It Begins

The moon sank behind the mountain ridge.

In mid-to-late April in Provence, after midnight, only stars remain in the sky, there is no moonlight, and the outlines of the ridges and hills are all blended into the darkness.

Bellatrix stood on a rocky slope, about two miles from the southern slope of the estate.

The darkness embraced her; her breath was swallowed by the darkness, her heartbeat was enveloped by the darkness, and the barely perceptible layer of Magic Power emanating from her body was assimilated the moment it touched the surrounding darkness.

Her body became part of the darkness in her environment. She liked this state, staying in the darkness, being enveloped by it, and becoming one with it.

She was the only one among the Death Eaters who could apply what her the Master taught her to this extent. Others couldn't learn it, which had nothing to do with talent; it was purely a matter of insufficient faith.

Only when she is truly willing to surrender herself and dissolve the concept of "me" can she become one with the darkness.

Others can't do it; they always have a space in their hearts reserved for themselves. She doesn't. Her "me" is filled with her the Master, leaving no room for anything else.

Three feet in front of her, the moisture in the air was condensing, and fine water droplets were gathering from all directions, crowding together and pressing into a thin mirror about half a person's height.

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The mirror faces the manor, and through this film of water, the limestone main house in the distance and the old trellis on the south slope can be seen clearly.

All the lights in the main house were off, the windows were Black Hole, and the doors were closed.

A small group of dark figures was approaching the protective boundary from the south slope. They were moving very slowly, stopping and starting, indicating that the outer perimeter of Delacroix was making its way inward.

Further away, below the western ridgeline, she spotted another group of people—the core team of a smuggling ring—waiting for the southern slope to create a disturbance before launching their attack.

Bellatrix's gray eyes gleamed briefly in the shimmering light of the misty mirror.

Regulus stayed in the manor for almost three weeks, just staying there obediently, eating breakfast every day, reading, tinkering with his Alchemy gadgets, and having dinner in the evening when the spider came back from the west slope.

Orion didn't order him to leave, and the Black family didn't send any more people over; there were no unnecessary moves, at least she didn't notice.

She made no attempt to conceal anything when checking the immigration records. Since the UK Ministry of Magic had members of the Black family among its staff, checking the records would have been discovered, and they would have inevitably been led astray into the Death Eaters' network.

And then there's Slughorn, that shrewd old fat man. When she asked about Regulus's whereabouts, the old man chuckled and told her without the slightest hesitation, and he'll definitely write to Orion afterward.

So Orion knew, and Regulus knew, that this wasn't some ignorant Pureblood families causing trouble, nor was it some Death Eaters provoking them for no reason; only one person could issue such a high-level command.

The Master is watching.

They chose to stay where they were.

This is obedience.

The Black family bowed their heads under their the Master's gaze. The centuries-old heritage and pride of this ancient Pureblood families chose to accept the power of their the Master.

Bellatrix's lips twitched, causing the muscles under her cheekbone to twitch as well.

She was proud of her the Master; among the entire Death Eaters, she was the only one who would be proud of her the Master.

Dolohov, that old codger, and Lucius, that slippery fellow, or those who only came for the sake of the Pure-bloods banner, they obeyed their the Master out of fear and self-interest.

They won't think for their the Master before the Master even speaks; they can do things, but they always have their own agenda.

No, she gave herself completely; her body belonged to her the Master, and her emotions belonged to her the Master.

She has completed her the Master's task, and her the Master will watch over her.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when my body began to react.

My scalp started to tingle, a thin layer of sweat seeped out from the back of my neck and down my spine, and it felt like something burned between my shoulder blades, causing my shoulders to involuntarily tuck in.

My chest felt tight, my breathing became shallow, as if I was waiting for something, or as if I had already waited for it, and my lower abdomen twitched slightly.

Her legs went weak, and she pressed her legs together tightly inside her robe, her knees pressing against each other, her toes curling up inside her boots.

After a moment, the feeling gradually dissipated.

She loosened her tightly clenched legs, her knees still trembling slightly beneath her robe, her toes relaxing one by one from their curled state, and the soles of her boots pressing firmly onto the ground once more.

My breathing gradually calmed down until my chest no longer felt bloated, and the thin layer of sweat on the back of my neck felt cool in the night breeze.

Then she looked up. Her gray eyes were still the same gray eyes, but a thin layer of water glistened on the whites of her eyes, and her pupils were larger than before, not yet having returned to their previous size.

His eyes weren't unfocused; they were moist, as if they had just been washed, not yet having returned to their usual sharpness.

She stayed for a while longer, with a calm satisfaction, and an unusual sense of relaxation emanated from her.

She continued to look at the mirror. Suddenly, the light from the south-facing direction in the mirror flashed. A spell struck the Protective Charm, exploding into a small patch of golden Spark Spell, which were quickly swallowed by the night.

here we go.

The door to the manor house was open, and Regulus stepped out into the night. Baruk shifted his position on Regulus's shoulder.

The stars overhead were very bright; the moonless sky only made them appear even more dazzling.

The distant mountain ridge outlines a pure black silhouette, where a thin line of light and shadow demarcates from the deep blue of the sky.

All the lights in the main building went out. Dupont and his employees huddled inside, while Felix stood guard on the first floor, and six backup personnel were in their respective positions.

A faint, intermittent sound came from the direction of the southern slope in the distance.

Baruk's spider head turned, looking towards the south slope, its eight small amber eyes gleaming in the darkness, then turned back, its chelicerae clicking.

The Acromantula is a nocturnal animal; it sleeps in its nest during the day and is active at night.

The tribes of Aragog hunt, weave nets, and fight for territory under the moonlight, making noise from dusk until dawn.

Baruk used to be like that too; he would become energetic as soon as it got dark, his eight legs never idle, either hunting or fighting with his own kind.

After following Regulus, he spent all his nights sleeping, burying his spider head in the crack of his pillow and sleeping soundly until dawn.

Occasionally, I would wake up in the middle of the night, look around to make sure Regulus was still there, then turn over and go back to sleep.

At this time of day, if it were in the Forbidden Forest before, it would be running all over the mountain. But now it looks energetic, turning its head back and forth, its left eye looking to the left, its right eye looking to the right, and its two main eyes looking ahead.

Regulus walked towards the west slope without Apparition, his wand tucked into his sleeve pocket, tip resting against his forearm, his light gray robe swaying gently in the night breeze.

After walking for about seven or eight minutes, passing through the pergola area on the west slope, the spider webs of Baruk were faintly visible in the darkness, with silvery-white threads hanging between the pergolas. Without the moonlight, the light was much dimmer.

After walking for another two or three minutes, I reached the protective boundary and stepped out. I could feel a slight resistance as it passed over my skin, and then it was gone.

About 150 meters outside the protective boundary, on the gentle slope of the west side, Delacroix's core team of twelve people were scattered among low bushes and scree slopes.

The robe was a dark color, obscuring the face under the starlight; only the occasional glimmer of light from the tip of the wand could be seen.

Luc Charbonnier crouched at the front, his wand resting on his knees, staring intently at the weakest point in the defenses.

A witch was crouching in the bushes nearby, a blade of grass between her teeth, which she chewed twice and then spat out.

Further on was an old man, leaning against a gray rock, his eyes closed, his lips moving.

A young male wizard nearby couldn't squat properly, constantly shifting his legs, his wand tossing back and forth between his two hands.

Delacroix stood at the very back of the crowd, his position close to several stacks of limestone. He held his wand in his hand; the wand was short and dark in color, clinging to his robes. His gaze went over the heads of the people in front of him.

According to the plan, they would wait for the south side to make the first move, for the defenses to be breached, and for the commotion to start before they would break in from the west.

I can hear the noise, it'll be quick.

Regulus walked out from the direction of the manor, and the first person to see him was the young sorcerer who couldn't stand still.

He switched the wand from his left hand to his right, and just as he was about to switch it back, he caught a glimpse of a light-colored shadow walking towards him from the direction of the manor. It wasn't hiding or speeding up; it was just walking towards him.

He paused for a moment, then poked Luc, who was squatting in front of him, with his wand.

"Someone's coming out." His voice, though lowered, became even shriller.

Luc raised his head, and the others followed suit, with about a dozen pairs of eyes looking towards the manor at the same time.

A figure was walking towards them, still far away, so they couldn't see the details clearly, but the posture was casual, and the wand wasn't in hand.

As we got closer, the starlight became bright enough that we could make out the outlines.

A young boy, with slightly curly black hair, wearing a light-colored robe, was a little over 1.7 meters tall and rather thin. A dark red object was perched on his shoulder, gleaming like scales under the starlight.

Luc turned around and said to the person behind him, "Boss, that young master..."

Delacroix had already seen it. He stepped out of the shadows behind the rock, his gaze passing over the person crouching in front of him and landing on the boy less than thirty meters away.

Did this child run away, or did he come out voluntarily?

Running out indicates trouble within the manor; voluntarily coming out shows a lack of fear.

It's impossible for someone who ran out to walk this slowly, empty-handed; they must have come out voluntarily, alone. Why?

Delacroix's eyes narrowed slightly.

A thirteen-year-old Pureblood families discovers the manor has been Attacks. Instead of hiding in the main house to wait for rescue or running elsewhere, he actually walks out of the Protective Charm all by himself.

There are only two explanations: either he's stupid, or he's confident he can take on twelve adult wizards by himself.

The Heir of the Black family is unlikely to be a fool, but if he is, where does his confidence come from?

Another possibility is that the child is bluffing; the Black family is a big name, and he may think that showing up will scare people away.

If it's just a bluff, it's easy to spot.

Regulus stopped about twenty meters away from them, his voice carrying far in the night, his tone almost excessively relaxed. "Victor Delacroix?"

Delacroix remained silent at the back of the crowd.

The child knew who was coming, what the leader's name was, and that they would make their move tonight.

Someone leaked the information, or the UK woman never intended for the operation to end cleanly from the beginning, or reinforcements from the Black family arrived that he hadn't seen.

Regardless of the possibility, one thing is clear: his intelligence was flawed, and tonight's situation is out of his control.

But since we've already come this far, and things have already started on the south slope, we might as well keep going.

Even with the Black family's influence in the manor, we can still pull off this job if we can take down a thirteen-year-old kid.

Delacroix remained silent and did not show himself, shrinking further behind the rocks.

The core members at the front exchanged a few glances, and someone looked back in Delacroix's direction, but didn't see his reaction.

Some gripped their wands tightly, their thumbs rubbing against the shaft; others hesitated, wondering if they should try to negotiate now that their names had been called out.

A dark red light suddenly shot out from the back row of the crowd opposite.

The Stunning Spell, its trajectory erratic and its speed swift, left a blinding red line in the night as it flew straight toward Regulus's chest.

Regulus's wand had somehow slipped into his hand, and a small, diamond-shaped shield materialized half a meter in front of him. It was palm-sized, semi-transparent, and its silvery-white edges shimmered in the night.

The dark red spell collided with it, exploding into a small ball of Spark Spell before dissipating, along with the small shield.

From the moment the shield forms to the moment it is blocked, there is almost no intermediate process.

That shot seemed to be a signal, and the remaining core members acted simultaneously, firing three spells from different directions, one red and two purple, which intersected and covered most of the angle in front of Regulus.

Three small diamond-shaped shields materialized simultaneously, precisely blocking the paths of the three spells.

Over the next ten seconds, spells flew in from all directions; some were in front, some from the sides, and some stood up from behind rocks and threw them down.

Stunning Spell, Slowing Charm, Petrifying Spell, Reducto —different colors, different speeds—weave together in the night to form a net.

Small diamond-shaped shields flashed around Regulus: to his left front, to his right rear, above his head, to his waist, and in front of his ankles.

Some appeared for only a moment before shattering, while others remained suspended after blocking the attack, only to disperse when the second one struck. The air was illuminated by these lights, creating a play of light and shadow.

Silver-white, dark red, deep purple, and white light exploded alternately, and he stood in the middle, simply turning his wand slightly. With each turn and a slight flick of his wrist, a small shield materialized in the required position.

The night was torn apart, Regulus stood in the center of the light and shadow, exuding elegance and composure.

(And there's more!)