Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend-Chapter 570 - 164: The Mystery of the Werewolves and Gryffindor (6)

Chapter 570: Chapter 164: The Mystery of the Werewolves and Gryffindor (6)

The last of them fell on old werewolf Lucas.

"If I remember correctly, didn’t you just say you people have nothing at all—nothing else left to lose? And I seem to recall I refuted that, didn’t I?"

He asked with a cheerful grin.

"You’re planning to come at us?"

Old Lucas stared in disbelief, glancing at the werewolves around him already starting to transform, then looking back at the cocky little wizard standing before him.

"That’s right, kid. We’re people who have nothing, so don’t expect us to just lose our nerve when you throw out some big family name like the people you’re used to dealing with." Old Lucas found the scene before him so absurd, he could only chalk it up to pure-blood inbreeding producing mentally unstable offspring.

"Why waste words with him! Grab him! The traitors who ran will surely come back to rescue him!" Again, Laine. Really, he could definitely be called the bravest among these werewolves.

And then—

With a howl,

Werewolf Laine transformed once more, lunging toward the little wizard at breakneck speed—yet before he was even close, the ground heaved so violently that he lost his footing and crashed to the earth.

"What’s going on?"

"Is it an earthquake?"

"It feels like the ground is splitting open!"

...

The tremor was like an earthquake of level 8—enough to send all the werewolves into a panic. Old Lucas grabbed his magic wand, but his hands were trembling uncontrollably.

"What kind of magic is this..."

He couldn’t believe it, his voice full of terror as his terrified eyes darted to the little wizard. High above the shattered earth, Ian had already lifted into the air, the red cloak behind him blazing scarlet.

"Lucas! Lucas! His magic... his magic..." A female werewolf, her eyes altered by magic, who’d been standing beside Lucas this whole time, simply collapsed to the ground.

She, unlike most of the confused werewolves, could—with her magically-modified eyes—clearly see the raging, surging tide of overwhelming power flooding the space around them.

"Jenny! What about his magic?"

Old Lucas’s pupils contracted. He tried to cast a spell out of instinct, but suddenly, blue flames ignited on his wand—and the instant he saw those flames, a chill ran down his spine.

That seductive blue!

"Shit! Fiendfyre!"

Old Lucas didn’t hesitate—he hurled aside the wand that had served him for years. As he watched it turn to ash on the ground, he felt not a trace of anger.

Only terror, confusion, and... profound fear.

Silent spellcasting!

All of it was silent spellcasting!

"What the hell are you?!"

The old wolf suddenly looked up at Ian, hovering in midair.

And then—

"I saw a mountain that can’t be crossed... Lucas... he... he could kill every one of us!" The female werewolf’s trembling voice was saturated with horror as she slumped on the ground.

"Yes, yes, exactly—just as I told you, you still have things to lose..." The little wizard cocked his head, his grin disturbingly innocent.

"And that is your so-called hope and... your lives."

As his words fell,

The trembling earth began to churn—as if a giant, slumbering for ages, was awakening. With a dull, powerful boom, dirt and stones rolled, rising up to form enormous shapes. These hulks of living clay soared several stories tall, as burly as giants.

The werewolves tried to scatter and run.

Yet—

The clay golems moved. They swung massive arms, hands as heavy as mountains, slamming down at the werewolves. Those once-fierce werewolves seemed pitifully frail before the clay golems; with a single blow, a wolf was smashed to the ground, shrieking in agony.

One by one, the werewolves fell to the clay giants, like leaves swept down by a storm. Not even Lucas, the alpha wolf, was spared.

Before the golems’ overwhelming strength, even transformation after transformation offered the werewolves no hope of resistance—all they could do was watch themselves get pummeled into submission, one by one.

"Of course, I’m not a bloodthirsty killer. Just as you gave me two choices before, now, I’ll give you two options too: either die clutching your precious hope—"

"Or..." Ian descended gently to the ground, glanced around, then bowed his head and spoke softly to Lucas, the old wolf pinned beneath a giant clay palm.

"Show your worth."

His voice echoed slowly through the empty ruins.

Surrounded by countless clay golems,

The little wizard’s slight frame looked almost conspicuous.

...

Ten minutes later.

"Phew~" 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

The air shimmered and warped.

Hoping to pass word to Albus Dumbledore, Lupin, who’d waited for a response in vain, couldn’t stay away—after his magic had recovered some, he geared up and returned to the scene.

However—

Prepared for the worst, Lupin entered, wand raised high and nerves fully taut—only to come upon a scene that made his brain grind to a halt, incapable of making sense of it all.

Amid dim, mysterious light, a ragged line of werewolves stood silent. Their bodies, once known for strength and ferocity, now bore obvious wounds—some missing an arm, some a leg, their eyes still flashing with humiliation,

but mostly with a kind of helpless submission.

"What... happened here?"

Lupin wondered if he’d somehow missed Albus Dumbledore’s dramatic entrance onto the battlefield.

But—

As he tried to spot the headmaster’s figure, the only person standing before this defeated line of werewolves was a lone, small little wizard.

"Your Silver Sickles."

"The ten vials of blood you owe me."

"Your Silver Sickles."

"You owe me twelve vials of blood—can’t be helped, guess that’s the price for having that extra arm."

...

Lupin saw:

Ian, holding a syringe, was conducting some sort of transaction with the werewolves.

It was as if he’d sensed Lupin’s presence.

"See, dear prefect, I told you—Galleons are truly versatile, even if there are setbacks sometimes, I always find a way to put them to use."

The little wizard raised his money bag,

as if showing off.

"..."

Lupin found himself even more baffled.

"Where’s Headmaster Dumbledore?"

He looked all around but saw no trace of the person he was searching for—only, in a far corner, the pale-faced old Lucas, looking like he’d just lost a lot of blood.

"Who forced you all to give blood?"

In Lupin’s opinion, buying werewolf blood with Silver Sickles was even more ruthless than anything he’d seen in Knockturn Alley—basically forced, unpaid bloodletting.

He’d worried for the little wizard’s safety before,

but now

he found himself sympathizing with the werewolves instead.

"Who is that boy? There’s no way he belongs to the Dumbledore family!"

Old Lucas didn’t answer Lupin, instead raising his dizzy, blood-drained head, his eyes filled with a complex emotion Lupin couldn’t decipher.

"Hmm?"

Lupin’s puzzlement and wariness grew even deeper.

"Looks like you don’t know either."

Lucas read the look on Lupin’s face, sighed, lowered his head, and in his mind recalled what that self-proclaimed Gryffindor youth had said.

"This potion will take you to your promised land... the place meant for you."

Right then and there,

Old Lucas felt like enlightenment was at hand.

But before he could fully grasp it,

he realized he was not as smart as the other werewolves thought he was.