Regulus: I Have Intelligence

The conversations in the tavern hadn't completely stopped, but they were all suppressed.

At the table near the door, two wizards were speaking with their heads close together, their lips almost touching their ears.

The old man at the bar was still staring at his cup, motionless, as if he were asleep.

No one was looking towards this corner, but their peripheral vision was glued to this table.

Two white-haired wizards, an old man with a white beard and a young, rugged man with long silver hair, sat facing each other.

The older one looked very happy, while the younger one had one leg crossed, his posture extremely relaxed.

One is sizing someone up, the other lets the sizing happen.

Dumbledore sat opposite him, not in a hurry to speak. He had already seen his appearance and clothing; now he was looking at something deeper.

The scorching Magic Power on the surface of his body was outward, violent, and restless, with an oppressive feeling that seemed to be rushing outward. These were external things that any wizard with keen senses could perceive.

Magic Power can leak out, it can be contained, and it can alter temperature and texture—all of these can be done by well-trained wizards, but the degree and methods vary drastically.

Ordinary Magic Power release is a physiological overflow; it only flows out when it cannot be controlled. When the amount is large, it feels oppressive, but in essence, it is out of control or semi-out of control.

Regulus's scorching heat was not like that; beneath this outward-radiating Magic Power, he saw the texture of will—it had direction, intention, and form.

Dumbledore was no stranger to this; he had seen the boy's Guardian Will used to control Fiendfyre and even attempt to integrate into the Castle's Spatial Structure.

That must be the purest thing in his heart, and his desire to Protection was so strong that it manifested and had an effect on the outside world.

Converge inward, be gentle, be firm, and guard the boundaries.

Now he saw something different.

It bursts outward, expands, and becomes violent, carrying a scorching and restless will.

It's completely different from Protection; one retreats inward to Protection oneself from being swayed by external things, while the other charges outward, crashing into all obstacles in its path.

But looking deeper, these two wills are not contradictory.

Protection requires strength, and strength needs direction. Protection without the support of strength is hollow, and strength without direction is just blindly stumbling around.

A thirteen-year-old child, with two outward manifestations of his will, two complete facets growing from the same core.

This is different from the division brought about by Dark Arts; it comes from the integrity of the will itself, knowing what it wants to Protection and what it needs to release for that purpose.

He had seen too many wizards who were biased towards one side; some only knew how to defend, and would retreat again and again until the very end; others only knew how to attack, and would eventually burn themselves out in the process.

Regulus was different; he could both defend the borders and eliminate any threats beyond them.

A look of satisfaction flashed in Dumbledore's eyes; he felt gratified.

The child went further and more steadily than he had expected.

Blue eyes blinked, and a casual tone asked, "When were you preparing this?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

The old man stared at him for so long, no one knew what he was looking at, and he probably saw something that even he himself didn't know.

Perhaps they were wondering if they liked his outfit, or what he was up to by running out, or maybe they just found it amusing.

The old man often found everything interesting, including a second-year wizard who had completely transformed himself from head to toe knocking out a strong man with a single punch in a tavern, and a lame crow on the windowsill.

He grinned, his chin slightly raised, looking quite smug. "Yesterday."

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded, his white beard twitching slightly.

"Very well prepared," he said, his tone filled with genuine appreciation, his blue eyes crinkling into a smile. "Quite well prepared, even their temperaments have changed."

Although praising a child probably doesn't mean much to them, it's still something that needs to be said.

After praising him, he looked at Regulus's battle attire and joked, "Minerva modified it?"

Regulus glanced down at himself, tugged at his sleeve, and said sincerely, "Professor, your cooking is excellent."

Dumbledore smiled, probably imagining the expression on Minerva when she did this Transfiguration.

Regulus sensed it as soon as he sat down; Muffling Charm had been cast around him, probably the instant he pulled out the chair and sat down.

He leaned forward, resting his arm on the table, his amber pupils meeting blue eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "You said you wanted to see skill—"

Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"I brought intelligence."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly, placed his hands clasped on the table, and became focused.

Regulus didn't beat around the bush, his voice slightly lowering. "I saw him last December."

Dumbledore's gaze behind his Half-moon Spectacles sharpened for a moment.

He knew who they were talking about, and he also knew about the Christmas Banquet: Lestrange Manor, Bellatrix, Fiendfyre, Voldemort himself were present.

He had the information and pieced together the general picture through various channels, but he never got the details that could only be obtained by standing in front of Voldemort.

Regulus began, "Let's pick the important ones."

"Their appearance has changed. Their skin is like wax. From a distance, they still look human, but up close, something feels off. The texture is different from a living person. They look more like... some kind of imitation."

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed slightly.

"And the nose," Regulus gestured to his face, his fingers sliding from the bridge of his nose to the nostrils. "The bridge is still there, but the nostrils are narrowing, the overall shape is flat, like a snake, but not quite."

Dumbledore frowned slightly.

Regulus continued, "The eyes are dark red, with vertical pupils, resembling dark human eyes in normal light, but glowing reddish in the dark."

He paused, then raised his voice slightly. "His Magic Power cannot be detected by conventional perception."

The eyes could see a person standing there, but when the Magic Perception probed, the response was blank; there was nothing in that spot, as if a piece had been scooped out from the Magic Power realm."

Dumbledore lowered his gaze and landed on the table.

He knew how perceptive this child was; for Nicolas to notice him was a testament to his skill.

"Proof of his existence," Regulus's voice continued, "Is a tremor deep within the bones and a response at the level of the soul."

Dumbledore fell silent, not pressing the matter, his brow furrowed deeply, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

Regulus didn't wait for him to speak, and continued, "The way he looked at Bellatrix was like he was looking at a dead object."

He had said the same thing to Slughorn, but at the time he only stated the objective facts without adding any judgment.

You can say a little more to Dumbledore.

"My speculation is that in order to gain some kind of power or reach a certain state, he paid a price: the ability to empathize and connect with people was being lost."

Voldemort shouldn't know, nor would he reveal, what went wrong with his soul, how many pieces it split into, and how he managed to do it.

In fact, Horcruxes are not considered any particularly significant secret in ancient Pureblood families.

<The Secrets of the Darkest Art>, <Life and Death: The Secrets of Horcruxes>, <The Moste Potente Potions>, <The Magick Moste Evile>.

These books all contain records of this, and they are not unique copies; every household has one in their collection.

The concepts, principles, and dangers are known to most people who have read this book, but no one with a sound mind would touch it.

Soul damage is common. Overdoing research, being cursed, or dealing with dark Magic Power for too long can all leave scars on the soul.

But that's called wear and tear, not active cutting.

Actively tearing your soul apart and stuffing the fragments into a container is tantamount to dismantling yourself and then hoping that the disassembled parts can keep the whole machine running.

There are only a handful of wizards with that kind of courage every few centuries.

But he can't say this out loud.

Horcruxes, tearing apart souls to usurp death, are Voldemort's core secret.

At this moment, apart from Voldemort himself, and perhaps Slughorn, no one else knows about this.

It's normal to know about Horcruxes, but knowing that Voldemort created Horcruxes requires explanation.

Dumbledore might connect this to Voldemort in some way that he shouldn't have had.

Therefore, not a single word should be uttered; losing one's humanity is enough; the rest is for the old man to deal with himself.

Dumbledore silent for a long time, then lifted his blue eyes from the table to look at Regulus, before sighing and his white beard trembling slightly.

His eyes held a complex mix of emotions: regret, exhaustion, and heaviness.

He thought of Tom from the past.

The boy who used Magic to retaliate against the children who bullied him in the orphanage, the young man who walked alone in the Hogwarts Corridor carrying books, and the Prefect gave all the professors a polite smile.

At that time, he still had the ability to connect with people, even if it was only superficial or utilitarian, but at least he needed others.

No, it's not needed now.

When a person no longer needs anyone, they are truly all alone.

Loneliness at least allows one to crave companionship; he, however, has lost even the capacity for loneliness.

He tore off the human parts of himself piece by piece, replacing them with power, and then stood at the top of that power, looking down at nothing below.

Regulus waited a moment.

The old man didn't seem inclined to ask any further questions; he simply remained silent, then raised his eyes and looked at him again.

Dumbledore might guess more, that's his business; he might already have some clues, that's also his business.

That's all he could say about Voldemort.

He pulled himself together and continued.

"Voldemort is preparing a Werewolf army. Fenrir Greyback, in North Yorkshire, an abandoned mining village, has thirty or forty Werewolf entrenched there, and they are still biting people to increase their numbers."

He was controlling them with resources and territory—food, daily necessities, Potions to alleviate the pain of transformation—on the condition that they cooperated with the overall plan and did not attack wizarding settlements outside the designated targets."

Dumbledore's brow relaxed.

Voldemort's soul and body were both compromised; that was a core issue. The dozens of Werewolf were merely a tactical deployment, not on the same level.

But the blue-eyed man remained focused, nodding occasionally.

"Lucius Malfoy told me that there are also Inferi. Voldemort is creating Inferi. Little Hangleton massacred a village, the scale of which is unclear. Malfoy said that the village was wiped out overnight."

The Ministry of Magic has been infiltrated; someone has entered the Auror Office; the Dementor are giving in.

Of these pieces of information, some Dumbledore already knew, some were fragments that he was matching with what he already had, and some were new.

He listened quietly until the end, then remained silent for a while.

Something ran past the window and barked twice; it was probably a stray dog, or maybe something else.

Dumbledore looked at Regulus and said gently, "I'm also investigating the matter of the Inferi."