The Old Man Has It Tough

Regulus wasn't surprised.

A village was massacred, and all the living people disappeared. Even if Voldemort cleaned up the mess, it was impossible to completely erase something of this scale.

The Muggle government would treat it as a serious case and investigate it. Even if the Ministry of Magic is slow to react, it would at least have to send someone, even if it's just a formality.

Not to mention the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore wouldn't miss any unusual event involving mass deaths. As long as he was tracking Voldemort, they would find him sooner or later.

"Little Hangleton, and two other places north of Yorkshire," Dumbledore said seriously, not treating Regulus like a child, "Has seen wizards and Muggle disappear in the last three months."

The Ministry of Magic's records have been altered; the numbers don't match.

He pulled a small notebook from the inside pocket of his travel robe. It had a leather cover and was quite old. He opened it and pointed to a particular page.

"I'm going to the Yorkshire border next week, to see an area with a high incidence of missing persons cases."

Then he looked up at Regulus, his gaze inviting, but without saying it directly.

Regulus grinned, a rather fierce grin, as if to say, "Since I'm just idling around anyway, I might as well find something to do."

He picked up the glass of Ale that had been pushed to the corner of the table, raised it towards the person opposite him, and then tilted his head back and gulped it all down.

Dumbledore looked at Regulus's "I've already drunk it, what are you going to do about it?" expression, his white beard twitched, and a hint of helplessness flashed in his eyes, but he said nothing.

Since they've already drunk it, we can't just take it out of them.

Actually, yes.

Regulus placed the empty cup back on the table, leaned back, and narrowed his amber pupils as he looked at Dumbledore, his arm draped over his side. "How was that? My skills?"

Dumbledore's beard twitched again, and his blue eyes curved into two crescent moons. "Of course, impressive."

This child came as Geralt, with a different appearance and altered Magic Power. It even seems his fighting style has changed, since wizards who throw punches are a rare sight.

Moreover, he not only brought intelligence, but he himself was also a wizard with combat abilities.

Now that we're ready, there's no need to treat him like a child who needs to be protected anymore, and some things can be explained.

"You've probably guessed some of what's going on with me," Dumbledore said.

Regulus composed himself and listened quietly.

"Voldemort is gathering war resources and preparing for all-out war. I'm tracking these clues to figure out his troop composition and deployment direction."

In some places, we found things; in others, the trail went cold; and in still others, it was too late when I arrived.

His voice was slow and his tone was calm. "Last week in Derbyshire, a Half-bloods wizard's house was Attacks, and he was already gone when I arrived."

The neighbor said that three days ago, several people wearing black robes passed through the village.

Dumbledore said he was in contact with all sorts of people: retired Auror, wizards from all over the world, those who were capable and willing; some agreed, some hesitated, and some declined.

He went to Edinburgh and found a herbalist who was well-known and had a wide network of connections in the area.

We chatted all afternoon and drank three pots of tea. The other party said they would consider it, but I haven't received a reply yet.

He mentioned that several young wizards had joined; they were capable and enthusiastic, but lacked experience. He was trying to find ways to assign them tasks that would provide training but wouldn't lead to their deaths.

"Last month in Wales, a retired Auror, over sixty years old, told me he was too old to fight anymore. He agreed to help keep an eye on things in northern Scotland, but made it clear he wouldn't be on the front lines."

Dumbledore smiled, a gentle light flashing in his blue eyes. "There are also some people who, after meeting me once, never contacted me again."

He said sporadic Attacks by Death Eaters were increasing, and threats against Muggle-born wizarding families were escalating.

The Ministry of Magic's response was so slow it was almost like they were just going along with it. By the time they sent people to the scene, the Attacks had already left. By the time they completed the formalities and opened a case, a new wave of Attacks had begun.

"The week before last in Nottingham, a Muggle-born witch received a threatening letter. An owl flew directly to her bedroom window, and the letter contained only one sentence: You are next."

Her parents were terrified and wanted to move, but didn't know where to go. Someone from the Ministry of Magic came, took a statement, and then... that was it.

He said he was trying his best to stop it or clean up the mess, but there were never enough people.

Often, when he arrived at the scene, all he could do was move the victims to a safe place and then continue on to the next stop.

After listening, Regulus had a general idea of what was going on, which was roughly the same as what he already knew.

During this period Dumbledore was actively working, personally recruiting people, building resistance forces, tracking Voldemort's strategic plans, and dealing with ongoing Attacks.

He had already sensed the approaching war and was taking it seriously.

But it was still too slow.

On Voldemort's side, the Werewolf army is expanding, Giant are making contact, Inferi are accumulating, Dementor are loosening their grip, the number of Death Eaters is increasing, and key departments of the Ministry of Magic have been infiltrated.

These actions began several years ago, and a complete war machine is gradually taking shape.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was still trying to persuade people to join, one by one. Those who hesitated remained hesitant, while those who refused simply cut off contact.

The Order of the Phoenix is still in its early stages. It has some core members, but few who can get things done, and even fewer who can fight.

We lack manpower, resources, and time.

He's almost a hundred years old, always out and about, and it seems like he's the only one busy fighting Voldemort.

There is an inherent time lag in war preparations.

Voldemort had been secretly plotting for years, and by the time Dumbledore realized he had to act, the enemy was already almost ready.

That's how it is now.

Dumbledore and Voldemort were certainly no different in ability, but the difference in their methods was obvious.

Voldemort was driven by fear and self-interest, which was efficient and effective, but at the cost of a lack of genuine loyalty.

Dumbledore gives everyone the freedom to choose, respects hesitation, and accepts rejection; the price is that you're never fast enough.

Both approaches have their own logic and their own results.

The First Wizarding War lasted eleven years, with the full-scale war continuing for six years, from the mid-1970s to the early 1980s, resulting in a large number of deaths.

The Order of the Phoenix didn't win at all; it was Voldemort himself who ended the war. He was defeated, defeated by a baby.

If it weren't for that baby, how long would this war have lasted?

Can Dumbledore's approach lead to victory?

Regulus narrowed his eyes.

We might win, but the cost will be greater than anyone imagines.

Fortunately, those are all things that haven't happened yet. Some Sickle be changed, and some cannot.

But no matter what, the old man has had a tough time.

Dumbledore closed the notebook, his blue eyes fixed on Regulus, his gaze still gentle.

He didn't ask Reguler what he was there for, nor how long he planned to stay outside.

This child is very decisive, ever since the first day he entered the school. He does what he wants to do, when he wants to do it, and to what extent he wants to do it. He never needs anyone else to worry about him.

He was willing to have him by his side, whether he was called Regulus or Geralt, he was happy to take him along.

It wasn't a deliberate cultivation or a purposeful attempt to win them over.

It's like an old wizard who has traveled for many years, seeing a talented, capable, thoughtful young man on the right path, and naturally wanting him to see and experience more.

You have to walk your own path, but it's always beneficial to observe how others have walked theirs before you start.

Dumbledore took a Pocket Watch from his pocket, opened the cover, and glanced at it.

A hint of pleasure flashed in her blue eyes, and her tone became lighter. "Ah, there's one more guest, they've arrived."

Regulus turned to look at the doorway.

The door opened, and a cold draft rushed in, carrying with it the smoke and smell of stew from inside the house.

The flames in the fireplace were lowered by the wind, and a gap was torn in the layer of grayish-blue smoke on the ceiling before slowly closing again.

The reaction in the tavern was faster than Regulus's gaze.

There were two people talking quietly at the bar, but their voices stopped the moment the door opened.

One of them put down his cup, stood up, and walked straight to the back door. The other, who was slower to react, stood up and followed after seeing who it was.

The two left in a hurry, leaving more than half a glass of wine in their glasses. They didn't look back or pay the bill.

The bartender didn't stop him at all; he froze, his hands stopping, his whole body rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the doorway.

Regulus attached his perception to it.

The newcomer possessed a powerful and solid Magic Power aura, which seemed to sink deeply into the air, yet there was no sense of deliberate suppression; it was simply a matter of ordinary concealment.

It's completely different from the crude and scattered Magic Power in the tavern.

It has undergone formal training, has a strong sense of control, clearly comes from an academic background, is neat and meticulous, but has a rough texture.

The person has already entered.

Early forty, of medium height, with broad shoulders and a sturdy build.

His face had sharp features, high cheekbones, and his skin bore the marks of wind erosion; it was rough, red, and had large pores.

The short, stiff stubble around his chin had turned somewhat white, and his sideburns were also white.

His eyes were dark, a grayish-brown with a hint of brown, and his gaze swept in with wariness.

First, I scanned the entire tavern—the entrance, the bar, every table, every aisle, the back door—before finally settling on this table in the corner.

He wore a thick, old leather robe, over which he wore a hooded coarse cloth coat, with patches of leather of similar color but different texture at the elbows.

The boots were covered in stale mud, which had hardened into dark clumps.

A magic wand was tucked into his waistband, its handle protruding, just within reach of his right hand hanging down.

His overall demeanor is very distinctive: sharp, capable, and taciturn.

He walked to the corner, went to the table, and glanced at Regulus.

His brow furrowed slightly, and his gray-brown eyes lingered for a moment on the silver-white hair and amber vertical pupils. His expression was unfriendly, but not hostile; he was simply scrutinizing her.

The young wizard sat in a very relaxed and casual posture, with one arm draped over the empty chair next to him and the other hand resting on the table, both far from his wand.

His entire body was radiating scorching Magic Power, and he had no intention of stopping it; it was deliberately being released.

Regulus also looked over.