Bellatrix: If He's Dead, He Wasn't Good Enough

Delacroix hadn't witnessed much of the infighting within UK families, but he had heard of it.

Within Pureblood families, anything is possible for inheritance rights, property, or the custody of a particular child.

He was well aware of the Black family's reputation in UK: old, Pure-bloods, wealthy, powerful, and also known for producing many madmen.

The guy in front of me looks pretty crazy, a handsome madman.

But madness and stupidity are two different things.

She knew his name, knew his business, could find this place, and could arrange an appointment with him, which meant she had made thorough preparations before coming.

She's using external forces to purge her own family members, letting a completely unrelated third party do it. The method isn't ugly; it's even quite reasonable.

As for traps, he couldn't think of any. He had no conflict with the Black family, much less with the Lestrange family.

So this woman came to him because she really needed him.

Bellatrix offered no further explanation, provided no additional information, and made no defense of her actions. She simply sat there, letting Delacroix stare at her with a cold expression.

She was waiting for him to figure it out on his own, or rather, she was waiting for him to think he had figured it out.

People like Victor Delacroix don't need to be persuaded by others; they can piece together the information themselves, find a reasonable explanation, and then convince themselves. This kind of deal is worth doing.

She only needs to present the necessary information, and leave the rest to his imagination.

Delacroix was indeed thinking about it; he knew just as much about the estate as Bellatrix, and had coveted it for more than a year or two.

Mooncalf pelts are in consistently high demand on the Black Market of Turkey and North Africa; the liquid from Horned Beast horns is worth more per ounce than the same weight of gold; and the symbiotic scales of Vine Snake are universally acknowledged as priceless and unavailable throughout the Mediterranean Sea smuggling network.

He hadn't taken action before, not because he didn't want to—he wanted to all too much.

The Black family has no direct armed forces in France, but their influence in international Pure-blood Circle covers half of Europe.

Whether the UK Ministry of Magic will intervene after he's damaged the Black family's industries is unknown, but the Black family will certainly retaliate.

There are also political costs, international disputes, and the possibility of the French Ministry of Magic being forced to intervene—none of these are within his risk appetite.

But now there's a woman from the Black family using Black's name to ask him to do it, which means that someone from the Black family has a vested interest in this matter and won't pursue it fully afterward.

By speaking from Black's perspective, she essentially laid the Black family's internal conflicts on the table.

He took action, ostensibly at the request of someone within the Black family, so even if the truth came out later, he could claim he was misled.

Delacroix looked at the woman opposite him, his tone elegant yet tinged with curiosity. "Miss Black, if I may ask, what if the child dies?"

Something flashed quickly in Bellatrix's eyes; hatred was there, of course, but it wasn't just simple hatred, there was something else.

The Master only asked one question, "How is Regulus doing lately?" and nothing more.

But she knew what her the Master meant, knew her the Master's attitude towards Regulus, and that the child was valuable and had potential in her the Master's eyes, perhaps more promising than any of the young wizards recruited.

The Master wanted her to see for herself whether the Dark Enlightenment had taken root in Regulus, and whether he would not hesitate to kill when faced with the need to do so.

This probing was to see this clearly; with Delacroix's men pressing forward, Regulus would have to make a choice under pressure.

If he didn't kill when he should have, it proves that the Dark Enlightenment wasn't rooted in him, or wasn't rooted deep enough.

She hid those things behind her gray eyes, and her bright red lips parted slightly. "That means he wasn't good enough."

Delacroix's eyes flickered slightly; he saw a fleeting glimpse of hatred in her eyes.

It's confirmed: internal family strife.

This woman hated the thirteen-year-old heir so much that she was willing to let outsiders do it, and she didn't care whether he lived or died.

UK.

He picked up the wine glass and took a sip. He couldn't tell whether he felt contempt or emotion.

UK Pureblood families, centuries-old brands, when they fight amongst themselves, are no different from the Mediterranean Sea smugglers. Similar things happen all over the world, but it's rare to see them as openly as the UK.

His smile remained unchanged, "My condition is—"

He was only halfway through his sentence when Bellatrix interrupted him, without the slightest hint of bargaining. "The Magical Creatures and valuables in the manor are yours. All the Magical Creature, the wine reserves in the cellar, wand materials—take as much as you can."

"Furthermore," Bellatrix continued, "Once it's done, the UK can open a channel for your business—a smuggling route, Black Market access, and regulatory facilitation."

Delacroix raised an eyebrow and then raised his glass.

He knew who the UK were talking about. He followed news from UK, knew that a wizard calling himself the Dark Lord was rising in Britain, knew about the Death Eaters, and knew the position of the UK Ministry of Magic.

That's a UK matter; he doesn't care who wins or loses, he only cares about the UK market.

The UK Ministry of Magic has much stricter controls on smuggling than France, which has prevented his business from getting in. The offer of someone helping him open that door is very attractive.

But the conditions were too good, so good that he didn't believe it, so good that he had to figure out what was hidden in between, so good that believing her completely would be foolish.

A man who has been in the France smuggling business for twenty years wouldn't risk his life and fortune on a UK woman he'd just met.

Regardless of whether her last name Black or Lestrange, or even if her last name Delacroix, he wouldn't believe her if she made such a condition.

The fact that she so readily laid out her conditions suggests either that her motives were deeper than he had imagined, or that she had no intention of fulfilling them at all—dead people don't need to keep their promises.

However, he had already planned ahead. If things were exposed, he could throw this woman out as a scapegoat. It was she who negotiated in the name of the Black family, it was she who provided the information, and it was she who set the conditions.

He was merely a third party misled by members of the Black family, accepting a business commission from the Black family in the belief that it was a legitimate transfer of assets, never expecting it to involve internal family strife.

If the Black family wants to investigate, they should first find the traitor within their own family.

He certainly wasn't going to be foolish enough to believe her and rush in. He had his own people who would first scout out the area and confirm the actual situation at the manor.

How much was the Protective Charm reduced? Were there any traps or other arrangements? Just how good is that thirteen-year-old heir?

He needs to have all the intelligence himself before deciding how much effort to put in or how much risk to take.

If the scout returns and reports that the Protective Charm are still ridiculously thick, then stall until the woman can't wait to take action herself, or until the conditions become more favorable.

If the defenses have indeed been lowered, there are no traps targeting them, and the heir looks like an ordinary thirteen-year-old child, then do it. Mobilize manpower, act quickly, and withdraw immediately after obtaining the goods.

He glanced at Bellatrix.

The woman probably anticipated his thoughts; their tacit understanding of mutual calculation was stronger than any written agreement. Both knew what the other was thinking, and neither needed to spell it out.

So he prepared an insurance policy.

Outside the private room, on the windowsill at the corner of the Corridor, sat an inconspicuous oil lamp.

The base of the oil lamp contained a small silver ball, about the size of a thumb, an alchemical artifact from France, capable of completely recording sound and images within a radius of twenty meters.

His men had been placed there before he entered the private room.

This little ball will record every detail of today's meeting with this woman. A woman who calls herself Black came to his door, offering information, setting conditions, and asking him to do this.

If the Black family comes after him, he can hand over the ball.

There are other features as well; the recorded content can be copied as many times as needed.

If the woman's UK side turns its back on her words and fails to keep its promises, that's fine too.

The very fact that a Black family woman with ties to UK influence was plotting against her family's businesses on France soil was itself a bargaining chip.

I'll sell it to anyone— the French Ministry of Magic, the UK Ministry of Magic, or the rest of the Black family.

Delacroix replied with elegance and composure, "I need to confirm the situation. Mobilizing manpower also takes time. I'll let you know the specific time once I'm ready."

Bellatrix nodded, without asking any further questions, urging her, or making any other remarks.

She hadn't touched the glass of wine in front of her since she sat down, and Delacroix noticed but said nothing.

Bellatrix watched his refined gentlemanly demeanor, and a muscle under her eye seemed to be touched by some thought, pulling upwards slightly, which looked somewhat out of place on her sharp face.

She didn't care whether Delacroix lived or died; in her eyes, this France smuggler was just a disposable tool.

If she succeeds, the Black family's revenge will kill them; if she fails, Regulus will kill them; and even if they escape, she will take care of the rest herself.

She knew Regulus would win; she had already proven his strength to her at the Christmas Banquet.

But Delacroix's men didn't need to win; they just needed to force Regulus to choose between killing one person and letting one go. She just needed to see that choice.

As for the UK's promise, the dead are not required to fulfill their promises.

Delacroix placed his wine glass back on the table, stood up, straightened the front of his robe, lightly pressed his finger on the silver brooch at his collar, and gave Bellatrix a slight bow, offering a gentlemanly farewell.

Then he turned and walked out of the private room, his footsteps echoing on the wooden stairs before disappearing.

Bellatrix sat by the window, motionless, quietly watching what was happening outside.

The fishing boats in the harbor were still rocking gently, and the seagulls had already flown away from the pier.

Then she stood up, walked out of the private room, and glanced at the oil lamp as she passed the window at the corner of the Corridor.

Half of his face twitched.