Guard

Grafton Manor.

The scene before him made Wald's eyes widen in horror.

The vanished silver-white armor had reappeared behind Garm, and Garm's figure stopped abruptly.

Because the entire right arm of the armor had pierced through Garm's lower back and emerged from his abdomen.

The warm liquid that splashed onto Wald's face was Garm's blood.

If it were a human, even if this attack didn't kill them instantly, it would incapacitate them.

But Werewolf are born with a physique far stronger than ordinary people. Garm did not fall due to the injury. Instead, the intense pain aroused his most primal ferocity.

A roar that sounded inhuman erupted from his throat, and he twisted his hands behind his back, reaching out to grab the piece of armored arm that was piercing through him, trying to break it off.

But even as he reacted, the armor continued to move.

The pale red patterns on the fingernails continued to glow, the light flowing along the silvery-white nail surface.

The armored arm suddenly yanked upwards with astonishing force, tearing all the way up from where Garm's chest and abdomen met.

"Cough!!"

Garm spat out a mouthful of blood, his body lifted into the air by the force.

The sternum and ribs made a series of cracking sounds, like someone crushing a handful of dry branches in the dark.

His crossed arms were snapped off as the armor ripped through him, his forearms folding at an unnatural angle, followed by his neck and then his skull.

One sound followed another, but the intervals were extremely short, almost forming a single, crisp crack.

When the sound stopped, Garm was almost torn in two; his mangled body slid off his armored arms and crashed to the floor with a dull thud.

All of this happened too fast.

It happened so fast that Wald didn't even have time to help, so fast that his body hadn't even had time to adjust its posture before it was all over.

No, it's beyond saving!

Once the thought crossed his mind, Wald dared not hesitate for a moment. He turned and ran, putting almost all his strength into his legs, and dashed back the way he came.

Just as Wald turned to run away, the silver-armored man raised his empty left hand.

His palm was aimed at Wald's retreating figure.

Intense light condensed in his palm, like a miniature sun compressed to its limit, and the surrounding air trembled slightly, distorted by the heat.

The next instant, the beam of light was about to be fired, blasting the fleeing intruder into nothingness.

But just as it was about to pull the trigger, the armor suddenly paused, turned its head slightly, as if it had received some signal.

After a moment, the intense red light on the armor gradually faded, no longer burning brightly, like a hunting dog being pulled back by its master.

The magic in his palm dissipated, and the intense light vanished without a trace.

It was only a fleeting pause; Wald's figure had already disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

The armor showed no inclination to pursue; instead, a magical flame surged from the right gauntlet that pierced through Garm's corpse.

Flames swept across the ground and walls, precisely burning the blood and flesh that splattered everywhere, yet leaving no scorch marks on the walls.

After the fire, the stone was as smooth as before, and only a very faint smell of burning remained in the air, which was quickly dispersed by the night wind.

After cleaning up the scene, the patterns on the chest of the armor lit up again, and a square split open in the palm of the hand. The square, like a small coffin, took in the two pieces of the Werewolf's corpse on the ground.

"Click-click--"

The armored figure walked back to its original position and stood still, as if nothing unusual had happened.

The mansion returned to silence.

On the other side.

Wald ran wildly through the mansion, his footsteps pounding on the floor, his breathing heavy like that of a wild beast driven to the brink of destruction.

He dared not look back, nor dared he stop; only one thought remained in his mind: to leave this place.

But the more he ran, the colder his heart became.

With his escape, the mansion seemed no longer concealed.

The ground beneath my feet was moving, the ceiling above my head was moving, and the walls on both sides were moving as well.

They are Transfiguration, extending, and rearranging.

Although they were running forward, it felt like they were struggling in a living maze.

The end of the corridor always leads backward, and behind every corner is always a new corner.

At that moment, how could Wald not understand?

This seemingly ordinary Muggle mansion has been subjected to extremely sophisticated magical modifications.

From the moment he and Garm stepped into the mansion, they had already entered a "trap."

Wald tried to smash into a seemingly ordinary glass window with all his might, using all the brute strength of Werewolf. However, the glass did not budge under his full force, not even a crack. Instead, he was shaken so badly that his shoulders and arms went numb and he staggered back several steps.

Wald could only run desperately down the corridor, trying to find the entrance he had sneaked in through.

The only option is to keep running; if you don't run, you die.

Suddenly, light appeared at the end of the corridor.

The light wasn't strong, but Wald's pupils contracted and his steps slowed.

He saw a figure standing in the light at the end of the corridor.

The man's robes were damp and dripping water.

The moment Wald saw the man, he also smelled a surge of magical energy, so cold it almost brought his mind to a standstill.

He guessed the identity of the visitor almost instantly; fear gripped him at the same time as that name.

Wald stiffly raised his gaze, unable to see the other person's face clearly, only a pair of deep, dark, lifeless eyes.

Those eyes were like two bottomless wells, or like suppressed boiling anger.

Wald's gaze was drawn in, and he could never look away.

He suddenly felt his mind becoming rigid, and every muscle in his body felt as if it were being immersed in ice water, rapidly losing sensation.

His fingers were immobile, his legs were immobile, and even the fear itself was slowly solidifying, as if something was starting from deep within his body, turning him inch by inch into stone.

The deathly stiffness suddenly stopped, Wald instinctively wanted to beg for mercy, but the memories, including this one, had already been extracted and browsed.