How Much the Dark Lord Valued Him

A person came out of the largest house in the village and blocked half of the door frame.

Fenrir Greyback was tall and burly, with shoulders one and a half times the width of an average wizard.

Wearing a thick leather vest whose original color was no longer visible, his arms were bare and covered with scars ranging in color from light pink to dark brown; not a single patch of skin was intact.

The same was true of his face; claw marks and bite marks crisscrossed, some deep and some shallow, leaving his face unrecognizable.

Its fingernails were long, dirty, and grayish-yellow, with cuts at the tips, somewhere between a human hand and a wolf's claw, and they never shrank back; they had long since taken their final shape. Its teeth were sharp and yellow, and dark marks could be seen between them when it opened its mouth to exhale.

Its eyes are yellow, with vertical pupils, and the way it looks at people has lost all human characteristics.

When one human being looks at another, regardless of their attitude, there is always a certain kind of recognition based on their own kind.

Greyback didn't have that. He looked at people like he was looking at something he could pounce on at any moment, prey he hadn't yet decided when to eat. The kind of look that comes from someone who thinks they're at the top of the food chain.

Regulus sized him up, his eyes filled with interest.

This creature has lived its life as a predator, and everything from its body shape to its nails, teeth, and eyes is growing in that direction.

He no longer pretends to be human; he's moving closer to the beast, and he's enjoying it.

Regulus attached his perception to it.

Greyback's Magic Power concentration is an entire order of magnitude higher than that of other Werewolf.

If the Magic Power of an ordinary Werewolf is a naked, rough fluctuation, his Magic Power is a single, highly condensed, compressed core of bestiality—the difference between a flame and a bonfire.

Looking deeper, his bestiality is not mixed with his humanity.

Other Werewolf, humans and beasts are intertwined, each containing elements of the other, which is why they are conflicted and suffer.

Greyback was different; his bestiality was on the outside, a thick layer that completely enveloped what was inside.

Is it that humanity is shrouded in bestiality, or is there little humanity left, and beneath that layer of bestiality, there is emptiness?

Unable to make a judgment at first glance, Regulus did not draw a conclusion.

He remained calm and continued to observe, passively taking stock without making any proactive probes.

Who knows if Greyback has any animal instincts, or if he can sense that someone is eyeing him?

Lucius hasn't finished his work yet; there's no need to create unnecessary trouble.

Greyback snorted at Lucius, his disdain evident in his sneer, his lips twitching to reveal two rows of yellow teeth. "Here we go again," he said in a rough, hoarse voice, worn down by years of howling. "Young master of the Malfoy family, what have you brought this time?" He recognized the Malfoy and knew they were representing that Dark Lord, but that didn't stop him from looking down on them.

A Pure-bloods nobleman dressed in fine clothes, leaning on a precious Staff, and speaking in roundabout ways.

In Greyback's eyes, this kind of thing was incredibly fragile, easily snapped in two with a single bite. He was usually arrogant and relied entirely on his family's reputation. He hated this kind of person and wished he could tear him apart and eat him, bones and all.

His expression made it clear: impatience, pure malice, but being a leader, he still retained some rationality. Then he noticed the person next to Lucius: black hair, gray eyes, half a head shorter than Lucius, also dressed in fine clothes. A little brat.

Greyback's gaze swept back and forth over Regulus, like that of someone sizing up prey.

He took two steps forward, his massive body casting a shadow that enveloped Regulus.

A pungent, overpowering smell followed him.

Regulus frowned.

Blood, stench, the Werewolf's savage, and something emanating from his Magic Power mingled together, filling my nostrils. Disgusting.

The nasty look on Greyback's face deepened.

He could tell; the little brat was uncomfortable because of his smell.

He liked this; it was the taste of predators, the fear of wizards.

At this moment, Lucius stepped forward half a step, his Staff held horizontally between Greyback and Regulus, preventing him from advancing further. "Greyback," he said calmly and deliberately, "I've come to deliver a message from that Dark Lord."

Greyback turned his head toward Lucius, but his eyes remained fixed, glancing sideways at Regulus.

Then, slowly, his gaze shifted from Regulus to Lucius's face, with obvious provocation.

Lucius ignored him and began to explain the mission.

"Your people have been making too many moves in Yorkshire lately."

He maintained a composed demeanor and spoke in a detached tone, "Several Attacks in succession, biting quite a few people and creating a new batch of Werewolf, one of which occurred near the wizarding settlement."

He tapped the ground in front of him with his Staff: "The Hazardous Living Organisms Management Division has already set up a detection network over there."

"That Dark Lord's meaning one"

"Stop." Greyback interrupted him, turned his back, spat at the open ground, and then turned back.

"I've had enough," he said, revealing his yellow teeth in a vicious tone. "Nice talk, you lot. All you ever say is that it's that Dark Lord's will, that Dark Lord's arrangement."

Greyback leaned forward, looked down at him, and bared his canines. "Why should I listen? I'm perfectly fine here. Who I bite, and when I bite, is up to me."

Lucius frowned, a look of disgust flashing in his eyes, but he stood still without backing down, maintaining his stance.

"On what grounds?" He forced a smile, devoid of any goodwill. "On the grounds of your body, Dark Lord bestowed them upon you." His gaze swept from Greyback's tattered clothes to his dirty, yellowed fingernails, his tone leisurely, his attitude condescending despite the nearly foot-long height difference.

Compared to Greyback, Lucius possessed an inexplicable air of composure and elegance. "Where were you six months ago?"

"Being chased all over UK by Auror, with nowhere to even spend the winter, and the few wolves under his command are so hungry they're eating their own kind." A threatening growl rolled down Greyback's throat. It was a bit offensive, because it was the truth.

Lucius remained unmoved.

"That Dark Lord gave you this village, gave you supplies, and gave you a piece of land that no one bothered with, so you could comfortably bite people and develop your tribe. You enjoyed it for half a year."

"Now," he tapped his Staff on the ground, "He wants you to behave yourself and not attract the Ministry of Magic. Is that too much to ask?" "Too much!" Greyback gritted his teeth. "Let those office-bound idiots come!"

"And then?" Lucius's voice turned cold. "You're planning to bite Auror? If you bite just one, the Ministry of Magic will declare the entire Yorkshire a no-go zone."

There are no prey in the forbidden zone, only encirclement and suppression. The more you bite, the stronger the encirclement and suppression becomes.

At that point, what that Dark Lord wanted—a Werewolf army that could be deployed at crucial moments—would no longer exist.

"Your value, Greyback, lies in how useful you are, even if one day you become less useful."

Greyback scoffed, exhaling a foul stench that was so close Lucius could feel the heat on his face.

He didn't refute Lucius's words because he couldn't, but that didn't mean he accepted that the wizard could speak to him like that, in a threatening tone. He narrowed his eyes, his yellow vertical pupils widening as he stared at Lucius, his gaze turning dangerous, as if he were about to unleash his claws, revealing his fangs, and tearing his neck apart.

Lucius took a half step forward, his composure tinged with a chilling aura. "Greyback, who do you think you are? You think you can negotiate with that Dark Lord just because you have thirty or forty wolves?"

"With a single word from that Dark Lord, you and your wolf cub have no chance of survival."

Lucius stepped back to his previous position, his tone returning to its usual elegance, and asked, "Perhaps you'd like to give it a try?"

Greyback's face darkened as he stared at him. Lucius stared back at Greyback, and the two, man and wolf, locked eyes. The surrounding Werewolf fell silent. Greyback wasn't stupid, of course; he was a beast, but not a madman.

He knew that the well-dressed guy in front of him was telling the truth.

Dark Lord can give, he can also take back; he is still afraid of that Dark Lord.

"... You want me to tone it down?" he squeezed out through gritted teeth. "Fine, but supplies need to be increased. I have so many mouths to feed; the original amount isn't enough." "The supplies are here," Lucius said, shaking the small leather bag in his hand. "The quantity was set by that Dark Lord, not a single piece more, not a single piece less." Greyback growled, "Not enough."

"Then we'll go hungry," Lucius said, throwing the small bag on the ground. "We have to be disciplined even if we're hungry; the two things don't conflict."

Greyback stared at the bag, then at Lucius; the air froze.

Lucius didn't back down. He had delivered the message and maintained order, but Greyback, that beast, refused to give a straight answer. Relying on his limited abilities, he dragged his feet and haggled over the terms.

Lucius knew perfectly well that the more you reasoned with this kind of thing, the more it would take advantage of you.

But he couldn't really break off relations; he still needed to keep the Werewolf around. This was a task assigned by that Dark Lord, and he couldn't afford to mess it up.

He had to be able to give Greyback a good talking-to, but not so much that he'd actually provoke him into violence; he had to strike that line perfectly.

The difficulty of this job was never in relaying messages, but in dealing with such an unreasonable yet inescapable creature, having to hold your nose and get the message across. He spoke again, changing his angle, bringing up the Dark Lord's overall plan, mentioning who he could bite after the mission was accomplished, and that if you dared to mess things up, death would be the greatest blessing.

One sentence after another, from orders to promises to threats, using both soft and hard tactics.

Greyback listened, occasionally grunting and snorting through his nose, turning away and then back again, but refusing to respond.

The situation remained frozen; Lucius talked a lot, but the wolf didn't budge an inch.

He wanted a clear nod from Greyback, but Greyback refused, dragging things out and using this beastly way to express his defiance.

It's pointless, but he has to keep going.

Lucius's brows furrowed, growing impatient. His robe, now soaked with the pickling smell, was to be burned as soon as he got home.

In my mind, I started cursing: filthy, despicable, barbaric, beast.

Greyback was getting impatient. He knew he would eventually agree and let the damned wizard get what he wanted, but he just didn't want to give it to him readily. He couldn't be bothered to listen to Lucius's nonsense anymore, and his yellow eyes rolled to the little brat next to him.

He took two steps forward, bent down, and brought his face close to Regulus's face, about an arm's length away.

He took a deep breath and sniffed.

His nostrils flared, and a low gurgling sound came from his throat, like a wild beast sniffing something unfamiliar, from his hair to his shoulders, and from his shoulders to his collar.

His eyes were fixed on Regulus, his yellow vertical pupils revealing his teeth, looking down at him condescendingly.

He certainly wouldn't actually attack a wizard who came with Malfoy, even a complete stranger; that would be asking for trouble. But he could scare him, and he liked that.

He enjoyed watching those delicate-skinned wizards tremble, feel disgusted, and be afraid in his presence. He loved seeing them want to run but dare not, only to be bitten by him in the end.

He bit many people, and with each bite, that the Dark Lord became like him, despised by society, abandoned by their family, and ultimately either died or came to him for help.

He enjoyed it immensely, spreading it like a seed.

He thought he was in control of everything, of other people's fears, and of other people's future.

The little brat in front of me had black hair, gray eyes, a furrowed brow, and a disgusted look on his face.

What excellent prey.

He moved even closer, his nose almost touching his, and his breathing became heavy.

His mouth stretched almost to his ears, revealing a mouthful of foul-smelling, yellow teeth, and he snarled maliciously, "Who is this little brat? Malfoy, the gift you brought? Still breastfeeding?"

Regulus was still frowning. Greyback's words were less than a dog's bark, but the smell was so strong it was unbearable.

Lucius, who was watching from the side, had a slight change in expression.

He wasn't worried that Regulus would suffer a loss; even if Greyback brought out all his teeth, he couldn't hurt a single hair on Regulus's head.

His worry was the opposite: that Regulus might lose his temper and kill Greyback.

That would be troublesome; the adults would also need Werewolf.

Regulus was young and so strong; it's perfectly understandable that he retaliated after being provoked.

Even if Greyback were truly killed, that Dark Lord might not necessarily blame Regulus.

A thirteen-year-old wizard was provoked to his face by an adult Werewolf, and he fought back and killed it. Who can say he was wrong?

But if the job goes wrong, someone has to be blamed. Who could it be?

This is the Malfoy family ' job, so he's the only one who can take the blame.

Or what if, just what if, Regulus were to suffer even the slightest injury, even just a scratch, or even just be touched in the robes by Werewolf? Then the Black family and Malfoy family would forget about cooperating or building a relationship; they would become enemies on the spot.

Orion Black certainly wouldn't let any of the Werewolf present get away with it, including Greyback, but before that, he would first pursue the person who brought his son to this place.

He can't handle either of them.

Lucius was about to speak to stop him, taking a step forward, when he had already switched Staff, gripping the wand handle in his right hand.

At this moment, Regulus turned to look at him and asked, "How much does that Dark Lord value him?"