Harley was a little bewildered, and even felt like laughing.
The Death Eaters didn't dare openly question their leader or let their expressions show anything unusual, but their little eyes were also filled with confusion and disbelief as they watched him.
Boss, are you joking? Or are you throwing the match?
You've built the atmosphere up this far, saying you prepared a big gift for Harley Potter.
We waited for ages, cheering and howling so loudly our throats went hoarse, only for a bunch of Werewolves and Goblins to come charging out.
And they were so weak—not even as strong as us—and Harley Potter had dispatched them just like that?
Are you messing with us? We'd do a better job if we went up there ourselves!
Of course, they would never dare say any of this out loud. The Death Eaters could only grumble to themselves while starting to plan an escape route.
Only Voldemort still stood there, completely unconcerned, gently stroking the Serpentine Fiendfyre coiled around his body.
A cruel smile remained on his face. He didn't even glance at the fallen Werewolves and Goblins.
"Hey, Senior Riddle," Harley couldn't help calling to Voldemort. "What's going on?"
"I haven't had enough fun yet. Why have all the 'gifts' you prepared for me fallen down already?"
"These gifts are far too easy to beat. They're simply too weak. Or were you planning to let me kill them all along?"
"There were at least dozens of Werewolves and more than twenty Goblins. How could you waste them just like that?"
"And they followed you, too. You sacrificed them just like that? Don't you feel you've betrayed their trust?"
"Don't misunderstand. They were meant for you to kill. That was the deal I made with the Werewolves and Goblins."
"And as for