The Makeshift Troupe and the Wind of the Wilderness

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, near Aragog's lair.

The night was so dark it was almost suffocating; the tree canopy closed overhead, preventing any moonlight from getting through. Only the luminous ferns glowed with a cold, white light from the crevices in the tree roots.

The air was damp and thick, mixed with the sour smell of decaying leaves and spider silk secretions. Something rustled in the bushes in the distance, then fell silent again.

The instant Regulus Apparition and landed, Baruk had already sprung out from the edge of the depression.

Its two-meter-long body approached at high speed, its eight legs moving in alternating steps, so fast that its movements were almost invisible, before it came to an abrupt halt just before reaching the front.

All eight legs plunged into the soil at the same time, the spider's head moved forward, its amber eyes all lit up, and its chelicerae made a long series of clicking sounds.

Regulus reached out and patted its big head, then flipped up its carapace and sat cross-legged.

Baruk immediately started running, his eight legs moving swiftly through the forest, avoiding tree roots and stepping over fallen logs, moving at an incredible speed, creating a gust of wind.

But Regulus sensed it; despite moving at high speed, the armor beneath him was remarkably stable, barely wobbling.

Riding on Baruk's back used to be bumpy; he had plenty of legs, but it wasn't stable enough. The Acromantula wasn't originally designed for people to ride.

Every leg landing generates impact; to run freely, you need Shock-Absorption Braking Charm to ensure comfort.

This time it was different; I could barely feel the vibration.

He bent down and glanced at it; Baruk had added something to his leg joints.

The joints of each leg are wrapped with fine spider silk, forming a miniature web structure that connects the two adjacent legs.

Spider silk is elastic. When the legs land, the joints compress the web, absorbing the kinetic energy. When the legs bounce back, the web rebounds and releases the energy, which is not transferred to the carapace.

The rhythm is also precise, with the eight legs moving in two alternating groups, four supporting and four swinging, the transition is so smooth as to be almost seamless, and the carapace always remains horizontal.

An Acromantula has built itself a shock-absorbing suspension system.

Regulus patted Baruk's back armor, satisfied.

A clever guy, and he's got guts.

This suspension system not only made him comfortable, but it also benefited Baruk himself.

The landing is less impactful, making running and jumping less strenuous, and minimizing footsteps when hunting.

Killing two birds with one stone: I got myself a shock absorber, and at the same time, I made sure the person on my back sat comfortably.

When did you come up with that idea?

Baruk's chelicerae clicked twice, and the spider tried to turn its head back, but couldn't, so it stopped.

They ran with even more energy, their speed increasing dramatically, the fallen leaves beneath their legs being swept up and scattered behind them.

It was extremely pleased with itself.

I've been thinking about this for a while now, just waiting for you to discover it.

It ran faster and faster, began to leap, bounced off the thick roots of an old tree, drew an arc in the air, and landed steadily.

Regulus, encased in his carapace, didn't even flinch.

After running for a while, they arrived at an open space, far from their nest. The surroundings were quiet, and a crack appeared in the treetop overhead, letting in a small patch of starless sky.

Regulus patted the ground beneath him, and Baruk stopped, curling up his eight legs and retracting his chelicerae, settling down steadily.

He was still sitting cross-legged, with his hands raised.

A ball of light rose from his palm, growing larger and brighter until it reached a height of two or three meters above his head. The light poured down, illuminating the clearing and the surrounding woods.

This forest was brighter than it had been in countless years. The chirping of insects and the rustling of leaves all stopped at the same moment, and something darted away from under the bushes.

With another wave of his hand, the moisture in the air condensed, forming a smooth, oval-shaped water mirror half a meter in front of him, about half his height. The mirror rippled slightly before settling, reflecting his own face.

Tonight we're here to get down to business.

He looked at himself in the water mirror.

Black hair slightly wavy, medium length, just covering the ears, gray eyes, soft features—the standard template of the Black family.

The people in their family all look like this: delicate features, smooth lines, slender frames, noble and elegant, with an innate sense of reserve. Just by standing there, you can tell that they have been carefully cultivated for more than ten generations.

It's good-looking, but so good that you can recognize Black Lively at a glance.

This face cannot be taken to Dumbledore; he is not alone.

The old man was busy outside with the Order of the Order of the Phoenix, recruiting people, setting up defenses, and investigating Voldemort and the Death Eaters ' movements.

Various people will come and go around you: core members of the Order of the Phoenix, allies from all over the world, informants, and middlemen.

He appeared in his true form before this group of people, and the news would reach Voldemort's ears in less than two days.

The situation is escalating: Voldemort's influence is expanding, the number of Death Eaters is growing, the guards of Azkaban are beginning to waver, and the Ministry of Magic is reacting too slowly.

Dumbledore is intensifying his plans, and the confrontation between the two camps is moving from the shadows to the open.

Speaking of factions, there's something interesting.

The world is a giant makeshift stage, both for Muggle and for Magic.

Dumbledore and Voldemort, the two most powerful Legilimency masters of their time, each had the other's people in their respective camps, and neither of them could control them.

Regulus didn't know much about the current situation on Dumbledore's side.

But as Order of the Phoenix goes on, it becomes clear that there will be traitors, wavering individuals, double agents, and allies who have been turned.

A trusted person would personally hand over the most confidential information to Voldemort, and the whole process was seamless, with Dumbledore unaware of it.

The situation was similar on Voldemort's side. There were very few truly loyal Death Eaters; most were opportunists who would run away at the first sign of trouble.

Subsequent events proved that once he fell from power, his Death Eaters either scattered or betrayed him, leaving only a handful truly loyal to Azkaban.

Dumbledore had the ability to flip through anyone's mind, but he simply didn't.

He has principles; he doesn't pry into other people's thoughts, respects privacy, and believes that everyone has the right to choose.

This made him Dumbledore, and also created a loophole in the Order of the Phoenix that could never be plugged.

Voldemort didn't have such a thing. He couldn't have failed to examine the minds of the core Death Eaters. If he had, he should have known who was hiding something and who was just paying lip service.

He knew all those opportunists, those with their own agendas, who only knelt down to protect their families.

But he didn't care.

In Voldemort's eyes, loyalty was unimportant; fear was.

What does it matter whether someone is loyal or not?

As long as they know the consequences of betrayal, no one dares to act.

Power subdues all, fear restrains all, and interests bind all; these three intertwined are far more solid than loyalty.

He had a very high opinion of himself, because he truly was high, high enough to look down on everything, high enough that he didn't need loyalty.

This kind of perception is itself a huge blind spot, and this blind spot is precisely one that he created himself.

The two most powerful wizards should be able to see through everyone's hearts, but they just can't control the people around them.

This has nothing to do with ability; it's purely a structural issue.

Any organization that relies on multiple layers of trust has vulnerabilities; the longer the chain, the more likely the links will break or be replaced.

Even with the strongest Legilimency, it's impossible to keep an eye on everyone at the same time.

This kind of defense is destined to be breached at the structural level. Voldemort thought that fear could replace trust, but in the end, fear only made people outwardly submit while secretly looking for a way out.

Dumbledore chose to trust, but that trust gave a traitor an opportunity.

Two strategies, same result.

Therefore, concealing one's identity is necessary.

It's perfectly fine to interact with Dumbledore at school; he's the headmaster, and all the students can talk to him. Not interacting with him would be abnormal and seem deliberate.

But outside of school, the situation is completely different.

Everything Dumbledore is doing now points to Voldemort.

If someone were to approach him at this moment, regardless of who sees them, the message would be the same: Regulus Black has chosen sides, and the Black family has betrayed him.

Therefore, they cannot be recognized.

Not only do we need to hide, but we need to hide more. Our appearance needs to change, the texture of our Magic Power needs to change, and our fighting style needs to change as well.

The Magic and style that have already been revealed to Bellatrix cannot be used directly, but they cannot be completely abandoned either; changing them all would be suspicious and seem overly deliberate.

What needs to be done is to adjust the proportions, using less frequently used elements and more often less frequently used elements, so that the overall style shifts but doesn't break down.

He looked at his reflection in the water mirror and began to work.

Black's distinctive features all had to be changed; it had to start from scratch.

His lips moved slightly, silently Spellcasting.

The black color fades from the roots, becoming lighter strand by strand, from deep black to dark gray, from dark gray to silver gray, and from silver gray to silver white.

The color change started from the scalp and spread outwards to the ends of the hair, turning the entire head of black hair completely white and translucent within seconds.

Their hair also changed; the Black family's hair is naturally smooth and manageable, with a pampered shine.

He rearranged and reorganized the hair cuticles, making the hair thicker, harder, and somewhat rough but not messy.

The length falls low, past the shoulders, with a slight curve, cascading down the shoulders.

The main branch of the Black family —he, Sirius, Bellatrix —all had dark, black hair, the color of their family name.

White, long, coarse hair—everything about her is going in the opposite direction.

Then there are the eyes.

The pigment in the gray iris begins to flow, shifting from a cool gray to a warm tone, the gray fading into pale blue, the pale blue turning into light gold, and finally settling in an amber-golden position.

The pupils elongate, contracting from a circle into a narrow vertical slit.

The color of the iris forms a fine radial pattern around the vertical pupil, like a few old cracks sealed in amber.

Amber is warm, but not in a friendly way; the vertical pupils carry a wild, sharp edge.

Next is face shape.

He raised his hand and touched the original curve of his cheekbones; the lines were soft, and the transition from the cheekbones to the chin was smooth and flowing.

Press down on the cheekbone, and the bone will slowly expand outward under your fingertips, the curve will become more defined and angular, creating a more distinct contour.

The jawline widens, and the pointed corner of the chin rounds out, becoming more square.

The bridge of the nose is straightened and raised, the brow bone is pushed outward, and the shadow cast under the brow bone is deeper.

His overall silhouette, etched with the marks of wind and sun, transforms from a noble boy raised in a manor into a young wizard who spends his days roaming the wilderness. He is sturdy and rugged.

He looked at his increasingly unfamiliar face in the mirror and adjusted his jaw back half a millimeter.

Finally, there's height.

It was pulled up a few centimeters, from 175 to just over 180.

The main change was to the proportions; the spine was stretched out vertebra by vertebra, and the soreness and swelling felt as the bones were lengthened traveled up and down the spine.

The shoulder line is a bit wider, the collarbone extends outward, and the shoulder frame is a size wider than before.

The limbs are longer, the chest cavity appears more voluminous, and the ribs are slightly expanded.

If the skeletal structure changes, the muscles must follow suit.

He looked down at himself, casually unbuttoned the front of his robe, revealing the shirt underneath, and then unbuttoned a few buttons on the shirt.

He never goes shirtless in public, it's too indecent, but after nearly two years of Star Orbit Meditation, he has all the necessary qualities.

The muscles are evenly attached to the bones, neither exaggerated nor bulging, with clear lines outlined beneath the skin. The sense of power is restrained and understated, yet immediately recognizable.

He made some adjustments to this, making the lines more distinct.

The muscle contours of the shoulders, back, and forearms are more prominent, the chest is more defined, and the abdominal muscles show more definition.

He transformed from a frail boy into a robust young man.

The person in the water mirror is completely different now.

His long, silvery-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his amber-colored vertical pupils gleamed golden under the light sphere. He had a strong, muscular build, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and clearly defined muscles on his forearms with rolled-up sleeves.

He looks like a young wizard who spends most of his time traveling and doesn't take care of himself much, but he's never short of fights; his outward aggression is quite obvious.

He doesn't look like someone from any Pureblood families UK family.

Regulus looked at the person in the mirror and twitched his lips.

If you're going to sculpt someone, at least make them look good. To deliberately make yourself ugly just to hide your identity is such a disservice to your face and bloodline.

He adjusted the depth of his brow bone and refined the lines of his cheekbones, and was satisfied.

Not bad, handsome, a different kind of handsome than before.

Previously it was refined, aloof, and aristocratic; now it's rugged, wild, and no less powerful than the wind of the wilderness.