Over the vast sea, gale-force winds swept up dark clouds...
On the coastline of the British Isles, inside a cave on an unknown island.
The cave entrance stood wide open, yet shielded by magic, not a drop of rain or gust of wind entered.
A warmly flickering campfire burned in the center of the cave, while beyond the barrier, the curtain of rain was like an airplane opening its cabin door in the middle of a storm.
A thin barrier separated two worlds as different as heaven and earth.
Yet even the warm fire was nearly extinguished by the chill wind brought in by a group of uninvited guests.
Leader: "You summoned me from so far away. I hope you have good news, Bell."
Bell: "Yes, Commander Charles."
The leader was a man in a black trench coat named Osmai Charles. He wore a ghostly mask, and three horizontal lines were painted across his shoulder, marking him as the highest authority here.
The subordinate reporting to him wore a gray uniform, with only two lines on his shoulder.
The rest stood around them in silence. They wore black uniforms, each with only one line on the shoulder.
Kleiman Bell, the man in the gray uniform, followed Charles's pace.
He continuously reported the intelligence he had gathered to his superior.
At the deepest part of the cave, a bald, wretched-looking old man was tied up in the shadows.
Charles stopped before him, tilted his head slightly, and asked Bell behind him.
Charles: "Is this him?"
Bell: "Yes, Commander."
"Sir, what did I do wrong? Why have you arrested me..." The bald old man's face was deathly pale, covered in sweat. His lips were bloodless, and his mouth trembled as he spoke.
Before Charles had arrived, the old man had suffered extreme torture, though not a single mark showed on his body.
"No, no, you did nothing wrong. You simply know too much. Answer what I ask, and you'll suffer less. Understand?" Once Bell confirmed it, Charles crouched before the old man and spoke with an oppressive presence.
The old man said nothing. His attitude remained stubborn.
Naturally. Anyone who had survived in the underworld to such an age without being ruthless and strong-willed would have long since been devoured whole.
Charles chuckled at the sight.
With a raise of his hand, a black shadow landed atop the old man's head.
The old man, who had been so defiant moments ago, instantly broke out in cold sweat and began trembling violently.
It was instinctive terror, something even his willpower could not restrain.
The black shadow was a pure-black, red-eyed Swooping Evil. It clung to the back of the old man's head, its tiny nose sniffing the few remaining strands of hair.
"Commander, why not just extract his memories directly?" Bell asked.
"With people like him, if you don't shatter their psychological defenses first, they'll feed you false information and lead you straight into their companions' hands."
Charles gave a quiet laugh as he explained it to his subordinate.
Bell fell silent. He took a few steps back, deciding to keep his mouth shut and carefully observe how Commander Charles conducted an interrogation.
After answering Bell, Charles said nothing more. He stood upright and closed his eyes to rest.
Beneath his trench coat, however, something suddenly began to bulge and wriggle. From time to time, a monkey's head covered in pustules and a long, furry tail poked out.
"All right, Bell. Let's see how closely this old bastard's words match your intelligence."
Charles had merely been waiting for the Grindylow Dung Beetle to inject its venom, an exceptionally potent Veritaserum.
Unfortunately, the side effects were immense. After the interrogation, the old man would become a vegetable. Otherwise, Veritaserum would have lost its market.
Charles fixed his gaze on the old man's eyes and spoke in a low voice.
"Tell me, where did you transport the Norman Dragon Blood Grass?"
The old man's eyes were vacant and still. He showed no signs of struggling.
In a hoarse voice, he said, "On the last Saturday before Halloween, there will be an auction at the Hog's Head Pub in Hogsmeade..."
As soon as he finished speaking, the old man went completely still. Drool began to run from the corner of his mouth.
There were no signs that he had used Occlumency. Charles found the information highly credible.
He rose to his feet and looked at Bell questioningly.
Bell's face lit up with wild joy as he repeatedly congratulated Charles.
"That's right! That's exactly what I heard! The Herb Auction at the Hog's Head Pub will feature many rare herbs."
Just as Charles was about to ask about the Hog's Head Pub—
A voice interrupted their conversation.
"Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore's younger brother, is the owner of the Hog's Head Pub."
"Don't be nervous!"
Seeing everyone watching him warily,
the newcomer exposed a thin arm bearing a Swastika Tattoo.
As the tattoo glowed faintly, the expressions on everyone's faces eased.
"Advisor?"
Charles seemed to realize something. He gestured for everyone to lower their guard and asked for confirmation.
"Yes. I am the advisor for this operation."
Hearing that, Bell saw that Commander Charles had not spoken.
He cleared his throat and broke the silence.
"Advisor, could you tell us everything you know?"
The newcomer chuckled and replied in an aged, raspy voice.
"I'm not here to seize authority. Carry out the operation however you like. I merely fear that you will act too rashly and fail the mission."
Charles's organization had a rule: an operation advisor held the same status as the highest-ranking leader assigned to carry out a mission.
In other words, if Charles had five stripes, the advisor would also hold the status of five stripes. Charles only had three, so the advisor had three as well, but he was still one of the highest authorities here.
"The Hog's Head Pub is in Hogsmeade, and Hogsmeade is right next to Hogwarts. Every weekend, students go to the village to buy all sorts of things. So you won't have an opportunity during the day. As far as I know, the auction will be held at night. When the time comes, I'll have the Ministry of Magic convene a wartime student handling meeting. The students will all return to the castle at night, and the professors will feel safe enough to attend the meeting."
This advisor... Charles frowned. Why did he feel so familiar?
"I heard Hogwarts has raised a group of Diricawls?"
Charles tested him.
"Yes. Hogwarts bought a batch of Diricawls last year. It is said that they have already grown into a considerable population in the Forbidden Forest."
The advisor chuckled. He had seen through Charles's probing.
Diricawls were currently precious strategic resources. Their blood was the primary material used to draw large teleportation arrays.
If one was not an important member of Hogwarts, it would have been difficult to learn that information.
Yet the advisor's mocking laugh only made Charles more uncertain. Could this advisor be an undercover agent planted by the British Ministry of Magic?
Seeing Charles's expression darken with uncertainty, the advisor shook his head.
His gray-white beard trembled as his hoarse voice rang out again.
"Charles, you have no trust at all in the leader's selection of advisors!"
The moment he finished speaking, Charles's expression changed.
"I would never question the leader!"
He declared passionately.
Then what are you hesitating over? Charles's face reddened. He understood the meaning behind the advisor's mocking gaze.
"Brothers, let us reclaim the Norman Dragon Blood Grass together!"
A leader sometimes needed to have thicker skin. Charles decisively pretended that nothing had happened.
"For the eternal survival of the soul!"
Everyone echoed in unison.
"For the eternal survival of the soul..."
Charles muttered softly as well...