Pruitt's Duel Invitation

Gideon sized Geralt up with a strange look in his eyes.

The story itself has no obvious flaws. When faced with danger and triggering a perilous situation, the protagonist relies on his intelligence or exceptional skills, along with the help of several local companions, to successfully escape.

It's a standard adventure narrative; if I were to elaborate further, it would be enough to fill a book.

These stories might be true for other people, but they're false for Geralt.

A person capable of single-handedly blowing up Castle and smashing half of Dolohov's face with a single punch, needs two months to track down a wounded she-wolf? Does dealing with a Troll require smoking out a cave? Does fighting a siren require two nights of crouching on a cliff?

He'd probably just go straight in, blow up the Troll and the cave together, drag the siren ashore and dry it into a fish jerky—the whole thing would only take a few minutes.

The accomplices, the stakeouts, the bait—it was all made up.

But Gideon didn't expose him; as long as the story was catchy, its truth or falsehood didn't matter.

Read this book,

And my younger brother seemed so happy listening to it.

Fabian believed it wholeheartedly, his eyes shining brightly and his mouth practically agape. He was probably already planning his own adventure to Norse someday.

Dumbledore was wiping his Half-moon Spectacles at the bar. The lenses were already gleaming, but he kept wiping them, a smile playing on his lips.

The old man didn't interrupt at all, but he was clearly listening; he knew, of course, that these adventures were all made up on the spot.

The part about the Frostwolf and the Troll was somewhat imaginative, and the part about the siren was decent even in terms of the bait, but the details were well done. If someone who didn't know the background listened to it, they would probably believe about 70-80% of it.

The writing is decent, and the speaking skills are good.

If a wizard truly had such an experience—traveling to various places, hunting dangerous Magical Creatures, and accumulating firsthand practical knowledge—he would be a rare candidate to Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.

Several Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and only a handful have real combat experience.

A second-grade wizard can fool a seasoned member of the Order of the Phoenix by making up stories; such a skill could probably keep a group of energetic young wizards in check in a classroom.

interesting.

He put his glasses back on his nose, his blue eyes looking over the lenses at the three young men in the corner.

A story in progress, complete in detail, logically consistent, with fingers still gesturing on the table.

One of them listened intently, his body slumped on the table, a wide smile on his face and his eyes shining.

One of them saw through it all but said nothing, sitting quietly with his cup in hand, occasionally offering a comment or nodding.

Aberforth was cursing behind the bar, while a goat was crunching hay in the corner.

The old man's smile deepened; this was exactly what he wanted to see.

As the night deepened, the fire in the fireplace dimmed, casting flickering red shadows on the crooked tables and chairs.

Aberforth sat on a high stool behind the bar, his head drooping little by little, while the goat curled up in the corner, its belly rising and falling rhythmically.

Fabian suddenly put down his cup, leaned back, a smile playing on his lips, and changed his tone. "Seriously, Geralt."

He gestured to his chest with his thumb, then pointed at Gideon: "We both saw you blowing up the Castle from the second floor."

Professor Dumbledore's Patronus had given us advance notice; both the Shield Charm and the Bubble-Head Charm were activated. We waited in the corner tower, and then—boom!

He clicked his tongue and pointed to his eyes. "That white light, the fireball rising, the mushroom-shaped cloud, the Castle was completely torn apart. I thought to myself, 'Won't it blow us up too?'"

Then you single-handedly dominated Dolohov, and that final punch...

He took a deep breath and turned to look at Gideon.

Gideon nodded, becoming more proactive in his response. "Your strength far surpasses ours."

He glanced at Fabian, then at Geralt: "To be honest, I'd like to try it with you, both of us."

He added earnestly, "May I ask your advice?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow, looking at the two of them.

The brothers' faces still showed signs of fatigue, but their complexion improved considerably after drinking the medicine, though the wrinkles that Aberforth had pulled out of their robes were still there.

Their eyes were bright, and their posture changed from relaxed during their casual conversation to eager and ready to try.

It's perfectly natural for young people to get together, witness impressive achievements, and want to try them out; this attitude isn't offensive.

Fabian and Gideon are undoubtedly excellent.

A founding member of the Order of the Order of the Phoenix, capable of facing Death Eaters head-on, personally trained by Moody, his Magic abilities are among the top tier of his peers.

But he's only considered averagely good; he's not really in that particular field.

His gaze passed over the two brothers and landed on Dumbledore by the bar.

The old man's white beard gleamed faintly in the firelight, his Half-moon Spectacles rested on his nose, and his blue eyes seemed to be looking somewhere absentmindedly, though he was probably listening to everything.

Such figures have only appeared a handful in two centuries; Grindelwald is one, Voldemort is the third.

If we insist on ranking him, then including himself, there are four.

This is only in Europe; the world is so big, who knows what kind of people are hiding in some corner of the world.

He didn't know how Dumbledore perceived him.

Perhaps the old man sees him in a similar light to how he sees the two brothers: he has talent, but it's too early for him.

Perhaps even higher.

Grindelwald may have seen further; his trip to Germany made him realize that the old wizard imprisoned in Nurmengard had foreseen something through Prophecy decades ago and had arranged for Freya and the Abyssal Slumber in advance.

To someone who can foresee the future, his current position is probably just the starting point.

In the fifties, Moody and Dolohov are undoubtedly at the highest level.

He felt that his current skill level was on par with theirs, or even surpassed theirs. If they really went all out, he might get injured, but he was sure he wouldn't be the one to die.

But it can't compare to Dumbledore's generation. I haven't fought against the older generation, so I don't know what that level is like.

However, there was nothing to be proud of, so he put his thoughts aside.

"Tomorrow," Regulus looked at the two brothers, a smirk playing on his lips, "You two should take it easy for now. Don't blame it on being out of form if you lose."

Fabian grinned and nudged Gideon's shoulder with his elbow. "Alright! I'll be in top form tomorrow morning!"

Gideon laughed and nodded.

On the second floor of Hog's Head Inn, in the same room as last time, the window faces the back alley, and you can see the roof of Honeydukes in the distance.

The door opened, and a few small gray shadows darted from the corner of the wall to under the bed, the rustling sound of claws scratching at the wood echoing in the darkness.

There are new residents.

Regulus pointed his finger, unleashing the Second Form of the Severing Charm.

Silent, lightless ripples spread from his fingertips, breaking down all the rats, insects, and spiderwebs accumulated in the room into extremely fine powder. The powder sank to the ground and was swept away by his Cleaning Charm.

Another Transfiguration spell was added to fill in the dents in the mattress, the springs conformed to the spine, Temperature-Maintaining Charm was applied to adjust the temperature, and Barrier Charm was used to seal the cracks in the window frame to block the night wind.

He leaned against the headboard, his long, silvery-white hair spread out on the pillow, his amber pupils gleaming faintly in the darkness.

The room was quiet; the muffled snoring of the goats downstairs came through the floor.

Saving the Prewett brothers was his goal, but he could choose the method.

They could totally change their tactics. Moody could lead the way, he could play forward, Dumbledore could cover from behind. It would be too easy to get the players out of the way.

So what if there are traps in the Castle? We can just keep pushing our way in.

With three people working together, clearing the room, finding the person, and bringing them out, even Voldemort wouldn't be able to handle this setup.

Dumbledore also had the ability to remain undetected; if he didn't want to show himself, he could simply follow quietly.

Quieter, more secure, more discreet.

It would indeed be foolish to venture alone into a Castle full of traps. His earlier analysis was correct: home advantage, unknown variables, and uncontrollable risks.

But there were two options: three people working together to go in or one person standing outside and blowing up the Castle. He chose the latter.

Saving lives is just a pretext; what we're really doing today is showing our capabilities.

In front of Dumbledore and Moody, he created an explosion of that magnitude using three basic spells, allowing them to see the whole thing from beginning to end, understand every step, yet still be shocked by the result.

Dolohov would go back and report to Voldemort, Voldemort would then know that a young wizard with white hair and vertical pupils had used some kind of explosive Magic that he couldn't name.

Moreover, this wizard was wicked; he smashed a person's face a second before retreating and then performed a noble salute.

Moody remembered the texture of his Magic Power and his fighting style. The two brothers witnessed the whole thing: the Castle was blown up, and Dolohov was humiliated to the face during his retreat.

Just now downstairs, he demonstrated the principles of this Magic to the two brothers step by step.

The Shield Charm reverses to form a sphere, the Airflow Charm infuses air, compresses, and releases it—each step is laid out on the table, each step a basic incantation.

Knowing the steps and being able to reproduce them are two different things; even if you understand them, you can't practice them.

They lack sufficient total Magic Power, precise control, and mental skills; they don't possess Bellatrix and Betelgeuse.

The most transparent disclosure, the most insurmountable gap.

This is Saiph, bringing the results down and making its brilliance visible.

Make sure everyone sees clearly how each step is done, and after seeing it clearly, they realize they can't do it themselves.

The Death Eaters were too far away to see the whole thing. Even if they had stood by, the barrier to this combination Magic wasn't the incantation itself, and they certainly couldn't have imagined that air could be used in this way.

Regulus wouldn't overestimate their physical reasoning.

Moody's probably understood most of it, but he didn't understand why the last blow was so powerful.

Dumbledore certainly understood everything, including the part about the willpower enhancement, but his thought process was completely different; he wouldn't have thought of such a combination.

The two brothers went through several levels of understanding before they knew the Castle had been bombed and before they knew how it was done, but no matter which level they reached, the conclusion was the same: they couldn't do it.

Everyone saw it, everyone knew it, but no one could do it.

That's enough.

Today, I've been showcasing myself from beginning to end. To say there was no boasting wouldn't be accurate; there was a bit of it, but it was mostly to make that star shine.

He gathered his thoughts and closed his eyes.

Deep within my mind, the Star Orbit Meditation operates automatically, and Magic Power circulates within my body, replenishing what I've consumed today.

The six stars each occupy their proper place, with Betelgeuse burning fiercely in the upper left corner, Bellatrix standing steadily in the center, and the three stars arranged in a line Orion's Belt.

In the bottom right corner, the position of Saiph was still dark, but the feeling of heaviness and pressure was more obvious than during the Werewolf camp incident.

A faint, bluish-white light flickered in the depths of my consciousness; it was so weak that it needed time to develop.

The clock tower in Hogsmeade struck three times in the distance; it was three in the morning.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

sleep.

(And there's more!)