After the few Aurors sent to reinforce England were hunted down by Dark Wizards and fled in disarray to France, news that Voldemort had crushed the Auror force supporting England spread through every country in Europe at an astonishing speed, as though it had grown wings.
Had Conrad not later returned with some of the Aurors, the entire International Confederation of Wizards would probably have exploded on the spot.
Still, the meeting room was hardly any better. The delegates, who had originally looked perfectly respectable, were now hurling insults and accusations at one another, nearly coming to blows.
The door was pushed open. Seeing the uproarious meeting room, Conrad's expression darkened considerably as he walked in under countless gazes.
"Quiet."
Babajide slammed the gavel in his hand several times before finally suppressing the noise in the meeting room.
"Very well, Mr. Conrad. Every gentleman present wishes to know exactly what happened."
Conrad swept his gaze over the delegates present, pursed his lips, and began recounting what had happened during their time in England.
In the end, he did not make England bear the full blame. After all, the resistance led by Kingsley had provided them with considerable assistance. The only problem was that none of them had expected Voldemort to locate their camp so quickly and launch a nighttime raid on it.
As for how the camp had been exposed, Conrad still had no clue, but he did not pin the blame on Kingsley.
His final conclusion was this: it was not that they were incompetent, nor could the people still holding out in resistance be blamed. Rather, The Dark Lord truly exceeded their expectations, more sinister even than Grindelwald, the first-generation Dark Lord.
After listening to Conrad's account, everyone fell silent. They, too, realized that this failure could not