Thinking the Impossible

Vip had come through the war years. As a senior figure in the International Confederation of Wizards who had spent most of his life fighting for the shared welfare of wizards around the world, he had drawn no small amount of criticism for his hard-line manner. But he was clearly not lacking in grace.

But what about the old man now standing before Amosta?

His spirits were low, his face worn with exhaustion. Even his graying hair was in disarray, and the wound on his forehead still bore a faint dark-red stain.

"Because of me?"

Amosta's surprise was anything but feigned.

"How so?"

Vip could likewise tell that Amosta was not putting on an act. He had genuinely forgotten. But that did nothing to calm Vip's anger; instead, it stoked it further, until his gaze turned somewhat sinister as he considered whether to pull out his wand and give Amosta a vicious taste of his own medicine.

In the end, however, Vip let out a somewhat defeated sigh. He glanced at the black castle perched on the cliff beyond the window beside his table, gave an inexplicable cold snort, then picked up the sherry on the table and drained it in one gulp.

"Have you forgotten?" Vip asked stiffly. "You 'arranged' a job for me?"

"Oh!" Amosta raised his brows, finally remembering. "You mean the trials for those Dark Wizards?"

Indeed, he had completely cast the matter out of his mind.

"It's only been two weeks!" Veins bulged on Vip's forehead.

Amosta's mouth twitched, and in the end, he offered Vip an apologetic smile.

It truly was not an easy job. So many Dark Wizards were lined up awaiting trial. This was not something that could be wrapped up by asking a couple of questions in court. Every wizard put