Attack

The night was deep, and the moonlight filtered through the clouds, casting a thin, silvery glow.

Wald and Garm stood on a high slope, using the cover of night to observe the Grafton Manor not far away.

Garm snorted, sniffed the air hard, and after a moment, grinned with a malicious smile.

"It only smells like Muggle inside." He lowered his voice, but couldn't hide his excitement. "Tsk tsk, what a pity, if only we could infect Lucien Grafton himself..."

When he mentioned that name, a greedy glint flashed in his grey-green eyes, like a wolf spotting a lone, fat sheep.

"Besides that the Boy Who Lived and has been in the spotlight since birth, Grafton is the most famous young wizard in recent years. He even received the Order of Merlin, First Class, with a bright future ahead of him." Garm got more and more excited as he spoke, his fangs barely visible at the corner of his mouth. "Isn't it interesting that a young wizard who was given so much hope has become an object of ostracism by the entire wizarding society?"

Upon hearing Garm's words, Wald's temples throbbed, and a headache shot from his temples to the back of his head.

The way he looked at Garm was as if he were looking at a fool, especially when he heard the last sentence, Wald's fist clenched involuntarily, his knuckles turning white.

The difference between directly murdering a wizard and murdering Muggle relative of a wizard is enormous.

And putting everything else aside, how did Gam obtain that Order of Merlin, First Class? Has Garm forgotten?

Wald wanted to ask him directly: You can kill a thousand-year-old Basilisk? You'd be lucky to even escape from its Basilisk.

Garm's words sounded like drunken ramblings, vaguely mentioning something about "infecting him."

This thoughtless suggestion made Wald realize once again why the leader had asked him to come along.

It simply means "keeping an eye on" Garm.

"The leader gave us targets," Wald in a low voice, trying to make his tone sound less like a lecture, "That do not include himself."

Garm gave Wald a cold glance, his grey-green eyes gleaming with a beastly light in the night.

"You dare use your elder brother's name to intimidate me?"

Just from Wald's comment, Garm's temper suddenly flared up.

His jaw was clenched, his knuckles were cracking, his fangs at the corners of his mouth had visibly grown longer, and the hair on his face had become thicker and more lush, as if some wild beast was pushing out from under his skin.

Bathed in moonlight, the face was slowly losing its human form.

"Grafton only has one relative, which saves a lot of trouble, hehe. That woman is quite good-looking, maybe we can have some fun before doing anything..." Garm's voice turned harsh and unpleasant, like a wolf howl mixed with a human voice.

Upon hearing this, Wald frowned. "Garm! Don't do anything unnecessary—"

But before Wald could finish speaking, Garm suddenly sprinted forward, crouching low, and shot off towards the mansion like a cannonball.

"Fool, "Wald cursed under his breath, having no time to think further, and had to follow immediately.

Inside the mansion, two figures darted swiftly through the corridors.

They moved at incredible speeds; an average person would likely only be able to catch two blurry afterimages.

"Damn it, how come this house is so big and so winding?!" Garm's voice came from ahead, clearly angry and agitated.

Upon hearing this, Wald was about to give a casual reply, but he hesitated as the words reached his lips.

It seems... they've traveled a rather long distance?

No matter how large or intricate the design of the mansion, at their speed, they should have reached the source of the smell by now.

Garm's sense of smell was among the best in the camp, and he never made this kind of mistake when tracking a few people.

And no matter how you run through this corridor, it never seems to end; it's like going around in circles...

A faint sense of unease welled up in Wald's heart.

Just as he was about to call out to Garm, he suddenly caught a glimpse of something on the side of the corridor.

It was a medieval suit of armor, entirely silver-white, standing silently on one side of the corridor, its hands empty, holding neither a sword nor a shield, the gaps beneath the visor dark and gaping.

In such an old aristocratic mansion, it is not unusual to display a few sets of antique armor.

Garm and Wald were very fast, but thanks to the Werewolf's excellent dynamic vision, Wald was able to clearly notice the presence of the armor even while running at high speed.

But even after he had run past, his eyes involuntarily twitched slightly, and he inexplicably wanted to turn back and take another look at the armor.

Just as Wald's gaze shifted, a faint red light suddenly appeared on the chest of the armor.

Almost simultaneously, the pale red patterns seemed to come alive, rapidly spreading from the chest to the entire armor. The patterns extended like blood vessels, their light restrained yet dangerous.

Wald's pupils contracted sharply, a sense of foreboding washing over him.

However, in the next instant, the silver-white armor vanished.

Without a sound, without a trace, it simply vanished from the spot without warning.

Immediately, alarm bells rang in Wald's mind.

"Wrong--"

He hadn't finished speaking.

A warm liquid suddenly splashed onto his cheek; it was sticky, scalding hot, and had a rusty, fishy smell.