Voldemort had never been this furious before.
He had just been ambushed.
Though he had experienced similar incidents in the past, none had ever enraged Voldemort so deeply.
He had come within a hair's breadth of having all his plans reduced to nothing by Avada Kedavra.
There was no doubt that it had been a carefully planned ambush. Voldemort suspected that the Death Eaters' discovery of that place had been bait deliberately laid to lure him in.
As for the Person Behind the Scenes?
Voldemort immediately thought of Albert Anderson. Only that despicable, shameless, scheming Mudblood could have ambushed him with such precision.
However, that belief changed after Voldemort returned to headquarters.
His headquarters had been completely transformed into a raging Sea of Fire. Fiendfyre rampaged across the land, devouring everything and reducing it to ashes.
"Albert Anderson!" Voldemort roared through gritted teeth.
Just as fury was about to cloud his mind, he suddenly remembered something.
Would that Mudblood really do something like this?
Given Voldemort's understanding of Albert Anderson, he did not believe the man feared him. Would he not have personally led the deadly attack just now?
If he truly wanted to kill him, he would have led the attack himself rather than merely orchestrating one.
Moreover, given Albert's usual methods, burning this place down served no purpose other than provoking him.
Then why had he done it? Why burn this place down? What was the purpose of provoking him? To be honest, Voldemort scarcely dared to lose his temper now, afraid that anger would cloud his mind and make him step straight into that Mudblood's trap.
He had suffered enough losses like that to learn his lesson.
As he watched the rolling black waves of flame before him, Voldemort's thoughts churned just as fiercely as he considered