Regulus: It Stinks

The Protection intent of Bellatrix, its blue-white light, stable and constant, seeped through the spiritual connection, gradually enveloping the anchor point, like a lampshade covering a flame that was about to be blown away by the wind.

Edgar felt something glowing in his mind, warm and steady, like the fireplace burning in the Hufflepuff Common Room; it didn't drive anything away, it didn't suppress anything, it was just there.

The Guardian Image seeps in, reinforcing his home, his ego, and his unwavering refusal to hurt others layer by layer, then sinks down and nails itself to the very bottom.

When the moon is full in the future, and reason is overwhelmed by bestiality, everything else will be swept away, but this anchor, shrouded in the light of Bellatrix, will remain unshaken. It will be the last rope that this person can grasp before completely transforming into a beast.

It's impossible to achieve the desired shape in one go.

Regulus knew that this was merely planting a seed.

Whether it can grow, and what it will look like, depends on the person themselves, on the endless tug-of-war between bestiality and humanity that will ensue on moonlit night after moon. He has only just begun.

As for the outcome, he didn't really care.

He's done; he's a Werewolf who can retain his sanity on the night of a full moon.

If it doesn't work out, or if it grows crooked and becomes something even more ferocious than before, that's also a possible outcome.

He would accept failure altogether.

What he cares about is whether the path of using willpower to control one's animalistic instincts is viable.

Dumbledore said that Werewolf cannot do it on their own.

Judging by Edgar's level, he doesn't even reach the average level of Hogwarts graduates, let alone have any hope of graduating on his own.

But that's exactly what Regulus wanted to test: if he couldn't do it on his own, then who would fill that gap?

Is it feasible to use the Protection symbolism of Bellatrix to anchor humanity, allowing the individual to gradually strengthen it through repeated tug-of-war?

Regulus gave him a rope; now it was up to him to catch it on every full moon night.

This is for verification.

However, to be fair, he did do a good deed.

Professor Sprout would probably be quite pleased if he knew that a Hufflepuff Werewolf had retained his humanity.

This is considered a side benefit, no problem.

Edgar opened his eyes, blinked, and looked at his hands.

The same ten fingers, the same clean nails, nothing had changed, but something else had entered his mind, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Greyback stood a few steps away.

He watched Regulus on his territory, doing things to his wolves that he couldn't understand at all.

They can't hear, they can't understand, and they can't get involved.

He wanted to intervene, but he dared not move.

A king in name only, left standing like a spectator in the center of his own territory, completely unaware of what was happening.

He dared not direct his anger at Regulus, but the look in his eyes as he looked at Edgar had become dangerous.

A cold fire flashed in his yellow eyes; that's how wolves are—vengeful and cruel.

traitor.

Once those two wizards leave, we'll settle this score with that arrogant wolf who dared to bypass him and try to associate with the wizards.

Regulus noticed.

The anchor point is stable, it has sunk to the bottom, enveloped in that layer of blue light, and the task has been completed.

Regulus stopped and said to Edgar, "Let's go back."

Edgar snapped out of his daze, recovering from the mental contact.

He looked at Regulus, his eyes filled with gratitude and something else entirely.

He also sensed the hostility from Greyback's side, his shoulders hunched again, and he backed away, his steps unsteady.

Lucius observed all of this and naturally noticed Greyback's attitude, already beginning to make his own plans.

Should they finish the task now and leave, then secretly come back later and leave a message to save the wolf?

Or should we simply remind Regulus not to overestimate the conscience of such a beast?

He didn't care at all about Edgar's life or death. To be honest, he didn't really understand what Regulus had done to the wolf. But he knew that Regulus had his own purpose in doing so. Since it was a sample that Regulus wanted, the wolf couldn't be allowed to be destroyed by Greyback for the time being.

He was pondering how to handle this favor gracefully.

Regulus didn't even glance at Greyback again, turning his head to look at Lucius: "Lucius, your task."

Lucius understood, and his reserved expression returned.

He took a step forward, tapped his Staff in front of him, raised his chin, and repeated his words in his slow, deliberate tone.

Conceal your attacks and only target the designated enemy. Avoid the vicinity of wizarding settlements. The supplies have been delivered; this is what that Dark Lord ordered.

Greyback's yellow eyes went from Regulus to Lucius, and then back from Lucius to Regulus.

This time, he didn't bar his teeth, didn't lean forward, and didn't utter a single word of protest.

A muffled sound rolled down his throat, then he nodded in agreement.

Its head was down, its shoulders were slumped, and if it had a tail, it would be drooping by now.

Compared to his previous haggling, reluctance, and dragging his feet, this time he was decisive; he resigned himself to his fate and gave it to him with his tail between his legs.

But beneath that resignation lay a ruthless streak.

He was terrified of Regulus, so much so that the mere sight of him made his heart tremble, his hair stand on end, and he wished he could flee the scene.

This fear had nowhere to go, burning inside my chest.

He glanced back at Edgar, his gaze so fierce it could bleed.

If they can't touch the wizard, can't they at least touch the spineless coward in a wolf's den?

Lucius felt incredibly relieved when he saw the beast finally nod.

But he knew perfectly well that Regulus had done this job for him.

Before I came, the biggest headache was that Greyback was unruly and I couldn't get a straight answer no matter how hard I tried.

As a result, Regulus didn't say a single unnecessary word, and the wolf chickened out on its own.

This favor has been truly owed, which is exactly what he wanted.

He came to Regulus for this very reason—not to have another capable helper, but simply to ensure that the favor was truly appreciated.

Now, not only are these favors reciprocated, but they also become substantial; the more genuine the favor is, the happier he is.

As for Greyback's plan to harm the wolf, he was determined not to tell Regulus.

He then secretly came back and left a message for Greyback, saving the wolf.

Once it's done, don't make a fuss, and certainly don't claim credit.

When Regulus remembers this thing someday and comes back to find it all taken care of, that's the proper way to get things done. Getting things done is a hundred times better than just talking a good game.

What is friendship? This is friendship.

He swallowed his words, looked up at Regulus with a questioning gaze, and asked, "Is there anything else? Shall we go?"

Regulus was also looking at him, and when he saw Lucius looking over, he grinned from side to side.

His expression was somewhat flamboyant, unlike his usual restraint and composure.

Lucius had seen this face before.

On the ruins of the Lestrange Manor, Bellatrix lay at his feet, grey Magic Power seeping from his body, and that was the smile on his lips. Lucius felt a sudden tightness in his chest, and instinctively became more wary, though he couldn't quite explain what he was guarding against.

Then he realized that the smile was directed at Greyback.

Regulus ignored his reaction, sniffed, and said, "It stinks."

Lucius didn't react. "What?"

Regulus didn't reply, turned back to look at Greyback, and his expression remained the same.

That expression, when seen by Greyback, made him feel suffocated.

It was hard to describe what kind of expression it was; it wasn't fierce, nor angry, and there was even a hint of a smile at the corners of its mouth.

But it was precisely this smile that sent chills down his spine, more so than any of the deadly auras he had felt before.

Instinctively, he screamed for him to run, to lie down, to expose his neck and beg for mercy.

But he could do nothing, frozen in place, the fierce light in his yellow eyes completely gone, his pupils shrinking into slits, leaving only a trace of fear in his eyes.

Regulus raised his hand, palm up.

Fiendfyre rose from the ground.

The entire open space exploded at the same moment, orange-red Fiendfyre swirling and spewing from the soil, from the cracks in the rocks, from every inch of the ground. A wall of fire as tall as a person roared in and engulfed the remnants of the campfire, the piles of rotting debris, and the entire center of the village. The flames swept through so fast that no living creature present had time to react; the entire open space was licked by the tongues of fire simultaneously.

The garbage heap turned to powder, the stones marking the Werewolf territory were burned and shattered, and the sticky substance on the ground evaporated instantly.

But the flames bypassed the living creatures, precisely avoiding the Werewolf's position on every spot licked by the flames.

A single, neat line of fire abruptly stopped just where they were standing.

The heatwave sent all the Werewolf staggering backward, the intense heat searing their skin until it burned, and flames licked at their faces. Thirty or forty Werewolf were trapped in the fire, surrounded and roasted by the flames, their bodies glowing orange-red, yet not a single hair on fire could be ignited.

The stench, the blood, the filth that had accumulated under the moonlight for half a year, were all burned to ashes in the raging flames.

Regulus flipped his hand and pressed down, extinguishing the Fiendfyre in an instant.

The entire wall of fire collapsed, drained, and extinguished so quickly that one might doubt whether the sea of fire they had just witnessed was an illusion.

The high temperature suddenly subsided, the distorted air returned to its original position, and the village quieted down again.

From rising to extinguishing, from extreme heat to the air cooling down again, the entire process takes less than a second.

The ground was charred black, leaving a hard, burnt crust; all the garbage and stench were gone.

The wind blew back into the valley, carrying with it a clean, burnt smell and a unique sense of emptiness after everything had burned away—a much better smell than the stench that had filled the village just moments before.

Not a single Werewolf dared to move.

Dozens of pairs of yellow eyes widened, fixed on the scorched earth, on the wizard who had just lowered his hand.

The henchman with three claw marks on his face immediately knelt down, his knees slamming into the scorched ground. The broad-shouldered one raised his arm to shield his face, daring not to lower it again. They had seen blood, seen death, and had torn their own kind apart with their own hands, but they had never seen anything like this—a person, with one hand, turning the earth beneath their feet to ashes and making the raging fire vanish into thin air.

Greyback trembled the most violently, his legs unable to support his body, his eyes wide open, his mouth agape, his throat tight, unable to utter a sound. He finally understood completely that from beginning to end, he had only ever been the prey, always had been.

Regulus withdrew his hand, his expression returning to normal, and said in a calm voice, "I will come again."

He left those words behind and turned to walk towards the valley entrance.

Lucius stood there, stunned for a moment, then tapped the tip of his staff on the scorched ground, leaving a circular mark.

The scene was still replaying in his mind: orange flames exploding from the ground, Regulus flipping his hand, extinguishing the flames in an instant. He had seen Fiendfyre before, of course, but to use Fiendfyre like Broomstick was something he had never even dreamed of. This was even more unsettling than the burning of the Lestrange Manor.

He had seen far too much Magic he couldn't understand in his life, and that was fine with him.

Now he could see everything clearly, from beginning to end, and that was the problem.

He lifted his robe and hurried after Regulus.

Under the watchful eyes of dozens of wolves, the two crossed the open space and walked back the way they had come.

There was utter silence behind me.