Neville saw him, terror flooded his face. He took an involuntary step back. Then he remembered: this was not the real Snape.

"Riddikulus!" Neville shouted, waving his wand.

In an instant, Snape's robes vanished, replaced by the flowered hat, fox‑fur stole, and vulture‑topped handbag of Neville's grandmother.

The room exploded into laughter. Even Dudley could not help grinning.

He knew it was not really Snape, but the sight of the Potions Master in full elderly witch attire, complete with a hideous old handbag, was too absurd not to enjoy.

"No wonder Snape said he did not want to see this. He must have known what Neville would do. Oh, Merlin, I am going to die laughing," Ron gasped, tears streaming down his face.

"If Snape ever actually saw himself like that, he'd explode on the spot," Harry wheezed, doubled over.

"Excellent. Very well done," Lupin said warmly. "Next, please."

Parvati had been standing behind Neville. She stepped up at once.

The bewildered "Snape" turned its gaze on her. Its eyes sharpened, locking onto her with eerie intensity.

A moment later, Snape vanished. In his place stood a bloodstained, bandaged mummy, arms outstretched, lurching towards her.

"Riddikulus!" Parvati cried, face pale, wand shaking.

The bandages unravelled in a rush and tangled around the mummy's legs, sending it toppling to the floor.

More laughter rippled through the room.

"Continue."

One by one, students stepped forward to confront their fears.

Dudley watched from the side, observing the Boggart's behaviour closely.

"From what I have seen so far, it really does only access surface‑level fear. It cannot dig deeper into memory. That should mean there is no real danger," he thought. "I could use it to find out what I fear most."

While he was still thinking, Ron reached the front of the line.

The Boggart, which had been a giant rattlesnake a moment before, twisted and swelled into an enormous black spider.

When Harry, Hermione, and Dudley saw it, they exchanged glances.

It was Aragog. The very spider they had faced in the Forbidden Forest.

Even though the real Aragog was dead, it still lived on in Ron's nightmares as his deepest terror.

"Good thing Hagrid is not here," Harry muttered.

Ron stood alone before the giant spider, face drained of colour. Even though he had been preparing himself, panic still flickered across his features.

"Reduc—" he began, wand twitching upwards.

He had almost cast a Reductor Curse.

Then he caught himself. This was not the real Aragog. It was only a Boggart.

He cut the spell short.

"Riddikulus!"

The charm worked. In a flash, every one of Aragog's legs sprouted a roller skate. The spider flailed and tumbled, unable to stand, looking utterly ridiculous.

"Well done," Lupin called.

"Next."

Ron stepped back, satisfied, making way for Harry, who had been standing behind him.

Without hesitating, Harry walked forward, wand in hand.

Lupin's expression shifted the moment he saw Harry step up. He looked as though he wanted to stop him.

But after a moment's hesitation, he chose to watch and wait.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 436

Chapter 436: Horcrux Destroyed, The Killing Game Begins, Four Dishes and a Soup

"Ron, you destroy it," Harry said, picking up the sword and shoving it at him.

"What? I cannot. I will not be able to fight it off," Ron yelped, backing away, face white.

"That is exactly why you have to do it. You need to learn to resist it," Harry said.

He did not give Ron the chance to refuse; he simply thrust the Sword of Gryffindor into his hands.

The three of them went outside the tent and found another fallen tree trunk. Harry set the locket on the dead wood.

"Ready?" he asked.

Ron nodded, throat working.

Harry touched his wand to the locket and poured a thin stream of golden magic into it.

Chaos slammed against his magic at once. Thick black fog squeezed out of the chain and spilled over the bark.

The air grew heavy and warped around them under the pressure of that power.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Silver-white mist burst from Harry’s wand and coalesced into a stag three storeys tall. The Patronus stepped forward, antlers lowered, and the Chaos-twisted space straightened; the worst of the distortion pushed back. Some trees at the edge of the clearing were not quite right anymore, but it was still under control.

Hermione lifted her wand as well, layering shield and Confundus Charms to muffle the light and sound.

"Do it, Ron!" Harry shouted.

Ron charged with the sword raised.

A whip of black magic lashed out from the locket and sent him flying.

He crashed to the ground and skidded, barely holding on to the hilt.

"I cannot," he gasped, dropping back onto the snow. His fingers almost slipped from the blade.

"What are you doing, Ron? Why did you jump back yourself?" Hermione yelled from across the clearing.

"What?"

He stared at her, stunned. He had felt the lash, felt it wrap him and throw him.

"Waste of a good mind," Lada said.

A small cat padded up beside him and sat down primly, licking her paw.

"This is your flaw, Ron. Aiden and I have been using hypnosis on you for years now, trying to toughen your mind. When real pressure hits you, Ron, you don’t push back. You choose to vanish. To make yourself small enough that no one blames you when things break,” she said.

Ron’s jaw clenched. He wanted to hex her—hex both of them—blast them into the snow just to shut them up.

The Chaos in the gemstone, the pure mental pressure flooding from it, nailed him to the spot.

"Look. Your friends are fighting for their lives, waiting for you to move," Lada said, tilting her head toward Harry and Hermione.

"So, are you going to plug the leak in your heart and be a hero, or run again, Ronnikins?" she said.

At some point, her pupils had shifted into mismatched amber and deep blue again. Ron did not notice the change in the way she addressed him.

The Horcrux did.

It dipped into his thoughts and started to whisper.

"I know you, Ron Weasley. I have walked through your dreams," it said.

The voice in the fog was low and rasping, as if its throat were full of bubbles.

“Your mother loves everyone but you the most. She dotes on her nephew, she’s proud of all her other sons, and she cherishes her daughter… but you? You’re the one she always forgets,” it whispered. “And the girl you want doesn’t love you either. She loves your friend.”

The smoke heaved and rolled. Shapes formed inside it.

Harry and Hermione, barely dressed, arms around each other, kissing.

Shock twisted Ron’s face, then rage.

He surged to his feet, sword coming up.

Inside the jewel, Tom’s remnant watched him come and smiled. She could already see it: Ron, broken by her words, turning the blade on his greatest rival.

The blow fell.

Not on Harry.

On her.

Steel met gemstone with a ringing crack. Basilisk venom soaked into the fractured core. The remnant screamed, a high, tearing sound. The knot of black magic blew apart.

Silence dropped back over the clearing.

Ron stood there, gasping. The sword slipped from his numb fingers and thudded into the snow.

"Not bad, Ron," Lada said.

She trotted over and picked the Sword of Gryffindor up carefully between her teeth.

"That thing… it nearly… fooled me," Ron said. His voice still shook.

Harry came to clap his shoulder. Hermione’s anger had drained away. They had both seen what he had chosen.

One Horcrux down. One step closer.

The air in the camp felt easier to breathe. For the first time in days, something like hope settled over them.

……

Far away in Romania, Tom’s eyes flew open.

Killing intent poured off her in waves.

She had felt it the moment the Horcrux broke.

She could not move.

Edmund was still tying up too much of her strength. If she broke away from the Mediterranean even for a day, the forces in Egypt could surge north and smash her hard-won territory to pieces.

She was running herself to the edge.

There were never many witches and wizards truly suited to slaughter and bloody rule. The biggest group was always the ordinary sort.

To keep a continent running, she needed black wizards to sit on the masses and grind them down, and she did not have enough of them.

In her rush to swallow all of Europe, she had not noticed. Her forces were stretched far too thin.

She was a serpent. When prey came this close to her jaws, she had to bite first and worry about the poison later.

Whether this particular prey had come out of some writer’s twisted imagination was another question entirely.

She could feel death breathing down her neck.

She would not sit and wait for it.

"Caius Quirrell," she said.

Her call rolled out from the castle and straight into the ears of a young man outside.

Quirrell Apparated into the hall and dropped to one knee.

"Your orders, my lord?" he said.

“Send word to Severus. Tighten the net around Harry Potter. And find me Aiden Prewett—” Tom said, her voice dropping to a cold hiss. “Track down the vanished Department of Mysteries as well.”

She never noticed the flicker in Quirrell’s eyes, the hint of dragon gold swirling in the dark.

On Voldemort’s side, tension and the taste of blood hung over everything.

On Harry’s side, they had just finished stuffing themselves.

Lada had personally caught enough fish to feed three people to bursting.

After tasting Hermione’s roast, the little cat had turned around and, in the same cramped camp kitchen, produced four dishes and a soup that left Hermione staring.

"Where did you learn all this… no, how do you even know the spells to do it… can you teach me those charms?" Hermione said.

The question changed shape three times on its way out.

For someone with a mind as sharp as hers, that said everything.

"Aiden taught me. He says he got them from a friend in America. If you lot had flour, we could even be making quiche," Lada said.

She looked up from her wooden bowl and swallowed the fish she was chewing.

"And your survival skills are terrible. Want me to teach you how to catch fish tomorrow?" she added, head tilting.

The three of them stared at the cat, judging them.

They did the only thing they could.

Ate faster, in perfect silence, and then slipped back into the tent to sleep.

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 194

Chapter 194: The Marines Respond

At the same time, at the headquarters of the World Economy News Paper, Big News Morgans threw the full weight of his media empire behind the biggest headline of the age.

Across every regional branch and printing line, presses screamed at unprecedented speeds, drums thundered, ink sprayed, and sheet after sheet swallowed world-shaking copy.

Tens of thousands of trained News Coo took wing like a white tide, carrying papers still smelling of fresh ink to every corner of the world.

He issued a kill order to his staff: within twenty-four hours, this story that would reshape the seas had to be heard in every ocean.

By noon, when the edition still warm from the presses hit town squares, ports, merchant tables, and the desks of every power that mattered, the whole sea trembled.

The front page carried no decoration, no fluff—only one bold, enormous line:

“The Strongest Pirate Crew in History Is Born.”

Marine Headquarters, Marineford.

The bastion of Justice still buzzed with its usual order and urgency. Officers in “Justice” coats and soldiers on tight schedules crossed courtyards and corridors in a constant flow.

Then a shout, cracking with disbelief, sliced through the noise.

“Kaido lost! The Beasts Pirates’ new captain is Kai!”

“What?!”

Feet stopped in unison.

Faces turned toward the colleague waving the paper, red-faced.

Marines swarmed him instantly.

When their eyes found the front-page photo—Kaido the “Beast,” once untouchable, limp and bloodied in Kai’s talons—their voices broke into a storm of shock.

Inside the Fleet Admiral’s office, the air was so heavy it felt like it could drip.

Sengoku sat at the head of the table, Akainu and Aokiji among the senior brass gathered around the open paper, all wearing the same hard frown.

“Too fast,” a veteran vice admiral said, face dark.

His finger jabbed at Kai’s photo.

“How long has it even been? And Kai beat Kaido head-on.”

Worse, after losing, Kaido had chosen to submit… and stay under Kai’s flag.

If the man had any pride, he would have taken the loyal remnants and walked out of Wano.

Instead, the Beasts Pirates had finished a terrifying evolution in one stroke—now a crew with two emperor-level monsters at the top.

Just thinking about it made scalp prickle.

“The sky over the New World is going to change,” Sengoku said.

Fingers steepled under his chin, he scanned each officer.

“The situation has deteriorated. We need a plan. Ideas?”

“We cannot sit back and let the Beasts keep swelling,” Akainu said first, voice low and hot.

“The Marines must move immediately, intervene in the New World, and remind them this sea is not theirs to run wild.”

“But, Sakazuki,” Aokiji leaned back, voice lazy as ever, but cutting to the point, “the reality is we cannot make large-scale moves right now.”

“Vice Admiral Tsuru’s internal purge has been effective, but the damage to the Marines is real.”

When you cut out rot, good flesh suffers.

The investigations alone had already slowed the organization down.

Worse, the Revolutionary Army had seized the opening, stirring up trouble across the Four Seas while the Marines’ eyes were turned inward.

Over the last year, they had toppled more than a few kingdoms.

“The purge has begun well. That means we have to see it through,” Akainu shot back, unmoving.

“If we cannot move whole fleets, then we send elite units into the New World. We must show the flag.”

No one looked surprised at his stance.

Even though the hawks he led had taken the worst losses in the purge due to their harsh methods and messy membership, Akainu himself had been one of Tsuru’s strongest backers from the start.

“Corruption inside is more dangerous than enemies outside,” he had said in council.

That shared conviction—backed by Sengoku and the admirals—was the only reason Tsuru’s reforms had survived the pressure.

Sengoku rubbed at his temples, feeling the headache dig deeper.

Kai’s timing could not have been crueler.

Everyone knew that once the Marines finished this bone-deep cleansing, their overall strength and cohesion would climb to a new level.

But here, in the dark just before dawn, at their weakest, the Beasts had merged into one.

“Send the elites, but do not strike first,” Sengoku said at last.

“Kuzan, you will handle it. Pick an absolutely top-flight unit and reinforce G-1 and the other main bases in the New World at once.”

“But remember the primary mission: defensive posture and observation. Without my order, do not provoke a Yonko crew.”

With Aokiji in front and Kizaru already stationed in the New World, having two admirals on that line let Sengoku ease his grip a fraction.

If the worst happened, with them there, the Marines could at least save a root and a spark for the future.

“In the end, we are still stretched too thin,” Sengoku sighed, kneading his brow.

What had the world come to?

Revolutionaries fanning fires within, pirates churning storms without.

For true top-tier force, the Marines felt painfully bare.

It might be time to put a real expansion and force-boost plan on paper.

The thought alone made his head pound.

Asking Mary Geoise for money was like pulling teeth from dragons. The Celestial Dragons took and never gave; they were stingy to the bone.

Every budget request became a grinding tug‑of‑war, forcing him to rehearse the same arguments again and again.

The World Government cut checks for the CP without blinking, but when the Marines held out their hand, they were treated like stepchildren.

Still, the Beasts’ sudden rise handed him a perfect reason—one even the Five Elders would struggle to refuse.

The Beasts Pirates were now comparable to the Rocks Pirates.

No—stronger, given how fractured Rocks had been.

The moment that thought broke the surface, Sengoku wanted to curse.

Brrup-brrup-brrup—

The special Den Den Mushi on his desk rang.

The Five Elders?

The thought flared.

He took a steadying breath and lifted the receiver.

“Sengoku, drop everything and come to Mary Geoise. Now!”

The order left no room to argue.

Of course.

They could not sit still either.

Sengoku answered in a low voice and moved at once.

In the Chamber of Authority, the mood was not the funereal weight he had expected.

The five men who ruled the world sat with a controlled ease that suggested confidence rather than panic.

“Sengoku,” said Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro, the bald elder, “what is your assessment of the Beasts Pirates as they stand?”

What did they think he would say?

At the end of the day, whether reinforcements or anything else, it came down to one thing—funding.

He kept his face respectful and laid out his case for expansion and force enhancement in careful terms.

To his surprise, the Five Elders traded a look and nodded like they had expected exactly that.

“That is why we summoned you—to solve this problem for you, and for the Marines,” said Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, the white-haired elder.

“Under Dr. Vegapunk, several projects have reached decisive, mass-producible results. They can be put directly into your hands to strengthen the Marine force.”

“The Pacifista Program, or the Seraphim Program?” Sengoku straightened, instantly focused.

As Fleet Admiral, he knew all too well about Punk Hazard—the money pit that ate tithe-sized budgets every year.

The Marines had an admiral posted there for protection, and a sizable slice of the annual budget disappeared into those labs.

“Both,” Saturn said, and even he smiled a little.

“What? Is that confirmed?” The shock made Sengoku forget himself for a heartbeat.

“Are you doubting us?” Saint Shepherd Ju Peter, the blond elder, snorted.

“Never. It is just… extraordinarily heartening news,” Sengoku said quickly, mind racing.

“If you are worried, do not be,” Saturn went on, unhurried.

“Prototypes are complete. They have passed all combat evaluations. They can be delivered to you at any time.”

“That is excellent. Our force shortages are exactly where those units would hit,” Sengoku said, eyes brightening.

He knew exactly what those specs meant.

Pacifista would fill the gaping hole in Marine mid and low tiers, a steel tide to clear rabble and hold lines.

The even more powerful Seraphim were built to operate at a terrifying level between Vice Admiral and Admiral.

With them in play, admirals could finally free more time to handle the sea’s new shape.

Most importantly, they could be reproduced.

For the Marines as they stood, the news was a lifeline in a blizzard.

The Five Elders nodded it through with surprising ease, agreeing to hand the units over in one go.

“Of course, there is no free lunch,” Nusjuro said mildly.

“If you are to enjoy this benefit, you will shoulder the cost that comes with it.”

“The ongoing research, production, and maintenance of Pacifista and Seraphim will be drawn directly from your annual budget.”

With a few light words, the Marines’ budget had not grown—it had shrunk.

Sengoku’s brows pulled together, but he did not object.

As long as Pacifista and Seraphim met their numbers, sacrificing some routine budget was acceptable.

It meant fewer new bases next year, fewer new ships, fewer recruits.

Compared to the strategic value on the table, the trade was worth it.

He bowed and took his leave with a complicated heart.

Watching him go, Saint Marcus Mars stroked his long white mustache, worry tightening his eyes.

“Pacifista, very well. But the Seraphim—are we truly handing them to the Marines so easily?”

The former might reach vice admiral-level firepower at best.

The latter’s potential ran far deeper.

If the reports were to be believed, the newly born Seraphim could already erase a vice admiral with ease.

More importantly, unlike the low-intelligence, program-limited Pacifista, the Seraphim could grow.

They learned quickly, carried carefully chosen Devil Fruit powers, and bore the Lunarian bloodline.

Given time, their power might brush an admiral’s.

These were living weapons with no ceiling in sight.

“If you want the watchdog to tear the wolf, you throw it meat on the bone,” Saturn said with a thin smile.

“And in any case, Vegapunk’s greatest value to us has never been Pacifista or Seraphim.”

“It is the Mother Flame.”

He looked around at his peers.

“As long as the Marines can use these bones to buy us the time we need, to birth the Mother Flame, the price now is nothing.”

“If we do not hand them real chips, and we refuse to step in ourselves, the Beasts Pirates could, in truth, flatten Marine Headquarters in one blow.”

The other four were silent for a long moment before nodding, faces sour.

They could not deny it.

A Beasts Pirates with two emperors at the top was a threat that the World Government could not ignore.

But emptying the vaults and going all-in now for a total war with the Beasts?

Unacceptable.

The core power of the World Government did not move except at the critical hour.

For now, the Marines and Beasts could bleed each other.

Saturn had planned this for a while; confidence colored his tone.

“Relax. According to her latest report, the Mother Flame is progressing smoothly. In a few years at most, we will see the finished product.”

Once it was ready—once that thing could be activated—every threat and ripple on the board would shrink to nothing, solved at the root.

Saint Topman Warcury frowned.

“Is she reliable?”

Saturn’s smile deepened, the look of a man who believed he was holding every string.

“On this sea, no one can refuse the temptation to become a god.”

In Middle-earth with Harry Potter Sign-In System! - 375

Chapter 375: The Room of Requirement

Kael's power had grown beyond measure over the decades. In an instant, he froze Old Man Willow where it stood.

The branches that had been reaching and swaying hung rigid in mid-air, as though time itself had stopped.

Without the Willow's droning enchantment, Frodo's mind cleared at once.

He saw the gnarled, looming tree before him and the gaping hollow in its trunk, wide enough to swallow him whole. His heart hammered, cold sweat prickling his back, and he scrambled away in a graceless rush.

Then he caught sight of Kael and Gandalf, and relief flooded through him. He ran to them, panting hard.

"Kael! Gandalf! Thank the stars you came! I do not know what happened. One moment I was in the Floo, and the next I was in the middle of the forest with every tree trying to kill me. If not for the brooch you gave me, Kael, I think I would be dead already."

"I am sorry. We did not foresee this," Kael said, resting a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "The Ring caused it. It was trying to separate you from us so that it could take hold of you."

Gandalf added, "The trees attacked you because of the Ring as well. You must prepare yourself, Frodo. That thing will not only whisper in your mind, it will also draw the eyes of dark servants. You are likely to face danger like this again, or worse."

At their words, Frodo felt the weight in his pocket grow heavier still. The true peril of the Ring had never been so clear.

While Gandalf comforted the shaken Hobbit, Kael turned his attention to the half-broken willow by the riverbank.

A faint smirk crossed his face. He walked over to the frozen tree and rapped his knuckles against the bark as though greeting an old friend. "Well, well. Long time no see, Old Man Willow. I must say, you have recovered nicely these past decades."

Old Man Willow could not move, but at the sight of his old enemy, memories surged back in a flood. Hatred and fear radiated from the tree's very core.

It loathed this wizard who had nearly killed it all those years ago, leaving it with only half a trunk and forcing it into a long, painful sleep.

And yet it feared him even more, terrified that this time he might finish what he had started.

Kael did not need Legilimency to sense the Willow's feelings, but he had no real intention of harming it further. The tree was no threat to him now, and for the sake of Tom Bombadil and the Ents of Fangorn, he would let it be.

Still, he reached up and snapped off a few slender willow branches. These he tucked away, meaning to send them to Ollivander for wandmaking.

With his prize in hand, Kael waved his wand and lifted the binding spell. The tree shuddered back to life.

He turned his back on it and walked towards Gandalf and Frodo.

Old Man Willow, though free again, did not dare strike. It could feel the power rolling off the man in waves. If it tried anything, it would be ash before it could blink.

Sensing the tree's cowering stillness behind him, Kael's mouth twitched upwards.

One hard lesson had been enough to teach the old willow caution.

Leaving the riverside behind, Kael rejoined the others. "Come. It is time we returned to Hogwarts."

"How do you mean to go back? Apparition?" Gandalf asked.

Frodo waited for the answer with equal curiosity.

Kael frowned and shook his head. "Taking Frodo by Apparition is too dangerous. If the Ring could disrupt the Floo, it can disrupt Side-Along Apparition as well. If it attacks my concentration mid-journey, we could splinch badly."

Kael himself might come through unharmed, but he could not guarantee the same for a passenger.

So Apparition was ruled out, as were Portkeys.

That did not mean he was out of options, though. In his enchanted pouch, he carried flying brooms.

More importantly, he had his phoenix Animagus form.

And so, as Frodo watched in stunned wonder, Kael transformed.

A brilliant golden-red phoenix rose into the air, wreathed in warmth and sacred light, circling once overhead.

Then it dove, seizing Frodo and Gandalf in its talons, and in a burst of blinding flame, vanished.

The next instant, a flare of fire bloomed inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

A phoenix appeared, bearing Frodo and Gandalf with it.

It released them gently, wheeled once in the air, and landed, shifting back into Kael's shape.

Gandalf looked around and let out an approving hum. "We are back already? I must say, phoenix travel is far more pleasant than the Floo, Apparition or Portkeys. Only the Vanishing Cabinets compare."

Frodo nodded vigorously in agreement. He had not yet tried Apparition or Portkeys, but the Floo's spinning, stomach-lurching chaos was still fresh in his memory.

Phoenix fire, though unnerving at first, had simply flashed and placed them elsewhere in the blink of an eye, with no discomfort at all.

Far, far better than the Floo.

"Right," Kael said, glancing out of the window at the students playing below. His expression grew serious. "Before we leave for Rivendell, we need to deal with the Ring."

The Ring was a terrible danger, and the castle was home to more than seven hundred students and teachers.

None of them had Frodo's Hobbit resistance, nor Kael and Gandalf's strength of will.

The longer the Ring remained here, the greater the risk. Even sealed in its box and the dragonhide pouch, its influence might seep out and ensnare someone.

The One Ring was unlike the other Rings of Power. Sauron had poured the greater part of his soul and strength into it. Even the Maiar dared not touch it, and prolonged exposure could corrupt anyone.

Kael would not gamble with those stakes. The Ring had to be moved, and its reach had to be contained as much as possible.

"What do you intend to do?" Gandalf asked.

He knew Kael well enough to trust that he already had a plan.

Kael did not answer directly. Instead, he said simply, "Follow me."

He strode out of the office.

Gandalf and Frodo fell into step behind him.

They followed him through the corridor until he stopped before a smooth, blank stretch of wall. Kael tapped it lightly with his wand.

To Frodo's astonishment and Gandalf's understanding nod, a great door appeared in the stone, its outline traced in shining mithril.

Kael pushed it open and gestured for them to enter.

Frodo and Gandalf stepped inside.

The room beyond was bright and filled with soft, even light. The walls, ceiling, and floor were white and featureless, stretching away without clear boundaries, as if the space itself had no end. The air was still and utterly silent, untouched by dust or time, as though the room existed outside the world.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 365

Chapter 365: Evil in the Deepest Depths, Malice at Its Uttermost

Light?

No.

Levi uncorked a bottle of night-vision potion and drank, then peered into the distance.

That was not light.

Creeeak… screech…

A thin, vicious grinding echoed through the dark, something sharp rasping against hard metal. When Levi narrowed his eyes, he saw a knot of great white spiders, their bodies crusted with hoarfrost, crouched around a heap of ragged black armour and gnawing at it.

The armour’s cut was disturbingly familiar.

Ringwraiths?

Levi frowned.

Yes. It was the very style the Nazgûl wore. But there was plainly nothing within these torn shells. No lurking wraiths, no ghostly form. Only hollow husks.

So the Nazgûl had been here. But whatever dwelt in this deep place was not friendly. Even Ringwraiths were fair game.

Swish—

The white frost-spiders stiffened, as if they had felt something. With a clatter, they dropped the ruined armour and turned as one, all their multiple eyes fixing on Levi.

In those stares there was no pretence: pure malice, and a hunger that nothing could ever sate.

“Here. Try this instead,” Levi said.

He drew the Dragonflame Steel greatsword.

It seemed their fangs were not so strong after all.

Moments later, under the sweeping blade, they were nothing but heaps of scorched meat.

“What in the world is this place?” Levi muttered.

Resting the greatsword on his shoulder, he went deeper.

After a while, something stirred in the dark again. A black shape lunged out at him, too fast to make out. He caught it on his sword, parried once, twice, and cut it down.

“Graaah!”

Its dying shriek was so sharp it set his teeth on edge.

But what was it?

Levi prodded at the corpse and felt only bafflement.

It had moved too quickly to see clearly, and now he could see nothing at all: the body was charred to a crisp.

No matter. He could look at what it had dropped.

Orcs, Wargs, Trolls: each one left behind bones suited to its kind. Spiders shed eyes and legs. One way or another, the remains always told you what you had fought.

[Elven Bone]

The name that appeared froze Levi where he stood. His scalp prickled.

He went utterly still.

“An Elf…?”

Roar!

That last piercing cry had drawn more things from the dark. A motley throng came surging: Orcs, Trolls, white-frost spiders twisted by the environment, and a few Wargs slipping through the shadows…

“Out of my way,” Levi snarled.

His temper, already frayed, snapped. In a rarity for the past century, he actually swore.

The monsters paid for it.

What followed was not a battle so much as a one-sided beating. Slash by slash, blow by blow, he pounded them into the stone. He did not stop until the last creature in that stretch of tunnel lay dead.

Only then did he pause.

With a brutal slam, he pinned the last surviving, gibbering thing to the ground.

This one.

It was one of these that had dropped “Elven Bone”.

“Let us have a look at what you really are,” he said.

[Tormented Elf 30/30]

Levi fell silent.

He studied the wretch before him and felt only one thing radiating from it: a malice beyond words, an evil driven to the uttermost.

Yes. An Elf.

And plainly not the only one of its kind.

Some ancient evil clung to them like maggots to bone, refusing to let go, refusing to let them die or escape. It bound them here, in this lightless depth, to wander and suffer without end.

Under that twisted torment, their nails had grown long and filthy, their skin had turned grey and coarse, their bodies had bent and twisted, their hair had fallen out. Lost in an endless dark, they had become ugly, cringing from any hint of light, and slowly gone mad.

“Be at peace,” Levi said.

Crash.

He drove the greatsword down, clean and hard, ending the Elf’s agony in an instant.

That tormented soul slipped free at last, leaving its ruined body behind. It fled westward, back to the Holy Land beyond the circles of the world, to the Halls of Mandos where all the dead must pass, there to be healed.

Levi drew a long breath and forced himself steady.

Now he knew where he was.

[Faction unlocked: Utumno]

[Reputation: -∞]

Long ages ago, in the Years of the Trees before the First Age, Morgoth had snatched many Elves, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar, to mock and defile them. He had shut them up in his fortress and tormented them without ceasing.

At last the Valar rose in wrath. The War of the Powers shook the world. Morgoth was overthrown and taken captive, and Utumno was broken. Its halls collapsed, its hosts scattered. Yet in the gutted roots of the fortress, foul servants crawled into the dark and hid, nursing their hate and waiting for their master’s return.

When the fortress fell, most of the captive Elves were freed.

Most of them.

The wise in Valinor had always held that those who were never found, who had no known fate, might yet be lurking in the countless caverns of Utumno, wandering with the monsters there.

But for many reasons, they had long been thought all but impossible to find.

“Come, then,” Levi said softly. “All of you. I will set you free… and send you home.”

He spoke under his breath, lifted the greatsword once more, and walked on into the dark. Wherever he passed, the tunnels fell silent and empty. Every monster was cut down. Every maddened Elf he found was set free.

He thought he understood now why he had been led here.

After a long, long time, a new sensation stirred: heat, and unrest.

Beyond a certain crumbling stair, all the ice had melted away, baring the black, age-worn paving beneath.

Thud.

As Levi stepped onto it, the ground began to tremble. He drew a deep breath, pulled out the shield he so rarely bothered to use, and raised it before him.

The feeling was all too familiar. It was here.

Boom!

The ground split; ancient stone burst apart and flew. With one thunderous impact his shield was smashed aside and Levi was hurled backwards, only just managing to wrench the Dragonflame Steel greatsword up in front of him to take the worst of the blow.

Wham.

Man and sword alike slammed into the wall.

Through the rolling dust he saw it at last: a vast, winged shape wreathed in flame, with a swarm of snarling forms crouched at its feet.

Levi bared his teeth in a grin.

“Come on!” he roared.

His battle-cry crashed through the deeps, echoing far out into the black.

…

“So we failed to find Levi; that we can chalk up as mischance. We made no headway in rescuing Saruman; that is understandable. But how in all the world did we manage to lose Glorfindel as well?”

In Rivendell, Gandalf was venting his frustration at the Great Eagle that had brought word.

The Eagle said nothing. It only smoothed its feathers, patient and imperturbable.

Telling it all this did no good. It only carried messages. This was not something it could help.

“Sigh…” Gandalf let out a long breath.

“We must give Elrond some credit, at least,” he said more quietly.

By the Eagle’s report, Elrond had promised that he would be back before the Fellowship set out, to oversee all that concerned them.

“The Woodland Realm will not stand idle,” Legolas said.

He had been standing nearby when the news came and spoke up at once.

“My father will certainly send troops to help assail Dol Guldur.”

“Yes, yes. I have no doubt Thranduil will stir,” Gandalf said. “It is not that.”

He hesitated, brow furrowing.

The stream of great and small troubles of late had left the old wizard thoroughly weary.

“If war sweeps that part of the world, will we be able to pass through it unscathed?” he murmured.

“Enough. Let us leave that aside,” he said, shaking his head.

“It is almost time for us to depart, and still I did not think so many would be missing at such an hour.”

“Nor I. There have been too many surprises,” Legolas said, frowning slightly.

With a rush of air, the Eagle leapt skyward and was gone. Gandalf watched it go, lost in thought.

“I know how matters stand with Elrond,” he said at last.

“He will be home in a few days. But Levi’s whereabouts remain a mystery. Ordinarily, he would never be absent now; something truly urgent must be holding him.”

“What could be so important?”

Neither Elf nor wizard had any answer.

To find out what was happening, scouts had left days earlier on the best horses, riding to every nearby holding to ask for news.

The answer had been the same everywhere: Levi was in none of them.

Then the Eagle had come, with word that he had gone to the Northern Waste to investigate something.

Since then, nothing.

Before he left, he had only given a few brief instructions: that all his realms were to aid the Fellowship as needed, and send help when called upon.

As for the rest, he had said nothing. Only that in an hour of need, those in charge were to act as they saw fit.

A few days later, Elrond returned, and Gandalf was able to breathe a little easier.

“Do not fret, Mithrandir,” Elrond said.

“I owe my return to Lady Galadriel. In her name, Lothlórien will join the assault on Dol Guldur.”

“And the Woodland Realm. Thranduil has pledged his aid as well.”

“As for Glorfindel, I have left him there as reinforcement. Mordor’s schemes will not succeed.”

“So much the better,” Gandalf said, nodding.

With that weight lifted, he truly did feel lighter.

“And because of all this, I can now be here to oversee the Fellowship,” Elrond went on.

He dismounted and began to ask Gandalf about all that had passed in his absence.

The sword of the king had been reforged. Aragorn had given it a new name: Andúril, Flame of the West. At the same time, the Nine Walkers of the Fellowship were ready.

All was, for the moment, in order.

“Every soul in this world has its own work to do,” Gandalf said at last.

“Nothing can be made perfect. All we can do is what lies within our power.”

“Just so,” Elrond agreed.

Their talk ended there, on that note.

So it was that, on a clear morning, the Fellowship of the Ring set out.

Elrond proclaimed, “The Ring-bearer’s road to Mount Doom begins here. As for the rest of you, you are held by no vow. How far you go is for you alone to choose.”

Oaths could bind people to a course. They could also sow the seed of great tragedies.

On that point, Elrond had bitter experience enough.

So he asked no one to swear. This journey would be taken on will alone.

“Farewell, then. May you remember your charge,” he said.

“May the blessings of Elves, of Men, of Dwarves… and of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth go with you.”

The Fellowship set forth.

And ahead of them waited their trials.

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 307

Chapter 307: Is This Really Supposed To Be This Sweet?

"Cough, cough... cough..."

In the dim dungeon, the silver-green-robed old man lay slumped over the table, coughing so hard it was as if he meant to hack up his lungs.

Opposite him, Dumbledore watched with keen interest, thoughts churning behind his calm blue eyes.

These shadows, which could behave no differently from real people, fascinated him. They seemed completely unlike portraits; far more flexible and far freer, as if they possessed minds of their own rather than following some pre-set script.

He wondered whether they could only take shape in this unique space, or whether they could be created and used anywhere.

Still, the shadows were not without flaws. The lump of grey-black fog bound motionless to one side was proof enough of that.

After about a minute, Slytherin finally stopped coughing. He raised his head slowly, and there was a light in his eyes that had not been there before.

His expression, however, had grown even colder than before. That matched exactly the face Dumbledore had seen in the House portrait.

This particular Founder seemed to wear that sour expression year-round. Coupled with his somewhat monkey-like features, anyone taking one look would be hard-pressed to think of him as a good person.

Pulling himself together, Slytherin spoke at last, rather reluctantly.

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, can we have a proper conversation?"

"Hm." Slytherin gave the smallest of nods. His body was still weakened by what had just happened, but it was enough to sustain normal speech.

He was just about to say something when the man across from him suddenly lifted a hand to stop him. Slytherin blinked as the wand-tip flicked; a small box flew from Dumbledore's pocket into his palm.

With a tap of his hand, the lid of the box eased open, and several cups floated out, lining up neatly in mid-air.

"Before the lecture... coffee? Lemonade? Or black tea... no, you did not have black tea in your day, did you?"

Remembering that, he put the other cups back into the box, leaving only one filled with black tea. He set it on the table and gently pushed it over.

"In that case, you really must try this."

"...You are making me feel as though you are the host here."

Slytherin cast a frosty glance at the orange-red liquid placed in front of him, then looked at the little box Dumbledore had just drawn the cups from.

“That is… a Niffler’s pouch? Has your era finally learned to weave that enchantment?”

“No, it is an Undetectable Extension Charm,” Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. He let the little box drift back into his pocket and smiled. “But the Niffler‑pouch enchantment does exist as well; I simply have not yet taken the time to learn it.”

"Undetectable Extension Charm..." Slytherin muttered the words under his breath, then shook his head and ignored the old wizard's easy familiarity. He adjusted his posture, as if ready to begin.

But just as he was about to speak, he studied Dumbledore's smiling face for a moment, hesitated, and suddenly asked, "I can feel there is some kind of connection between us. Are you... my descendant?"

His expression was not pleasant as he said it. He clearly did not care for the idea of having such a flighty descendant.

"No. I am afraid not," Dumbledore said, with what looked like genuine regret. "I suspect it is because I am currently Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Slytherin blinked, then nodded slightly.

"Headmaster of Hogwarts, is it?"

He suspected that answer might actually be worse than having this old man as a descendant, but it hardly mattered.

He was only a shadow, after all. There were limits to what he could concern himself with.

"Hu..."

He drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. When Slytherin raised his head again, his body seemed fully recovered.

"Let us begin."

His eyes gleamed faintly as he picked up the cup in front of him, his expression turning grave.

"The story of the Dark Age is long. It may take quite some time to tell. Before that, I think I should first explain why this place has become what it is now."

Slytherin paused, a flicker of memory passing through his gaze.

"Do you recall the name I mentioned earlier, Herpo?"

"Of course." Dumbledore nodded. "Every History of Magic textbook places particular emphasis on his name."

"It is only right that it should. Given what he did, his infamy deserves to last eternally."

As he spoke, Slytherin raised the cup and took a small sip.

A faint fragrance touched his tongue first, followed by a wave of overwhelming sweetness. The cloying taste made him cough twice more before he could stop himself. Frowning, he stared down at the cup in his hand.

"Is this... really supposed to be this sweet?"

"Oh, certainly not. I simply made a tiny adjustment according to my own tastes." Dumbledore smiled. "Would you like a different drink?"

"No. That will not be necessary."

Setting the sickeningly sweet liquid aside and resolving never to touch it again, Slytherin laced his fingers together, his expression taking on a more solemn cast.

"This begins with a single person. After Merlin disappeared, I took on a student named Melvin."

"Melvin?"

At the name, Dumbledore frowned slightly, as if he knew something about it. But he was more interested in the first half of that sentence.

"What do you mean, after Merlin disappeared? What happened to him?" Dumbledore asked.

"He..."

Slytherin opened his mouth, clearly intending to explain. Yet as the words reached his lips, he paused for a moment, then shook his head.

"I cannot. The information has been sealed."

"Sealed, has it?"

Dumbledore scratched his chin, a spark of interest glinting in his blue eyes.

He had not received an answer, but he already had a few guesses. Some questions were answered in themselves.

He did not press the point.

"Please, go on. You said you took a student named Melvin. And then?"

"At first, I was only looking for someone who could inherit all my knowledge after Merlin's disappearance," Slytherin said quietly. "But once I began to teach this young wizard, I gradually discovered an extraordinary trait in him."

"He was diligent, and his capacity for learning was exceptional. Everything I taught, he grasped quickly. He could draw inferences from what I said and propose ideas that had never even occurred to me."

"To be honest, at the time I truly believed I had found a student even more outstanding than Merlin, one who could inherit my mantle more fully."

At that, Slytherin lifted his head slightly. A trace of sorrow and wistfulness moved in his eyes.

"It never crossed my mind that such brilliance was not talent at all, but the mark of another soul."

"A soul that had walked out of the Enigmatic Mirage, clinging to him through a Horcrux. A soul whose name would stink through the ages."

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 306

Chapter 306: New Card – “Darksoul Knight”! Ethan, Are You Trying to Kill Us?!

"What was that?"

Cedric looked up sharply inside the maze, listening.

Beyond the faint rustle of shifting thorns, another sound threaded through.

A soft, steady clatter, like something hard scraping against itself.

Or perhaps just the wind.

"Must be my nerves," Cedric muttered, forcing the noise from his mind.

Not far from the entrance, he spotted a metal plaque fixed to the hedge.

It read:

"Only by breaking through the wall in your heart can you touch the true ending."

"Champions, follow the choices in your heart."

"Defeat the Queen of Hearts and free this cursed garden."

"A hero rescuing a princess. Only this time the princess is the source of the curse," Cedric said under his breath.

He still had no idea what exactly awaited him, but the goal of the trial was clear enough.

Reach the heart of the maze and defeat the boss, the Queen of Hearts.

"And what is this 'wall in your heart' supposed to be?"

He walked on, thinking, and soon reached the first fork.

Unlike the earlier tasks, the third scattered the champions.

In this dim labyrinth of thorns, each of them had to move alone, step by careful step.

At least their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had prepared them.

Though, ever since Rita Skeeter’s attack, Moody’s lessons had become noticeably more cautious.

He had, however, spent much more time on survival tricks.

"Point Me," Cedric murmured, holding his wand flat on his palm.

Pale light flared at the tip.

The wand slowly rotated, then settled, pointing right.

"Right is north," Cedric thought. "The centre of the maze is roughly to the northwest."

"In that case, I should head left, then turn right at the first chance."

He nodded, pleased by the small victory, and set off left at a brisk pace.

He moved through corridor after nearly identical corridor of thorns, dodging grasping vines here and there.

Blood‑red roses bloomed along the walls.

Their vivid, saturated colour looked almost painted on.

"What are you throwing at us this time, Ethan…?" Cedric wondered aloud in the quiet, a small spark of excitement stirring.

After dragons and the Kraken, he had started to think nothing could shock him again.

The deeper he went, the tighter his chest felt.

And still, nothing happened.

No monster, no trap.

Only that clattering sound, growing gradually louder.

Could it really be this easy?

Was Ethan going soft?

He rounded a corner.

And nearly ran face‑first into a massive axe blade.

His heart almost stopped.

He yanked his wand up, ready to shout a spell—

The axe crashed to the ground at his feet.

The body in front of him toppled over like a puppet.

Only then did Cedric see it clearly.

It was a playing card soldier, still clutching its axe.

A blackened hole had been blasted clear through its centre.

"…"

Someone had beaten him here.

Who could be that fast?

He slowly raised his head.

Card soldiers lay sprawled everywhere, all of them Hearts.

Axes, swords, and spears littered the ground.

Square bodies lay at broken angles, sawn and blasted through.

From the wounds seeped something dark red and viscous.

Almost like blood.

The sight sent a chill through him.

Then—

Clatter. Clatter.

He heard the sound again.

This time, he knew what it was.

And he saw it.

Not wind, but the scrape of heavy armour.

A shaft of weak sunlight pierced the clouds and slid across a suit of black plate, winking coldly.

The figure stood like a walking fortress.

Just standing there, it pressed down on him.

[Name: Darksoul Knight]

[Tier: Third‑Tier, Golden Legendary]

[Description: A knight born from a vow to protect. Rumour says his creator once paid a visit to the Hog’s Head.]

[Effect: Defeats enemies with flawless skill. Ordinary spells and attacks cannot harm him. Despite being a walking tin can, his mobility is extremely high.]

[Comment: Finished the tutorial? Good. You are a proper champion now. Go defeat the first enemy you see!]

The black knight sat astride a huge warhorse.

He raised his massive glaive in one hand.

A figure hung from its tip.

Red hair flopped limply.

Cedric recognised him at once.

Fred Weasley.

At the same time, Cedric’s peripheral vision caught a shape slipping away behind the knight.

A Durmstrang champion.

Viktor Krum.

He was already vanishing into a narrow passage just beyond the knight, after only the briefest, indifferent glance back at Cedric and Fred.

Then he was gone.

"—Shatter!" Cedric shouted.

His curse slammed into the knight’s helmet with a bang of exploding force.

The glaive swung.

Fred flew.

He traced a helpless arc through the air and hit the ground in front of Cedric with a bone‑jarring thud.

Clatter. Clatter.

The Darksoul Knight slowly turned toward them.

The dust settled.

He had not taken a scratch.

Clatter. Clatter.

The armoured warhorse moved, metal scales rippling as it carried its rider forward step by deliberate step.

"Fred!"

Cedric grabbed his arm and dragged him back, already casting healing charms.

“Viktor Krum,” Fred rasped, cracking his eyes open, fury sparking there. “We agreed to team up, clear the way together. But that bastard used me as bait and slipped past while the knight was busy with me. Cedric, you cannot let him take the cup.”

"I will not," Cedric said at once.

But curiosity got the better of him.

"How did you even get here so fast in the first place?"

He had thought himself quick.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

"Straight lines, mate," Fred said, a familiar wicked grin tugging at his mouth. "Shortest distance between two points. George and I made a few fun little exploding toys. The rules never said we could not bring our own kit."

So, smuggling contraband.

A vein throbbed in Cedric’s temple.

"But in the end, Krum’s thick eyebrows still did me in," Fred growled. "May he have stomach trouble for life."

His curse echoed off the thorns.

"I get it," Cedric said. "I will do my best to catch up to—"

The ground boomed under his feet.

A blast of air slammed into him, and a huge shadow fell.

"Look out!"

Someone shouted.

Cedric threw up a Shield Charm on instinct.

The next instant, the world turned to impact.

A hammer blow hit the shield.

His ears rang as though he were inside a struck bell.

The glaive’s point had driven straight down from above, tossing him like a rag doll.

He hit the dirt hard and rolled, bile flooding his mouth.

His head spun.

Pain throbbed through his chest.

If the Armour Charm had not taken the edge off, that stroke would have punched clean through him.

He stared, stunned, as the Darksoul Knight turned back at a fortress‑slow pace, darkness yawning inside the helmet.

Panic surged in his gut.

Dragons had a soft spot under their chin.

The giant squid would just slap at you.

But this—

A knight in full plate, launching himself and his warhorse into the air like a broom and bringing that blade down in a perfect leaping strike.

Cedric had never felt so outmatched.

"Ethan has actually dropped a raid boss on us," he thought, half hysterical.

The Goblet of Fire really was keeping up its fine tradition.

Putting something on the field that might just kill its own champions.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 464

Chapter 464: Second Stage

“Tom, your little scheme in the Ministry comes to an end today.”

As Sean spoke, Voldemort’s wand jerked sharply. A pulse of murky green shot along the beam of light between them, ramming towards the lightning Sean was hurling at him. Before it could reach him, a crackling surge of current flared from Sean’s wand and wiped the attack away.

“To me, the Ministry is nothing more than a tool,” Voldemort hissed. “A way to delay Dumbledore and you. Real power exists only beyond such institutions, in Magic itself. As long as I exist, the Ministry is a trivial nuisance I can sweep aside with a wave of my hand.”

He slashed his wand upwards.

The tangled column of green light and blue‑white lightning blasted into the ceiling of the atrium and detonated. Stone shattered. A vast crater opened above them. Nearby, the enormous banner bearing Umbridge’s smiling face caught fire and went up in flames.

Voldemort flicked his wand towards the blaze.

The burning cloth twisted and stretched, the fire reshaping into chains that dropped from the ruined ceiling in a deadly net, crossing and knotting together as they fell to envelop Sean.

Sean whipped his wand.

A brilliant arc of light lashed out, obliterating the descending chains. Before the last sparks had faded, he jabbed his wand again and again at the rubble still raining from above. Chunks of broken stone shuddered and twisted, reshaping themselves into fully armoured knights. With lances and longswords raised, they thundered towards Voldemort.

“Parlour tricks, Sean Bulstrode.”

Voldemort’s wrist twitched.

A string of fireballs spat from his wand, smashing into the charging figures and blowing them apart in a storm of debris.

The instant the stone knights shattered, Sean struck again.

The fragments sharpened into jagged spikes, which screamed in from all directions to skewer the Dark Lord.

Voldemort opened his mouth and exhaled a torrent of searing flame.

Fiendfyre.

The cursed blaze coiled and danced around him, incinerating every shard before it could reach him. His wand carved three vicious slashes through the air. The Fiendfyre split into three streams, each one writhing into the shape of a serpent, hissing as they lunged at Sean from three different angles.

Sean’s wand shivered in his grip.

Cold spread from his boots across the marble, rushing out to meet the oncoming fire. The frost surged up, twisting into three ice‑bright serpents of its own, which hurled themselves at the Fiendfyre snakes.

“Feels familiar, does it not, Tom?” Sean called.

“You are already out of tricks, Sean Bulstrode.”

Fire and ice collided and vanished together, annihilating one another in mid‑air.

In the same heartbeat, both men moved.

Their hands blurred, leaving afterimages in the air. A storm of spells erupted from their wands, so dense that the air between them became a mesh of light. Curses and counter‑curses smashed into one another and winked out. Others tangled and spun away across the hall. Some blew straight through weaker magic and careened on to clash with entirely different spells.

Sparks flew. The atrium rang with one thunderous detonation after another.

“He is actually holding off the Dark Lord…”

“Sean—Sean is that strong?”

“At his age, even the Dark Lord was not like this. Nor Dumbledore. What sort of talent is this boy?”

“I heard Sean Bulstrode received Slytherin’s hoarded legacy at Hogwarts. Perhaps it is true after all.”

“Watching this, it is hard not to believe it.”

While the onlookers murmured in awe and fear, Marchbanks slipped to Gavin’s side.

“Can Sean manage this?” she asked under her breath. “Do we truly not need to step in?”

Gavin’s head moved in the faintest of shakes.

“This is Sean’s fight,” he said quietly. “It is also the final step in the plan he has worked towards for so long. Only if he faces Voldemort alone and withstands his assault will he gain the kind of authority he needs.”

Marchbanks’s eyes widened as the implications struck her.

“Gavin… are you saying Sean intends to become…”

She trailed off as he nodded.

A sharp breath hissed between her teeth.

“New blood surpasses the old,” she murmured. “We really have grown old.”

Out in the centre of the atrium, the duel had reached boiling point.

Sean had grown far stronger since their last encounter. Even the raw force of his magic had risen another notch. But measured against Voldemort, he was still a step behind.

Not that Sean’s strength could be summed up by conventional spellwork alone.

“Tom,” he called over the roar of colliding curses, “do you know what makes today special?”

“Special…?” Voldemort’s slitted eyes narrowed.

Sean grinned.

“To lure you out on this exact date took a great deal of work,” he said. “Even then, the odds were not in my favour. Fortunately, Harry and I coordinated perfectly. We were lucky enough to make sure everything happened today.”

Tonight was the full moon.

And Sean had two abilities that only reached their full potential under its light.

Moonlight Blessing.

Child of the Night.

High above London, Kurkan beat her wings, scouring the heavy clouds from the sky. Silver radiance spilled down, bathing the city in moonlight.

At that moment, Dumbledore stepped from a fireplace at the edge of the hall. Without a word, he swung his wand, activating a series of devices hidden in the walls and ceiling. Mirrors, or something very like them, snapped out from their housings one after another, catching the natural light from outside and channelling it inward. Cool moonlight poured through the ruined ceiling and from the mirrored panels, washing over Sean.

He did not change outwardly, as a werewolf would.

But thin streams of silver traced themselves across his skin, racing into curling, interlocked patterns. They resembled runes drawn in a single flowing stroke, strange and compelling to look upon. Under their touch, and under the full moon’s eye, Sean’s strength—mind, magic, body—rose in a single, surging wave.

A pale halo bloomed in his pupils.

He rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles, and smiled at Voldemort.

“All right then,” he said softly. “Let us begin round two, Tom.”

For the first time that night, Voldemort felt the faintest prickle of danger.

Rather than unsettle him, it seemed to sharpen his focus. The frenzied, raging Dark Lord fell away like a discarded mask. In his place stood the Voldemort Sean remembered from before—cold, split‑minded, terrifyingly calm.

Harry Potter: Dudley From LOTM - 354

Chapter 354: Dudley’s Question

"Even if he wanted to practise that spell, why did he have to provoke Buckbeak? That was incredibly dangerous," Harry said, frowning.

"Some magic can only really be trained under pressure," Dudley replied. "Have you forgotten? When we practised spells before, you did fine. But once it was a real fight, things were very different."

The three of them exchanged looks and had to admit he had a point.

Training and real combat were not the same at all. It had taken the battle with the Acromantulas for them to truly grasp the knack of casting silently and without wands.

Dudley drew his gaze back from where Malfoy had disappeared and glanced at Hagrid, who was still standing there, looking dazed.

"Professor Hagrid, you should carry on with the lesson," he prompted.

"Oh. Right. Er... yes, carry on," Hagrid said, finally snapping out of it.

He called the rest of the class back to order. It was obvious he was desperately nervous about this first lesson. More than once, he seemed as though he had no idea what he was doing, and Malfoy’s near miss had rattled him badly.

When the class ended, Harry was still worried that Malfoy had only claimed to be fine and would go after Hagrid later, using the incident as an excuse to get revenge.

To everyone’s surprise, Malfoy really did not seem to have told his father. No complaint came from the Board of Governors at all. After a tense stretch of waiting, Hagrid finally realised the matter had simply blown over.

The first few days of term passed quietly overall. Nothing happened that struck Dudley as especially strange.

He was in no hurry to hunt Draco down about what had happened over the summer. His instinct was to wait. Given time, Malfoy might come to him of his own accord, and then Dudley would have a better chance of seeing the full picture.

On Thursday, they had their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year.

"Here is hoping Professor Lupin does not turn out to be another Lockhart," Ron said as they walked.

"I could live with another Lockhart. I just do not want another Quirrell," Harry said.

"Fair point," Ron agreed at once.

"Relax. He is not another Quirrell," Dudley said. "He is a werewolf."

Ron hunched his shoulders, clearly still uneasy at the word.

In the Defence classroom, everyone had already found seats, pulled out textbooks and quills, and were waiting for Lupin to arrive.

Before long, he came in, looking just as he had on the train: shabby robes, battered case in hand, that faint, tired smile on his face.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly. "Please put away your books and quills. This will be a practical lesson. All you will need are your wands."

"I suspect you have not had many practical classes before."

He smiled as he said it. Dumbledore had already told him a fair bit about his two predecessors.

"Actually, we have," Harry blurted out.

"Oh? I must have been misinformed, then. It seems Professor Dumbledore did not tell me everything," Lupin said, looking genuinely curious.

"If you count knocking out the Defence professor as practical work," someone said dryly.

"What?" Lupin stared at them, startled.

Dudley’s mouth twitched.

All he had wanted was to be an ordinary student.

Instead, almost every eye in the room slid towards him. A moment later, Lupin’s followed.

"Well... it is not like I set out to attack him," Dudley said. "Professor Lockhart needed someone to play the werewolf. I played the part. He went flying when I hit him."

He kept his explanation brief.

"I see. In that case, that 'werewolf' of his is rather more capable than he is," Lupin said, momentarily at a loss.

"It is not just that," Neville piped up. "Afterwards, Dudley taught us a lot more. That was a proper practical lesson. We learnt the Disarming Charm."

"Yes. That really was a proper lesson," Harry added. "The Disarming Charm has been useful ever since."

The Gryffindors all nodded in agreement.

"Let us hope I am not the one being hexed across the room this year," Lupin said with a wry little smile. Then he clapped his hands. "All right, follow me."

He led them out of the classroom.

Soon they found themselves, wands in hand, outside the staffroom.

"There is plenty of space here," Lupin said. "Perfect for a practical class."

He pushed the door open and went in, and they all followed.

The room was indeed quite large. In the middle stood a tall wardrobe draped in a black cloth.

Not far away, in an armchair, someone was sitting.

Professor Snape.

As Lupin moved to close the door, Snape rose to his feet.

"Leave it open. I have no desire to witness this," he said curtly.

He swept past them in long strides. As he went by, he shot Dudley a vicious glare.

"You and he do not seem to get on," Lupin said lightly once Snape had left.

"Really? Is there anyone he does get on with?" Dudley said without thinking.

Lupin made no comment, but turned instead to the shrouded wardrobe.

With a flick of his wand, he sent the black cloth flying aside. It drifted down over a nearby chair.

The wardrobe shuddered violently, making several students jump.

"Do not worry," Lupin said, still smiling. "There is a Boggart inside."

His reassurance did not help much. Several faces went even paler.

A Boggart was very much something to worry about.

"They like dark, enclosed spaces," Lupin went on. "Cupboards, under beds, the backs of wardrobes. They turn up in all sorts of places."

"So. First question. What is a Boggart?"

Hermione’s hand shot into the air at once.

"Miss Granger?"

"It is a shape‑shifting magical creature," she said. "It turns into whatever we are most afraid of."

"Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor," Lupin said with a pleased nod.

He was just drawing breath to explain how to deal with one when another hand went up among the students.

Everyone turned, surprised.

Unlike Hermione, who raised her hand at every opportunity, this boy almost never volunteered answers.

It was Dudley.

"Mr Dursley? You have a question?" Lupin said, just as surprised as the others.

"I want to know how Boggarts find out what we fear," Dudley said. "Do they read our thoughts and pull it out of our minds, or do they use some other method?"

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 435

Chapter 435: Lada Joins, Godric’s Hollow

"Ow. Why did you hit me, Lada?" Ron groaned, staggering to his feet. A neat paw-shaped red mark bloomed on his cheek.

"For running out on Harry," Lada said, licking her paw and flicking the snow from her fur.

"How did you… oh. Aiden’s power, right?" Ron caught on at once.

If Lada was here, that could only mean…

"Yes, my dear Ronnikins. You did brilliantly, you know. Walked out on them at the very worst moment," a voice said.

Lada’s eyes had turned into mismatched amber and deep blue. On her patterned little face, the expression was unmistakably human and mocking.

"A… Aiden," Ron stammered.

“Honestly, is it really so hard not to disappoint? Maybe you should go back to your mum, live as a nice, rich layabout far away from Harry,” Aiden said through the cat, every word hitting dead on.

Growing up together, he knew every one of Ron’s weak spots. A little prodding was all it took.

Ron’s face flushed hot, almost as red as his hair.

"Do not write me off. I am going to help Harry take down that damned Vol— You-Know-Who," he blurted.

"Then go. They should be near Godric’s Hollow. Harry needs you," Aiden said.

The light in her eyes faded. The dragon retreated. The cat came back.

"Haha, Ron, you are hopeless," Lada said at once, tail twitching in amusement.

"Hmph. Say what you like. I am going back," Ron said.

He grabbed his rucksack, slapped the dust off it, and set off toward Godric’s Hollow. Lada padded after him.

In Godric’s Hollow, Harry and Hermione had just finished paying their respects at his parents’ grave. Snow fell steadily, muffling the village and deepening the chill in Harry’s chest.

As they left the graveyard, they saw Bathilda Bagshot standing in the middle of the lane. The weathered old witch wandered back and forth as if waiting for them.

Harry hurried to catch up. Hermione clearly did not want to, but she followed.

"Harry, something is wrong with her," she whispered.

"She knew Dumbledore. Maybe she has the sword," Harry said.

He turned and, over Bathilda’s shoulder, saw the ruined house.

The Potters’ ancestral home.

Since Lily and James’ deaths, it had stood untended, sagging into rubble.

"I remember this place. This is where Voldemort killed my parents," Harry said, running his fingers over the fence.

Hermione watched him, worry in her eyes.

A boot crunched on snow.

They both turned. Bathilda was coming toward them.

"You are Bathilda?" Harry asked.

He followed her into the house.

Inside it was dark, damp and reeking of rot. An oily, unsettling stench hung in the air.

Harry tried to ignore it. He had questions.

"Do you know…" he began.

Something in a frame on the sideboard caught his eye. The man in the photograph was the thief whose face he had seen in Tom’s memories.

"Hermione, I think you should see this—" he called, turning toward the stairs.

Bathilda’s body began to writhe.

Her skin sagged, shrinking like a punctured balloon. Her robes fell in a heap.

A massive snake burst out of the clothes, fangs bared, launching itself at Harry.

Downstairs, Hermione had just found Bathilda’s real corpse. She fired a Blasting Curse that blew a hole in the ceiling, then Apparated up through it, landing on the upstairs floor and hitting the snake with a Severing spell that blew its coils apart.

"It is too tough. And that resistance to magic… it is a Horcrux, Harry!" she shouted.

Harry’s spells were sliding off it as well.

"I know!"

He lunged for his dropped wand. The snake whipped round, body coiling tight around his waist.

Hermione saw where his hand was reaching. She sprinted, scooped up the wand and, just as the snake struck for Harry’s throat, a beam of white light edged in black slammed into its head and blew it away from him.

"Hey," Ron said, lowering his wand.

"Ron Weasley," Hermione said.

She surged to her feet, fury washing out the last of her fear.

"Move. We have to get out of here," Lada said.

She rose up through the floor, a sigil glowing on her fur. Mind-force flowed out, dragging all three of them down into the Sea of Consciousness.

The world spun.

A heartbeat later, Harry, Ron and Hermione stood once more in the little wood where they had hidden before.

As soon as they were safe, Hermione swung and punched Ron in the face, knocking him flat.

"Hermione, calm down. Calm down," Harry said.

He stepped between them and caught her raised wand hand. With his free hand, he unclasped the Horcrux from her neck.

"I will carry it for now," he said.

"Anything else you want to say, Ron Weasley?" Hermione said, arms folded.

“That one... I deserved it,” Ron said, pushing himself up.

"Listen. I am sorry. I should not have walked out on you. The moment I did, I wanted to come back. I just… could not find you."

"How did you find us now?" Harry asked.

He could not quite forget Ron had just saved his life.

"I went to look for Aiden and ran into Lada. She clocked me one, properly. That shook me up. Then I heard a voice. Your voice," Ron said, looking straight at Hermione.

"I heard you calling my name. I knew I had to come back."

Hermione’s brow eased a fraction. She did not answer. She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Harry took Ron back to the tent and helped him stash his things.

"How long do you think she will stay angry?" Ron asked.

"Tell her again that you heard her calling you. Might speed it up," Harry said, managing a crooked grin.

"Git," Ron said, shoving him lightly.

"Anyway, have you found the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"No. Dumbledore never told us where he hid it," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Oh, the Sword of Gryffindor. That is with me," Lada said, trotting in with a fish in her mouth.

"What?"

All three of them yelped at once and closed in on her.

"Where? Get it out," Harry said, snatching her up.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look and, as one, started rubbing her belly.

“Hahaha—stop it! Put me down, or I’ll start hitting people,” Lada said.

The laughter turned to a growl. Dragon scales rippled under her fur. A moment later, three sharp cat punches sent each of them flying.

Three paw-shaped bruises appeared on their cheeks, thin wisps of smoke curling up from the marks.

Lada shook her head. A sigil glowed on her forehead.

Reality seemed to split open there. A sword slid out of her skull and dropped onto the ground.

"There. Take it," she said.

One Piece: The Dragon All-Star - 193

Chapter 193: Birth of the World’s Strongest Pirate Crew

The barren island—

Was gone.

Wiped completely from the surface of the sea.

In its place yawned a colossal abyss, an endless pit the ocean kept pouring into.

The pull of the vortex dragged at the surrounding waters, and the ships at the rim felt an invisible giant hand closing on their hulls, dragging them helplessly toward the hole.

“Turn the ships around! Get us out of here, now!”

As the vessels crept closer to the mouth of death, the Beasts Pirates finally jolted awake.
Panicked shouts and roars crashed together across the decks.

They scrambled over wheels and rigging, doing everything they could to fight back against the brute force of nature.

King was the first to move, great wings snapping open as he shot into the air to hover over the void.

His sharp gaze cut through the roiling spray, locked on the chasm below that seemed to swallow endless seawater without ever filling.

For once, his usually calm face showed naked urgency.

Kaido-san, you cannot fall here.

Seeing no movement at all below, he clenched his teeth.
His wings tensed, ready to dive into the pit no matter what to search for Kaido and Kai.

Just then, a green divine dragon burst up through the steam, rising proudly from the abyss.

“Kai!” King blurted.

When he saw the figure clutched in Kai’s talons, his aura shifted.
His expression turned tangled and heavy.

So Kaido-san… really lost.

Kai dipped his great head to King in a slight nod.

With a small motion of his claw, he passed the unconscious Kaido gently into King’s waiting arms.

Then his massive dragon body coiled in the sky, turning a half-circle so that every ship could see him clearly.

Kai’s stern gaze swept over every flag and deck below.

“From this day forward, I, Kai, am captain of the Beasts Pirates,” he declared.

His voice rode the wind, ringing clear in every ear.

The first light of dawn chose that moment to spear through the clouds.
Golden rays spilled over his form, crowning him in a holy glow.

For an instant, it felt like the world itself was placing a coronet on his horns.

“Who is in favor? Who objects?”

Silence dropped over the sea.

Even the sound of wind and waves seemed to vanish.

Then—

“Captain Kai!”

The answering roar crashed over the water like a tidal wave, a volcano of voices erupting all at once and shaking the clouds.

The Beasts Pirates did not hesitate for a heartbeat in embracing their new king.

The strong ruled.

That was carved into the crew’s bones.

If a new strongest had proven himself beyond dispute, then if Captain Kai did not sit the throne, who would?

Even the last pillar of the old era, King, only caught Kaido’s limp form in silence.

He held his captain with care, a faint loneliness in his eyes as he quietly accepted the result.

Kai had beaten Kaido-san at his peak and still clearly held power in reserve.

King could not stand in his way.

Not when Kai already commanded monsters on his own level: Loki, Yamato, Kuma, Enel.

Today’s duel was less a simple captaincy struggle inside the Beasts Pirates and more a total, crushing consolidation of power.

The new force centered on Kai had just rolled over the old order and claimed it.

“Captain Kai!”

On the Rayquaza, Yamato threw her fist in the air, face flushed red, shouting louder than anyone.

It was as if the battered man King carried on his shoulder had nothing to do with her at all.

Hiyori, Robin, and Reiju traded looks.

In each other’s eyes, they saw the same mix of relief, excitement, and joy they could not hold back.

Smiles bloomed bright across their faces.

“Captain Kai!”

Chopper and Bepo sobbed openly, tears and snot streaming down their faces.

“Big Brother Kai is so cool!”

Bonney’s eyes sparkled like they were full of stars.

She did not blink as she stared up at the figure bathed in golden light, as if trying to burn the image into her memory.

“Incredible… truly incredible.”

A thin, sharp voice cut in, giddy with excitement.

It was drowned under the steady clack of a Den Den Mushi’s camera shutter.

Kuma frowned and turned. “You. Morgans.”

“Easy, easy,” Morgans said, hands still flying as he snapped Kai from every angle he could find.

“Kai-sama invited me here himself. Official access, all above board.”

He did not wait to see if Kuma believed him.

All his focus snapped back to his work.

He had no doubt he was watching history being made.

As an intern, he had missed God Valley, and that regret had stayed with him all his life.

This time, facing a moment like this, he would not miss a thing.

Every detail, every shot dripping with power, he would capture all of it.

In his gut, he knew.

Right here, right now, the strongest pirate on the sea had been born.

Yes.

Kai had beaten Kaido, the “strongest creature in the world,” in a straight fight.

That made him the unquestioned number one pirate alive.

What about the world’s strongest man?

Anyone with eyes could see Whitebeard was an old, sick tiger clinging to the title.

The frame was still there.

The force was not.

The thought of sending this story out across the globe, of the tidal wave it would set off, made Morgans tremble from beak to tail.

When he looked up at the dragon in the sky, he could already see it: in the not-too-distant future, the next Pirate King would be born in his pages.

Later, in the main hall on Onigashima, the Beasts Pirates’ officers packed the room.

Their ranks had swelled so much that the once-spacious hall was now standing-room only.

And that was without counting Loki, the giant prince too big to fit in the keep at all.

“What a ridiculous lineup,” Black Maria murmured.

Her eyes drifted over the crowd as she did a quick tally.

Her lips parted slightly in genuine shock.

At the top stood the newly crowned Kai and Kaido, defeated yet still very much a monster worthy of the summit.

Beneath them sat five emperor-level lieutenants: Loki, King, Yamato, Kuma, and Enel.

Below that, the mid-level officers and rising stars were too many to count.

Just listing out the Beasts Pirates’ strength was enough to make her hands shake with excitement.

This was a force that could shake the world itself.

Even Kai, sitting at the head of the hall, looking down at that sea of talent, could not stop the surge in his chest.

After years of grinding, he had finally stepped onto the true main stage of this ocean.

"Kaido-san, how does our lineup compare to the old Rocks Pirates?" Kai asked.

He glanced over to his right, where Kaido was drinking like always.

Thanks to Princess Mansherry’s Heal-Heal Fruit, Kaido’s wounds were already gone.

Kaido lowered his massive gourd, a look of reminiscence flickering in his eyes.

“In pure personal strength, you are not weaker than him anymore,” he said.

“Counting that weird new power you busted out at the end, I would not be surprised if Rocks lost to you.”

He still could not wrap his head around Kai’s new ability.

That bizarre crystal shell had ignored his flames completely and even shrugged off the sea itself.

His last memory before blacking out was Kai, wrapped in that armor, grabbing him out of the water.

He still was not sure.

Was that power immune to elements?

Or to Devil Fruits themselves?

“If you mean the crews, though, who would win?” Kaido snorted.

“That is no contest. The Beasts would crush them.”

“Rocks’ ‘pirate crew’ was less a crew and more a bunch of monsters taped together with money and threats.”

“When things go bad, they are more likely to tear each other apart than stand shoulder to shoulder.”

“Hell, they could not even split their loot without trying to kill one another.”

Kai nodded.

So the Beasts Pirates were the Rocks Pirates… pro max.

The same level of tip-of-the-spear firepower, stronger even, but with far more unity and pull toward the center.

Put the Beasts in God Valley instead of Rocks, and the losing side would not have been the Pirates.

It would have been the Marines and the World Government.

Even if Imu had come down personally riding Saturn.

Because Imu’s most terrifying “black conversion” control would not work on him.

Kai’s hand curled at his side, feeling the new tera energy humming inside.

He smiled faintly.

He had not expected it either.

In games, Terastallization existed to shore up a Pokémon’s type weaknesses.

But on this sea, it had turned into something like a “nothing touches me” buff.

Fire, ice, lightning, any natural element—useless.

Even “rule-type” Paramecia like the Hobby-Hobby Fruit and the Hollow-Hollow Fruit bounced off that crystal light.

And the same went for Imu’s prized black conversion.

In the fight with Kaido, he had deliberately let the flames hit him again and again, using the tera power to knock them away.

That was how he had pulled off that impossible, unstoppable charge.

"Everyone," Kai said.

He let his gaze travel across each officer, the air tightening with every word.

"Remember this moment. From today on, the Beasts Pirates are the world's strongest crew. There is no one left who can deny it."

Faces all across the hall flushed with pride and excitement.

Even Enel, who usually only acknowledged Kai himself, could not help the small curl of his mouth.

It felt like working at a company that suddenly leaped to number one in the world.

Even if the salary stayed the same, the thrill was real.

And on this sea, being on “the world’s strongest pirate crew” meant real deterrence, resources, and say in how things were run.

“Get ready,” Kai said again.

His voice carried a different weight this time, the kind that pushed eras forward.

“In five days, at the Fire Festival, I will announce a move bigger than anything the world has seen… something that will change the balance of the world.”

Those words—“bigger than anything,” “change the balance of the world”—fell into the officers’ ears like sparks into dry tinder.

Eyes lit up around the hall.

Blood pounded in chests.

After a brief set of orders, Kai dismissed them.

The hall that had been boiling with noise settled down quickly, leaving only a handful of true core members behind.

“Wororororo, Kai,” Kaido said.

He tipped back his gourd, eyes still sharp with curiosity and fighting spirit.

“Tell me. Which Emperor crew are you planning to hit first?”

As far as he could see, any “big move” meant all-out war with another Yonko.

Surely they were not going to flip the table now and jump straight to a total war with Marine Headquarters and the World Government.

Even he, for all his madness, would think twice before kicking that nest without overwhelming odds.

“Which one?” Kai shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lip.

“Kaido-san, do you not think the New World is a little too crowded?”

Kaido went motionless for a beat—then erupted.

His laughter crashed through the hall like a storm.

"Wororororo! Good! A true conqueror doesn't bow or beg. Only someone who wants the whole world can stand above me!"

“Kai, what are we waiting for then? Let us sail today and sweep the New World clean.”

Yamato’s eyes lit up.

She bounced to her feet, fists clenched, already seeing Beasts flags planted across every island in sight.

She looked ready to leap straight from the hall to the docks.

“Now? No,” Kai said.

He shook his head, a more mysterious smile on his face.

“Before I start a new age, there is someone I have to pick up.”

It was time to pull that hidden ace, Vegapunk, out of the World Government’s hands.

The Beasts Pirates’ next moves would never slip past the Government’s spies.

Once things started to shift, the Five Elders might preemptively move Vegapunk to some black-site no one knew about.

If that happened, the inside information Kai had fought to gather on Vegapunk’s current location would vanish overnight.

He could not bet on the story playing out the same way, with Vegapunk’s lab on Egghead in the New World.

He had to move first.

Now that he had the power to back it up, it was time to lay his cards on the table with the World Government.

After the others left, Kai took out a special Den Den Mushi designed to block eavesdropping and dialed a number.

After a short ring, the line clicked open.

A sultry, teasing voice purred through.

“Kai-sama. What wind finally blew you back to me?”

“I just saw you last month,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Then his tone turned flat.

“Enough small talk. The time has come. It is time to fulfill our agreement.”

“What? R-really?”

On the other end, Stussy’s surprise cracked straight through her usual velvet tone.

Every hint of playful flirtation vanished as she steadied herself, asking for confirmation again and again.

When she finally heard Kai’s hard, unshakable answer, she did not hesitate.

“Understood,” she said.

Her voice was cool now, professional, edged with a do-or-die resolve.

“I will use special channels to contact the Doctor, confirm his status, and his exact location.”

They would only get one shot at hitting Punk Hazard and taking Vegapunk.

Kai had to make it count.

If he missed, the trouble that followed would be beyond imagining.

He had no doubt at all how far the World Government would go once it decided to clean its hands.

In Middle-earth with Harry Potter Sign-In System! - 377

Chapter 377: Fighting Poison with Poison

Frodo took the crystal phial and gazed at the holy light within. As he held it, his whole body felt eased and comforted, and the constant, muffled pressure the Ring exerted on his mind faded until he felt almost light again.

Realising this, Frodo’s face lit with delight. He knew at once that the Light of Eärendil was a priceless gift.

“Thank you, Lord Kael!” he said, without any pretence of formality. He carefully slipped the Phial of Galadriel into his enchanted pouch, tucking it beside the box that held the Ring.

In this way, the Ring’s power of temptation was pushed down yet another layer.

So long as no one came too close to it, at least for a time, it would not affect those around it.

But Kael did not intend to leave the matter there.

He drew out a small bottle filled with a dark green liquid and said to Frodo, “Take out the Ring’s box. Then pour this inside and let the Ring soak in it. Be careful not to touch the liquid.”

Frodo was puzzled, but he did as he was told, bringing out the box and opening the lid.

At once, with no barrier to muffle it, the Ring’s power surged outward in a wave of temptation, trying to snare every mind nearby.

Kael and Gandalf, however, had both prepared themselves. Kael’s Occlumency flared to full strength, and for the moment, the Ring’s call could not touch him at all.

Gandalf stood firm as well, his will and spirit more than enough to deny the lure.

As for Frodo, his nature as a Hobbit meant the Ring’s grip on him was weaker than on any other race.

So no matter how it whispered and pressed, the three of them stood unmoved.

Kael passed the bottle to Frodo.

Frodo took it and tipped the dark green liquid into the box.

It was thick and slightly viscous, and an acrid, faintly bloody smell rose from it, making Frodo wrinkle his nose.

But then his expression changed to wonder. The moment the liquid covered the Ring, its power of temptation vanished as if cut off by a knife, while the dark green fluid itself began to boil violently.

It was as though a white‑hot ingot had been cast into water.

“All right, Frodo. Close the box,” Kael said quickly.

Frodo snapped the lid shut at once, trapping the seething liquid and the Ring within.

Strangely enough, once closed, the box remained perfectly tight; not a trace of the poisonous liquid seeped out.

“Lord Kael, what was that?” Frodo asked in amazement. “It made the Ring’s temptation disappear!”

Kael smiled. “Basilisk venom. One of the most deadly and destructive substances there is. It cannot destroy the Ring, but if you soak the Ring in it, it can suppress and smother the Ring’s dark power to the greatest possible extent, stopping it from whispering to people nearby and stirring up the darkness in their hearts. You could say we are using poison to fight poison.”

Frodo’s eyes brightened. “Then if we keep it in the venom, does that mean I never need to fear its call again?”

Kael shook his head. “I am afraid not, Frodo. Basilisk venom can dampen the power the Ring gives off, just as cold water can cool a red‑hot bar of iron. If it were ordinary metal, it would soon be quenched.

“But the Ring is no common piece of gold. It holds a vast, near‑endless power, and it can go on shedding ‘heat’ without end. In time, it will boil the water away, and in the end even turn it all to steam.

“So after a while, the venom in the box will lose its strength entirely, and then it will no longer be able to hold the Ring’s power down.

“However, you need not despair. Before you set out for Mordor, I will prepare more basilisk venom for you. Remember to change the venom in the box regularly. That way, we can keep the Ring’s influence as small as possible.”

“Then I must trouble you, Lord Kael,” Frodo said at once. He would never refuse such help. His resistance to the Ring was strong, but not perfect.

To carry it for long would strain both his mind and body. If this eased the burden even a little, it was a blessing.

“Oh, and take this as well,” Kael said, as if recalling something. He drew out a tiny crystal vial and handed it to Frodo.

Inside, clear liquid gleamed softly. Frodo tilted it, puzzled. “What is this?”

“Phoenix tears,” Kael replied. “They can heal many injuries and poisons. Basilisk venom, for instance, can only be fully cured by phoenix tears. They are also a remedy for many wounds left by dark magic. If you were struck by a Morgul blade, for example, so long as you still had a breath in you, this could bring you back.”

He sighed softly. “I give it to you in case of need, but I hope you will never have to use it.”

Phoenix tears… that meant Lord Kael’s own tears.

Frodo realised this in a rush and stared at the little vial in shock. He had not imagined that Kael’s tears, as a phoenix Animagus, would hold such power. It was astonishing.

Gandalf chuckled. “You are in luck, Frodo. Phoenix tears are a true elixir of life. A single drop is enough. Even if one foot has already crossed the threshold of Mandos’s halls, they can pull you back. No other medicine in the world matches them.”

With the gifts given, the three of them left the Room of Requirement and stepped back into the corridor.

Frodo watched as the door swung shut and faded from the wall until there was no trace it had ever been there.

Once again, he marvelled at the wonders of magic.

At the same time, he could not help but wonder whether Lord Kael was ever worried that someone might stumble into that hidden chamber by accident.

He had seen how many treasures were kept within. Nothing there looked ordinary.

Gandalf, with a teasing glint in his eye, had said that every single thing in that room was worth more than all the treasure in a dragon’s hoard put together.

Frodo had never seen such a hoard for himself, but he had no trouble believing it was immense. Bilbo had often said that even his own wealth could not compare to Lord Kael’s.

Having inherited Bilbo’s estate, Frodo knew exactly how rich his uncle had been. The mithril shirt on his back alone was worth more than the whole Shire, to say nothing of the mountain of gold and jewels besides.

Yet in Bilbo’s telling, even that was nothing next to Kael’s fortune, as far apart as earth and sky.

Frodo could not begin to picture how vast that wealth must be, but he had heard stories from the Hogwarts students about Smaug the dragon and the treasure he guarded.

They said Smaug’s body was over a thousand feet long, taller and larger than most of the castle’s towers, and that the treasure in Hogwarts’ vaults was piled deep enough to bury him entirely.

And beyond that, Lord Kael was said to own a gem that could turn stone to gold, creating new wealth without end.

All that, and more besides, lay in the Room of Requirement. Was he truly not afraid of thieves?

The question stirred in Frodo’s mind, but in the end he did not voice it.

Kael, for his part, had no idea what Frodo was thinking. Even if he had, he would only have smiled and shaken his head.

The Room of Requirement was the safehouse he had spent more than ten years designing. Now and then a particularly fortunate student or teacher might stumble upon the room and step inside.

But finding and entering the specific chamber where Kael stored his treasures was another matter entirely. Aside from Kael himself and those he explicitly allowed, no one could approach it.

That secret vault was bound to his very soul. Even with the right password and the correct way of summoning the room, no one without Kael’s leave would ever set foot inside.

With the Ring’s immediate threat contained for the moment, Frodo went to rejoin his fellow Hobbits.

And Kael and Gandalf turned their minds to another task: preparing to travel to Rivendell, to take their places at the coming council.

Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 364

Chapter 364: Threefold Assault

“Why has Levi not come back yet?”

While Levi was venturing into the Northern Waste, Elrond and Glorfindel were waiting at a Free Cities outpost west of Dol Guldur, where they met Radagast the Brown.

The beast-loving wizard was one of the Free Peoples’ strongest sources of intelligence. Any bird or beast could be his eyes and ears. Even Saruman had been forced to rely on him for news, however much he might sneer at him in his heart.

They had long since agreed to gather here.

Now, a host strong enough to meet anything that crept out of Dol Guldur had assembled at the outpost, but one man was missing: Levi.

He was to be the spearhead of the rescue, and the army gathered here was also his to command; without him, little could be done.

Questioned about Levi’s absence, Radagast frowned, searching his memory.

“The Great Eagles tell me he went north,” he said. “Beyond the Grey Mountains.”

“Beyond the Grey Mountains… there is only one land I know of there,” Elrond said.

He stood in bright, finely worked mail, fully armoured for war. His brows drew together as he named a wide and bitter region.

“The Northern Waste.”

“That is no place for any to wander. What is he doing there?”

“I do not know,” Radagast said, shaking his head.

“Even the Eagles’ sight cannot pierce beyond those peaks. There is still some foul power clinging to that land, and the conditions are too harsh. No small creature lives there. No bird, no insect, no beast can cross it. I can learn nothing from it.”

“Then it seems he will not be back quickly,” Elrond said.

He thought a moment, then went on.

“But we must move as planned. If we wait too long, I fear some unforeseen turn.”

“Alarm. To arms!”

The shout and the crack of a warning rocket cut their talk short.

They lifted their heads as the outpost guards approached. In the forest, a tide of shadow was moving. Some shapes prowled along the ground, others swarmed through the branches, making the trees shake and rustle.

“They dare to strike first,” someone breathed.

The deputy commander chosen by Levi was already stepping forward to lead the counter-attack when the oncoming creatures suddenly wheeled.

They did not charge the Vale of Anduin outpost after all. They swung south instead, racing towards another target.

“No,” the deputy said at once.

He read their intent in a heartbeat.

That way lay the twin fortresses of the North Vales.

Their walls were not as mighty as the Vale‑city’s or Roadside Keep’s, but, as key crossroads, they were far from lightly held.

Judging by what was pouring out of Dol Guldur, even if one counted Orcs, Olog-hai, spiders, and Warg-riders separately, there could be no more than ten thousand of them. That made for a serious nuisance, but it was nowhere near enough to storm the two forts.

To put it bluntly, they would be throwing their lives away.

Yet after all these years, exposed day after day to Levi’s teaching and to the lessons of history, the deputy had learned one thing: the masters of the Orcs were no fools.

They did not do things for nothing. If one of their hosts went to die, it was either to buy some greater gain, or…

It was only one of several attacking armies.

An Eagle’s cry rang out overhead. Radagast looked up as a Great Eagle wheeled down and alighted, bringing news.

“So that is it,” the deputy murmured.

It was not only Dol Guldur. Mordor had unsheathed its claws as well. From the Black Gate, a great army was marching west and north across the Brown Lands, aiming straight at the twin forts. Flying above them were several Nazgûl.

Dol Guldur in front. Mordor behind. A pincer from two sides.

But not only two.

The Eagle went on.

“Wait…” the deputy said.

“I can understand Mordor’s troops. But you say a strong Orc host has swung round along the edge of Fangorn, slipped past Rohan’s patrols, and reached the North Bridge?”

“Where in all Arda did that lot come from? Are we looking at a three-way strike?”

Even Elrond and Glorfindel were at a loss for a moment.

“It seems Levi’s realm is in some trouble,” Elrond said at last.

He stepped forward.

“We cannot stand by.”

Glorfindel rose and nodded.

Mordor had chosen its time well. It just so happened that reinforcements were close at hand.

Strictly speaking, there were only two of them. But from the light that shone round even one, any Nazgûl who dared draw near would have to be counted very brave indeed.

“The Enemy’s numbers are beyond what we expected,” the deputy said.

And still Levi did not return.

Remembering the last orders Levi had given before he left, the deputy wasted no time. He marched out with the host, turning south with Elrond and Glorfindel to make for the twin fortresses of the North Vales and shore up their defence.

At the same time, all Rhovanion began to rouse.

In a matter of days, the whole of the lands east of the Misty Mountains were in a state of war.

Meanwhile, in the Northern Waste.

Following the urging in his heart, Levi kept going until nearly all the rockets in his pack were spent. Only then did he drop from the sky again and walk the last stretch on foot, coming at last to his destination.

It was a great pit, a vast shaft that sank into endless dark. If you dropped a stone in, no sound ever came back.

It was that deep.

At the ragged edge of the darkness, something was climbing up.

Ancient malice blasted from the depths of the pit like a wind, straight through the top of his skull.

For the first time in a long while, Levi felt a prickle of battle hunger. His body tightened, just a little.

Shing.

He drew the Dragonflame Steel greatsword and swept the creatures clambering up back into the hole. They fell away, burning, tumbling into the dark, but still no sound ever rose from below. It was as if they were falling forever.

“This is not good,” he said at last.

He could not go on like this. He could not let them climb forever.

After a moment’s thought, he sheathed the sword and pulled out a pickaxe instead, and set to work cutting stone.

Half a month later, the pit was sealed. Above it rose a new fortress, and inside its walls a few dozen iron golems paced their rounds. They would stand guard here, on and on, over this place.

Here, where no one came, where only the wind and snow passed, in a land barren and cold and cruel.

“That will do for now,” Levi said.

It was not that he was unwilling to make more golems; he had simply not brought enough iron. Even the pumpkins had to be grown on the spot.

Thud, thud…

Blows sounded from beneath the fortress. Levi knew this was no lasting answer.

So he took a deep breath, clenched his fists once, then lifted a torch and stepped into the black throat of the pit, heading down.

No one could have said how long he walked. Not even Levi himself could reckon it clearly.

Here, everything was the opposite of the snowfield above. Where the Waste was nothing but white, the shaft was pure darkness. Only the path at his feet could be seen.

In that depth, Levi was the only source of light.

Who knew how many eyes turned towards him, only to draw back again out of some primal fear, or for other, darker reasons. None dared rush him.

The dull march went on and on.

At last, when even Levi’s legs were beginning to feel numb, a faint glow shone ahead from the depths of the earth.

HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 306

Chapter 306: Ah! I Am Dead!

"Impossible. When I pulled you in, I scanned every living presence. Everything that was not a wizard should have been tossed somewhere else. How could anything else have come in with you?" The grey-black mist hanging in mid-air stuttered for a heartbeat. The old woman's face went blank, and a voice tinged with madness came from within the fog. "It cannot be. I tested it—"

"Nothing is impossible." The young man spoke softly, a touch of cheek in his tone. "Whether you have tainted the Founders' shadows or are riding them, you are something from over a thousand years ago."

The problem at the heart of the Forbidden Forest had always spawned countless tales among magical creatures. That meant the so-called Great Lake appeared here not long after this space came into being.

When he first arrived, he had suspected the Great Lake might be a facility created by the Four Founders, but whatever the case, it was something put in place a millennium ago.

And the fact that he had been able to bring this case in here was proof enough.

"I admit that compared to ancient magic, modern magic may be a bit weaker in raw power. But after all this time, in certain specific applications, how could modern magic not have any advantages?"

A faint smile touched Evans's lips. He had not delved deeply into ancient runes, but he knew the basics.

Ancient magic was a system built by primordial witches and wizards using runes and their own magic. It was indeed formidable, but it had some fatal flaws.

For example, ancient magic rarely dealt with matters of will, and its defences in that area were lacking.

Which meant that wards based on ancient magic all shared one issue when facing modern witches and wizards: they could not detect the flashy tricks of modern spellcraft.

And the Undetectable Extension Charm was the most commonly used of those flashy tricks.

"The Undetectable Extension Charm is not spatial magic. It works by infinitely enlarging the concept of the case. Not to mention, Newt piled on all manner of odd little countermeasures on top of it precisely to evade any detection spells that might exist."

"He once used this very case to smuggle himself around the world without being discovered. With protections like yours, which were never designed to counter it, how could you possibly notice anything amiss with the case?"

Magical creatures were still pouring out of the case in an endless stream. Evans watched the old woman before him, the mist billowing off her and the smile long gone from her face, and spoke coolly.

"Now, you have two choices."

"Either you crawl out of Lady Hufflepuff's shadow yourself, or we take our time and drag you out piece by piece."

"Hu... hu..."

Sweat trickled down his brow. Snape clenched his wand and stared at Gryffindor, who was charging him with sword raised yet again.

His body looked exhausted but not at its limit. His mind, however, was close to collapse.

He did not know how long had passed, only that in this space he had died hundreds of times. He had tried every fighting style he could think of, even downed several potions that wrung his body out to boost his mind and magic. None of it worked.

All he had left were the battle instincts honed by those countless deaths, keeping him moving on reflex as he met the relentless assaults.

But now his body's condition was starting to fall behind his conditioned reflexes.

Forcing himself to focus, Snape conjured Protego in front of him. It barely turned aside the sword's cleave, but the jolt sent a deep ache through his arm.

Yet in the middle of that attack, he thought he felt the red-haired, red-bearded man's motion hitch for a moment, and there was something odd in his eyes.

Probably an illusion. His body was at its edge, after all.

This life would likely end here again.

Feeling the sour ache and pain throbbing all over, Snape gritted his teeth and fixed his gaze on the red-haired giant charging him once more.

Those hundreds of deaths had not been meaningless. His combat skill had climbed to a height his former self would never have dared to imagine. But knowing he had improved so much and still could not threaten the enemy before him was despair itself.

That red-maned, red-bearded man was like a mountain thrust into the clouds, immovable and unscalable.

Even so, he had found a line of thought.

After so many deaths—excluding the earliest few—he had forced himself to endure the pain and despair and pay close attention to the changes in his own body each time.

It had given him the barest glimmer of hope.

He would not manage it in this life.

But next time, he would make this brute pay.

He would go to his death calmly, and in the next life, he would break this cycle.

As the red-bearded man came at him again sword-first, Snape squared his shoulders, ready to die like a warrior. That very resolve prompted him to raise his wand and, nonverbally, fire off an utterly ordinary jinx.

It truly was the most ordinary of Impediment Jinxes. Cast nonverbally, its effect could at best match a Seventh Year giving it their all.

A bright red flash flickered and struck at the man's feet. He had used this move a hundred times. Each time, Gryffindor twisted away with easy grace, shifted his angle, and charged right back in without even slowing.

So this time as well, the jinx was a stubborn little act of defiance. He never expected it to land.

But this time, something changed.

When the jinx hit the ground by Gryffindor's boots, Snape clearly saw the Founder stumble, as if he had blundered into it himself, his shin taking the bright red light.

Then Snape watched, eyes wide, as one of Hogwarts's Founders, the very emblem of courage, the man who had cut him down with that longsword hundreds of times, was tagged by a tiny Impediment Jinx, pitched forward, and hit the ground face-first, letting out an extravagantly theatrical, heartfelt scream.

"Ah! Such a dastardly trick! I am slain!"

He lay there for only a few seconds before lifting his head again, perhaps with last words yet to say, and flashed Snape a big, boisterous grin.

"Your companion... not bad!"

Then he flopped back down. Threads of grey-black mist wriggled out of him, drifted outward and vanished at speed.

Snape, who had just had a brilliant idea and was ready to put it into practice to wipe out his humiliation, was left staring, utterly dumbfounded.

HP: From Failed Art Student to Dark Artist of Hogwarts - 305

Chapter 305: The Third Task Begins! What Do You Mean, “Tree Guardians”?

Little Hangleton, Riddle House.

The only light in the gloomy hall came from the hearth, where a weak orange flame crackled, pushing back a little of the chill seeping in from outside.

[You failed… Barty.]

The rasping voice of a dying old man sounded from the armchair.

Voldemort slowly turned his head and, through his blurred vision, looked down at the man kneeling on the floor.

Deep folds creased with disgust.

[You threw away such a perfect chance… useless.]

"I am sorry, my Lord," Barty Jr whispered. "It was my mistake."

He prostrated himself, forehead pressed to the floor.

His face could not be seen.

If Voldemort’s arrogance had not dulled his senses, he might have noticed something strange.

The Barty who had always been so fanatically loyal, who treated him like a father, should have been crawling closer in agony, begging for another chance.

Not kneeling several paces away and staying there.

But Voldemort only turned his eyes aside in irritation.

He had no desire to add to his own annoyance.

He looked instead to the figure leaning by the desk.

A tall form wrapped in black robes and a pure white mask, giving off an air of mystery.

This was the man who had erupted into the wizarding world from nowhere.

Mr Lamp.

My greatest trump card, Voldemort thought.

If only Mr Lamp were truly my subordinate.

Measured against him, Barty became even harder to look at.

A failure who did not even measure up to half of Mr Lamp’s ability.

He wheezed for a while, breathing like a leaf in a gale, then spoke again.

[The third task is our last chance.]

[Forget Ethan Vincent. All we need to do is get Harry Potter.]

So long as he did not provoke that unnerving boy, perhaps Ethan would not interfere.

"I can turn the cup into a Portkey," Mr Lamp said idly, playing with his wand. "The instant it is touched, it will bring them to your father’s grave."

"Do try not to disappoint me this time."

His wand stopped.

Its tip pointed straight at Voldemort.

The threat in the air was invisible and unmistakable.

[…Of course.]

Voldemort’s heart jumped.

His tone became even more respectful.

[Once I return, we will spread darkness and fear across the world together. We will slaughter Muggles and filthy Mudbloods and bring everyone under our rule.]

[You will drink your fill of killing, and bathe in blood to the sound of screams.]

His eyes opened a little wider.

He stared at Mr Lamp with nothing but admiration.

No doubt about it.

Mr Lamp was utterly insane.

Voldemort could smell the darkness seeping from deep inside him.

The desire to stand laughing at the centre of a burning world.

Someone like that could not have any other ambitions.

He had met too many people not to trust his own judgement.

Of course, he was not completely reckless.

He had not shared the exact steps of the resurrection ritual with Mr Lamp.

…Damn it.

If he had even one more useful follower, he would not be in such a weak position.

He thought of last term, and of the pathetic Wormtail Ethan had killed, and rage boiled up again.

[Ethan Vincent… when I return, I will tear you into a thousand pieces.]

The vow was like a ghost’s shriek, thick with hatred.

It could freeze bone.

Mr Lamp’s gloved hand paused.

Then his voice brightened, each word clear and distinct.

"I will be watching with great interest."

Perfect timing.

His Crucible of Souls ritual was nearly ready.

[…]

Voldemort hesitated, but did not think too deeply.

He took it simply as Mr Lamp’s eagerness for the coming slaughter.

There was a soft hiss.

The real Ethan, behind the mask, felt something cold and slick slide over the top of his foot.

He glanced down.

Nagini’s cold, bloodthirsty eyes met his.

Perhaps sensing his excitement, the snake’s tail gave his leg a light thump.

At the same time, at Hogwarts—

In the Durmstrang dormitory, Viktor Krum was polishing his wand with the same care he used on his broom.

"Ethan Vincent," he muttered. "I will win this task."

"And then I will defeat you."

His gaze burned.

In the Hufflepuff common room—

"Magic is not just trading spells with wands," Cedric Diggory said softly.

"Transfiguration, enchanted items, Potions… even blades and spears."

He looked at his wand, closed his eyes and drew a long breath, pulling his magic into focus.

Light slowly rose around it.

The wind from the spell stirred his hair.

When the glow settled, Cedric opened his eyes and looked down at what he had made, joy flashing across his face.

Viktor Krum, this time I will not lose.

I am Hufflepuff’s champion.

In the Gryffindor common room—

"Yes! I win! Wahoo!"

Fred Weasley punched the air and jumped nearly three feet in front of his twin.

"Damn it, I refuse to accept this. Take this!" George yelled, tackling him.

Laughter filled the room as a game of rock‑paper‑scissors turned into a wrestling match.

Off to the side, Harry watched them with a dopey grin.

He glanced back at the wizard chessboard just in time to hear a cold voice at his fingertips.

"Checkmate."

With a crack, his king was swatted across the board by the opposing queen’s chair.

"Oh. I lost again," Harry groaned.

"Mate, that was painful to watch," Ron said, patting his shoulder.

Harry could only agree.

He looked at the black-and-white squares opposite him.

The row of blue‑lit, murderous wizard chess pieces staring him down felt less like a set of chessmen and more like a towering wall of iron.

Ethan had given it to him for his birthday, a self‑moving wizard chess set.

At first, Harry had thought Ethan must have mixed their gifts up.

Ron was the chess player.

But Ron had been given an enchanted adventure storybook instead, complete with beautiful little figurines, and it had become the new craze in Gryffindor.

There was no way Ron was trading.

Then Hermione had pointed out the obvious.

"This might be a hint for the next task," she had said. "Harry, you have to beat those pieces."

The nightmare had begun.

"I must have played a hundred times," Harry complained. "I dream about checkmates now."

"You have improved loads," Ron said. "Remember what I keep telling you. Watch how they move. Try to predict what they will do."

"One day you will be the one saying 'checkmate.'"

Seeing Harry’s sulk, Hermione joined in. "Exactly. Ethan must have had a reason for choosing this. Do not give up."

What she did not say was that she had been on edge for weeks.

Rita’s attack kept dragging her thoughts back to the World Cup.

Storm clouds were gathering.

If Voldemort and Mr Lamp meant to strike, their last, best chance would be during the third task.

She kept her worries to herself.

She could not bring herself to break the cheerful mood.

She could only trust Ethan.

And follow the threads he had left.

Harry sighed again.

He picked up the stunned chess pieces and reset the board for what felt like the thousandth time.

Predict the enemy’s moves…

Winter turned to spring.

The Whomping Willow shuddered and shook the last of the melting snow from its branches.

The Black Lake thawed.

The giant squid’s tentacles curled above the surface, playing with the little squid Ethan had given it.

Time rushed on.

The final task of the Triwizard Tournament loomed.

In the Room of Requirement—

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Bursts of gold flared in the dim, like little suns blinking in and out.

With every ringing blow of the heavy hammer, sparks flew.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

At last the silver‑white hammer rose high and came down with all its might.

Clang.

Light exploded.

It steadied, burning bright through the chamber and glinting off the carved basilisk bodies twining around the stone pillars.

The glow ran across their eyes, making them seem almost alive.

"Done," Ethan murmured.

He wiped sweat from his brow and looked down past the hammer at the mirror in his hands, whole and dazzling at last.

The smooth surface reflected his damp, flushed face back at him.

[Congratulations. You have reforged the Wayward Mirror.]

[Wayward Mirror upgraded.]

[The mirror can now draw reflected targets into a reflected version of reality.]

[Combined with powerful Confundus magic, this space will allow you to cloud others’ senses with ease.]

"Perfect."

Ethan’s smile curled, and the man in the mirror smiled with him.

Using rare materials sourced by the Ministry and the power of the Lamp’s light, layered with spellwork, he had repaired a formidable artifact.

"Voldemort," he said softly, "this will be your ceremonial hall."

There would be a ritual, of course.

Just not the one Voldemort had in mind.

He put the mirror away and flicked his hand.

Two new cards appeared between his fingers.

Both had been prepared especially for the third task.

And—

He lifted his palm toward the air, making an inviting gesture.

The space in front of him rippled, tiny waves like a dragonfly’s touch spreading out.

From them emerged an enormous marble finger.

One finger was as big as Ethan himself.

It moved slowly, astonishingly gentle for something so massive.

Ethan took the fingertip lightly and smiled.

"I will give you a true history, Ariana," he said.

"I will show you what real champions look like."

Ariana Dumbledore, tormented into an Obscurus by two Muggle boys in her childhood, had never been someone who "ought to disappear."

The sculpture that now held her soul said nothing.

The hand simply drew back again.

It left a vast, dense magic hanging in the air of the chamber.

A third‑tier violet epic.

"Now everything is ready," Ethan whispered.

His blue eyes seemed to look through the dark ceiling, far beyond the chamber.

"Voldemort is only the appetiser. It is time to challenge fate itself."

Faintly, he could feel the weight of gazes bearing down from above, as if something great and distant were saying:

"An ant on the ground dares to defy destiny?"

"Heh."

Ethan laughed under his breath.

He raised his wand, holding it upright before him like a knight’s sword.

Cold light flashed in his eyes.

His lips pulled into a grin.

His handsome, mild features twisted with sheer, wild excitement.

"World," he said softly, "bear witness."

Trumpets blared.

Their cheerful notes vanished under the roar of the crowd.

In front of the arc of stands stretched a maze so vast the far end could not be seen.

Walls of knotted thorn and bramble, heavy with deep red roses, formed its paths.

Students from all three schools were on their feet, screaming and waving banners for their champions in the final task.

Hogwarts had sent Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, and Fred Weasley, who had won the deciding game of rock‑paper‑scissors.

"Diggory! Diggory! Diggory!"

The Hufflepuffs had even brought drums, beating them in time with their chant.

They were more excited and proud than any of the other three Houses.

This was the brightest moment Hufflepuff had seen in a hundred years.

Even the now‑famous Magizoologist Newt Scamander had earned expulsion for his "dangerous creatures" and left with no honours.

In the roar of applause, Mr Diggory looked more worked up than his son.

He seized Cedric’s arm and pumped it in the air until Cedric, crimson with embarrassment, wriggled free.

"Sonorus."

Dumbledore raised his wand.

His amplified voice rolled out over the stands, quieting the din.

"He looks so serious," Hermione whispered.

She clasped her hands tight in front of her as if in prayer.

She glanced around, frowning. "And where is Ethan?"

"This is the final task of the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore announced.

"The overall rankings will be decided by the total scores from all three tasks."

"In this task, our champions must make their way through the maze. There is only one cup."

"Whichever champion reaches it and touches it first ends the task."

"Good luck, Harry," Ron muttered under his breath. "Do not let Durmstrang pass us. Oh, and one Lava Chocolate Blast, please."

"As with the previous events," Dumbledore went on, "anyone who manages to defeat the final monster has the option to challenge one of the organisers, Ethan Vincent."

"Mr Vincent is already waiting for you at the centre of the maze."

Krum’s pupils shrank.

Battle lust burned in his eyes.

Dumbledore paused.

Under dozens of eager eyes, which had no idea what was coming, he drew a deep breath and bellowed, "I hereby declare the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament—"

"Beg—"

Bang.

The firework went off before he could finish, bursting into a spray of colour overhead.

Filch, who had lit it, froze and spread his hands helplessly.

On the Slytherin stands, Draco Malfoy snorted. “Trust a Squib to set it off too soon.”

The students around him laughed.

Draco turned back toward the maze, remembering the letter from his father.

Hidden between the lines had been a mention of the Dark Mark burning.

His lips pressed into a hard line as he stared at the hedge‑walls.

Ethan, you had better win.

At the entrance to the maze—

"Go on, lad! Good luck! Be careful!"

Cedric stood at the mouth of the path and looked back as the rose‑covered thorns began to close, hiding his father’s waving figure from view.

Until it vanished completely.

"Do not worry, Father," Cedric said quietly. "I will bring the cup back. You will be proud."

He knew his father wanted nothing more than to see him outshine Ethan.

To be the brightest one of all.

"Even if I cannot reach that height, I have to chase it."

First, he had to win the task.

He turned and strode into the shadowed corridor of thorns.

At the heart of the maze, in a wide, open space, a faint greenish light filtered through the clouds.

It fell over ranks of gleaming armour and long spears.

Clack.

Metal rasped.

The rows of figures standing as straight and disciplined as any regiment of soldiers were—

Playing cards.

Each one thick as a shield, each one armoured, each one bearing the same suit.

Hearts.

Shlurrrp.

A shadow dropped from above, soaring over the heads of the card‑soldiers.

It hit the ground with a crash like a falling meteor.

Boom.

Dust billowed.

The shockwave bowled entire ranks of cards off their feet.

A heavy knight stood where it had landed.

It was sheathed head to toe in black plate, shield in one hand, a massive glaive in the other.

A walking fortress.

Its presence pressed down like a physical weight.

A third‑tier golden legendary painting.

Darksoul Warden.

Its helmet was pure blackness, hiding anything that might be inside.

Ethan, hood pulled low, stood behind the army.

His hand slipped from the wide sleeve of his cloak to point the wand toward the direction the champions would come from.

In the shadow of the hood, he smiled, gentle and bright.

"Go," he said. "Protect our princess."

"Turn every intruder into fertiliser for our rose‑garden maze."

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 463

Chapter 463: Everyone Changes Sides

“Indeed, it has been a long time, Tom.”

As Sean spoke, Voldemort’s smoky silhouette solidified, coalescing into his true body. Black vapour coiled up around Sean as well, smashing into the darkness billowing from Voldemort’s robes.

There was a resounding crack.

Both men slid back a step. Voldemort merely extended one pale hand. A tendril of black smoke lashed out, hooked Bellatrix by the robes and dragged her to his side. With a flick, he flung her into the nearest fireplace. She vanished in a surge of emerald flame.

Sean watched him with a thin, cold smile.

“If memory serves,” he said, “she is Rodolphus Lestrange’s wife, is she not?”

“So what?” Voldemort hissed. “What are you implying?”

With his eyes narrowed to slits, he looked more snakelike than ever.

Sean chuckled.

“Nothing in particular,” he said. “Only that for a supposed great leader to fool around with his own follower’s wife is… rather low, Tom.”

“Silence! Avada Kedavra!”

“Thunderclap!”

Green light and blue‑white lightning roared from their wands at the same instant, colliding mid‑air with a deafening impact. Power crackled outwards in jagged arcs, tearing through the atrium.

At that moment, Harry and the others burst out of the Department of Mysteries.

They froze, staring across the hall at Sean locked in a contest of raw magic with Voldemort, identical expressions of stunned disbelief on each face.

More black smoke streamed from the doorway behind them, fanning out to surround them.

Before the shadows could close in, emerald fire exploded to life in the fireplaces all around the atrium. Members of the Order of the Phoenix stepped out of the Floo in ones and twos, their bodies blurring into streaks of white mist as they hurled themselves at the onrushing black clouds.

At the same time, more green flames flared to life.

Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden arrived, flanked by Amelia Bones, Rufus Scrimgeour, and a mass of Ministry officials and Aurors. Among them stood more than a few members of the Wizengamot.

They all saw him.

Voldemort, locked in a deadly duel with Sean.

Faces went slack with horror.

They had been warned, of course. They had braced themselves. But each of them had secretly nursed the same tiny hope—that Dumbledore had finally lost his grip on reality, that Sean had been tricked by illusions, that the Dark Lord’s return was nothing more than hysteria and paranoia.

Now the truth stood in front of them, real and terrible.

Their fragile hopes were shattered.

They were forced to stare at the one thing they had least wanted to face.

“The Dark Lord. It really is the Dark Lord…”

“Dumbledore was right. He has come back.”

“Those over there… is that the Order of the Phoenix fighting the Death Eaters? If the Dark Lord truly is back, then the Order members must be on our side, mustn’t they?”

“But Harry Potter and Sirius Black did kill Cornelius. That part is true!”

“True? Says who? Umbridge? Or Borel Bulstrode?”

“And how do you know they were lying?” another wizard shot back. “They were wrong about the Dark Lord’s return, yes. But that does not prove Fudge was not killed by Potter and Black. Unless someone can prove Umbridge and Borel are with the Dark Lord, then—”

In the midst of their heated argument, a voice rose that was at once familiar and utterly out of place here.

“Perhaps I can provide that proof,” it said calmly. “My youngest son, Borel, really is a Death Eater under Voldemort.”

Every head turned.

Even Marchbanks and the others stared in disbelief at one of the fireplaces.

From the spinning green flames stepped a tall man in a perfectly cut coat, hair slicked back, boots polished, every detail of his appearance as immaculate as ever.

Gavin Bulstrode.

“I can confirm,” Gavin said, “that my son Borel, together with members of the Flint family and several Death Eaters, once joined forces to hunt me down. In the end, Voldemort himself moved in for the kill. I survived only by using a certain magical artefact to fake my death by a narrow margin.

“Of course, I am quite willing to submit to any examination you choose, to prove that I am indeed Gavin Bulstrode, and that every word I say is true. I can also confirm that Borel Bulstrode and Dolores Umbridge have already pledged themselves to Voldemort as Death Eaters. It was they who murdered Fudge and framed Harry Potter and Sirius Black for the crime.

“In fact, a little Veritaserum on those involved at the time would be enough to show you exactly who is guilty.”

Before the echoes of his words had faded, the flames in the same hearth flared again.

Delice, Barrett and Jennifer stepped out in turn and came to stand at Gavin’s side. One after another, they faced the assembled Ministry crowd and spoke.

“I can testify,” Delice said first, “that the late Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, secretly accepted the backing of numerous pure‑blood families, and in return did many things for them—including, but not limited to, helping Lucius Malfoy scrub away his Death Eater brand and related charges, illegally promoting Dolores Umbridge to the post of Senior Undersecretary and then acting Minister, and targeting Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix.”

As soon as Delice fell silent, Barrett stepped smoothly in.

“I can testify,” he said, “that the Slytherin Brotherhood has maintained covert ties with the Death Eaters, recruiting for them inside the Ministry. Many of the pure‑blood families within the Brotherhood have had dealings, to greater or lesser degrees, with the Dark Lord’s followers. I can also confirm that the Brotherhood has, on numerous occasions, secretly manipulated the Daily Prophet on behalf of Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge, forcing the paper to print exactly what they wanted.”

Their words laid bare the rot at the heart of the Ministry: the pure‑blood faction’s corruption and their tacit support for the Death Eaters.

Jennifer drew in a deep breath.

Her face had gone pale, but her eyes were steady.

“I can testify,” she said, “that most of the core members of the Flint family have already gone over to Voldemort and become his Death Eaters.

“If necessary, I am willing to put justice above blood. I will personally lead you to the Flint estate, so we can arrest the family’s main members and have them tried, then sent to Azkaban where they belong.”

Even Gavin glanced at her then.

By blood, Jennifer was almost his granddaughter. He had never been close to the Flint family—he had disliked them for years—and so their ties were thin. Still, to hear her not only betray her own house but offer to lead the charge against it…

Gavin did not need to ask whose handiwork this was.

Sean’s.

The only question was how.

Until today, no one would have guessed that these three were Sean’s people.

And more importantly…

Were they the only ones?

Or were they merely the first to step into the light?