"Crack."
"Crack."
"Crack."
In the silent forest, the only sound was the whip striking flesh.
Two people in the wizarding group were trembling. One was Lucius, and the other was Barty Crouch Jr.
The former was afraid; the latter was excited.
"Master... Master..."
Fenrir Greyback, leader of the werewolf pack, could no longer manage to say anything else.
He seemed dazed, repeating those two words over and over.
"Dark Lord, if you keep going, he might actually die."
Old Nott couldn't help speaking up. He was the only one there who dared to say that.
Voldemort turned to look at him. His calm, unreadable eyes made Old Nott lower his head in fright.
"If he dies, a new leader will emerge through a duel."
Voldemort looked away and spoke coldly.
The whip of black Fiendfyre kept flying through the air, but the pack grew excited at his words.
"Master... What did I... do wrong...?"
The foolish Greyback had finally thought to ask.
The Fiendfyre slithered back into the wand like a serpent, and Voldemort looked down at the werewolf leader sprawled on the ground.
"Why didn't you go to the Forbidden Forest to look for me?" Voldemort asked coldly.
"There are... vampires there, Master."
One had to admire the werewolves' ability to recover. Within seconds, he was no longer panting as hard as before.
"Whoosh... Crack."
Fiendfyre shot out of the wand again and viciously "licked" Greyback.
"Ah!"
Greyback, who had just started to recover, let out a loud cry, his body convulsing violently.
That blow shouldn't have been enough to make him convulse. It was only because he'd been beaten so badly before that his body had developed an instinctive reaction.
"That is no excuse, Greyback. If that's all there is to it, your pack will have a new