The Gathering of Dark Forces Once More

Fishein Wilderness.

Deep in the wilderness, a fissure, almost swallowed by moss and black rocks, extends downwards, leading to a forgotten underground cave.

The cave is not natural.

The rock face bears the marks of being burned, cut, and shaped by magic. The runes have long since weathered away, yet they still slowly emanate a chilling magical power, like the breath of some enormous creature.

This is one of the temporary meeting places of the Walpurgis Council.

A flame burned slowly in the center of the stone platform. It was not an ordinary fire, but a compressed ghost flame that provided only light and emitted almost no heat. The firelight illuminated the cave in an intermittent manner, casting four figures onto the rock wall, making them appear long, narrow, and distorted.

Herpo stood at the position closest to the entrance.

He had just returned from the outskirts of Hogwarts, his cloak still damp with the lingering snowmelt and the distinctive scent of the Forbidden Forest. He didn't speak immediately, but instead raised his hand and tossed a piece of obsidian engraved with intricate patterns into the flames.

The flame trembled slightly.

Immediately, the outline of Hogwarts appeared as a distorted projection—layers upon layers of protective barriers, constantly reinforced magical nodes, and faintly visible counter-arrays.

"It's even more secure than I expected."

Herpo finally spoke, his voice low and restrained, "Not only the castle itself, but the surrounding geography has also been reorganized. Dumbledore is building Hogwarts' defenses to the highest wartime standards."

Voldemort stood in the shadows on the other side.

Summoned by Herpo, he specially put aside all his affairs and rushed over. His black robe was spotless, but his aura was colder than ever before.

Since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, while Herpo has been busy scouting Hogsmeade Village and gathering information on Hogwarts' defenses, Voldemort has also been busy.

Aside from the assassination attempt on Amelia, Voldemort was constantly busy orchestrating terrorist attacks across the country by Dementor, Ogre, Banshee, and Death Eaters, forcing the wizarding community to submit to the shadow of terror. At the same time, he was also gathering information about the Elder Wand and using the Imperius Curse to expand his manpower, leaving him with almost no free time.

"We have more to worry about than just Dumbledore," Voldemort uttered the name coldly, his Snake Eyes narrowing slightly, his tone revealing impatience for the first time, "And Skylar Malfoy too."

Morgan le Fay stood on the other side of the flames, her expression calm and sharp. One hand rested on the tip of her staff, as if weighing something.

"The Sleeping Dragon Society has become too involved," she said. "Our original plan to control the Ministry of Magic use its power to weaken Hogwarts is now difficult to achieve."

Barbarossa snorted heavily, slamming his flask on the stone platform with a dull thud. He was in a bad mood. A few days earlier, they had unexpectedly encountered Dumbledore and his expeditionary force in the wilderness, resulting in a skirmish. His pirate crew had suffered countless casualties, and even Ge Lang, one of the Lords of the Seven Seas, had died a heroic death.

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the three men, filled with barely suppressed rage. "Morgan, your Shadow of the Magic Dragon have been completely wiped out; Voldemort, you have utterly lost your Werewolf army, and I heard you recently lost two core Death Eaters; and my men also lost more than a third of their numbers a few days ago."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "Furthermore, on the other side, Dumbledore has joined forces with the International Aurors and the North America wizards, increasing their strength. And that Malfoy kid has turned the Ministry of Magic into an unbreakable force—the current situation is quite unfavorable for us. We don't have many manpower left, and I think we shouldn't act rashly to avoid further losses."

Herpo nodded slightly and said, "This matter requires further consideration, but for the time being, we should indeed remain inactive and observe the situation."

"Therefore, I do not recommend attacking Hogwarts now," he said bluntly. "With our current strength, we are not entirely confident. Even if we succeed, the cost will be unbearable. We must find a way to weaken Hogwarts' defenses first, or perhaps..."

Barbarossa was clearly unwilling, but did not refute it.

Morgan, however, keenly noticed the pauses in Herpo's speech.

"Or?" she asked.

Herpo raised his head, and the cold, dark flames danced in his eyes.

"Or, make them so weak that they have no energy left to defend Hogwarts."

He raised his hand and waved it, and the projection in the flames suddenly changed. The image of Hogwarts was torn apart and replaced by a rough map of the magical world.

"We can create unrest."

"Conflicts are igniting simultaneously around the world—not small-scale terrorist attacks, but crises powerful enough to force the Ministry of Magic, the International Confederation of Wizards, and the Sleeping Dragon Society to divide their forces to deal with them."

Voldemort's lips slowly curled into a smile.

That was a dangerous arc.

You're talking about something I'm good at.

"Not entirely," Herpo calmly corrected, "You're not enough on your own."

He paused, his gaze meaningful. "We need more manpower, more resources."

"But we are currently facing a shortage of manpower," Voldemort said coldly.

"This makes me furious," Barbarossa said, his voice hardening with deep hatred. "If it weren't for Yan Feng's inexplicable death in the Necromancer Underground Guild, we wouldn't be in this predicament today!"

This sentence caused a brief pause in the atmosphere of the cave.

Herpo's shoulders twitched very slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he had connected some new idea to Barbarossa's words.

He tilted his head slightly, revealing one side of his jawline. That line, which was originally as hard as a knife, now curled up very slightly at the corner of his mouth, and his deep purple pupils burned with a ghostly blue phosphorescence.

This time, Morgan was the first to understand what he meant.

"You want... the Necromancer Underground Guild," she whispered, "To drag them down with us and share the burden with Malfoy and Dumbledore."

"That's right, but—" Herpo sneered, "the Necromancer Guild is just a facade; the person behind it is an old friend of mine..."

Voldemort and Barbarossa exchanged glances. Both were Dark Lord who rose to prominence in this century. Although their achievements were remarkable, they lacked sufficient historical background and were far inferior to Morgan and Herpo in terms of intelligence.

Morgan asked uncertainly, "You mean... the Church of Death?"

Herpo didn't answer, but the expression on his face said it all.

The night in Transylvania is quite different from that in Great Britain.

The mountains rise and fall like sleeping giants, ancient forests cover the ridges, and the thin mist that never dissipates between the treetops is like a decaying shroud.

Deep within the mountains, a secret altar, deliberately erased from maps, memories, and legends, stands silently. This is the core stronghold of the Necromancer Underground Guild.

Four figures stepped out of the void almost simultaneously and landed on the obsidian platform surrounding the altar.

Voldemort, Herpo, Morgan le Fay, Barbarossa.

The four of them did not make any effort to conceal their presence.

On the contrary—the moment they arrive, they unleash their power without any concealment.

The black stone pillars surrounding the altar trembled instantly, and the necromantic runes engraved on them were forcibly illuminated, emitting a low groan as if they were struggling under the strain.

The necromancers hiding in the shadows suddenly changed their expressions.

Some people instinctively raised their staffs, while others were forced to kneel on one knee by the combined pressure of the attack.

"Bring out your guild master Abaddon." Voldemort's voice echoed above the altar, striking straight to the soul. "We're not here to negotiate."

"We've come to—" Voldemort stepped forward, his aura suddenly exploding like an invisible poisonous fog, making the necromancers present feel suffocated, "To demand an explanation."

After a brief silence.

In the center of the altar, the previously empty black ring suddenly emitted a dim, grayish-white light.

A figure slowly emerged from the light.

He wore an extremely ancient robe, the fabric of which seemed to be linen unearthed from an ancient tomb, its worn edges possessing an eerie sense of completeness. The shadow of the hood obscured his face, revealing only a pair of eyes that were calm to the point of being indifferent. Those eyes had no pupil fluctuations, yet they seemed to be able to see through the illusions of all souls.

Abaddon, leader of the Church of Death.

"I am Abaddon, the Lord of the Necromancers. This must be the infamous Voldemort. What kind of explanation do you wish to demand?" His voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.

Morgan le Fay stepped forward and said, "Your underground guild is largely to blame for the Yan Feng. Since he died on your territory, you owe Walpurgis an explanation."

Barbarossa grinned, his domineering gaze undisguised. "You all know the cause of Yan Feng's death. His unexpected demise caused considerable losses to Walpurgis. If you cannot provide us with a satisfactory answer..." His tone carried a slight threat. "We wouldn't mind turning this place into a true guild of the dead."

Morgan le Fay didn't speak, but simply twirled his wand, and a dark red phantom of karmic fire condensed at the tip, like a lurking dragon ready to pounce at any moment.

Although there were only four of them, each of them possessed the strength of a mage. Now that the four Dark Lords were gathered together, such power would be enough to instill despair anywhere.

However, Abaddon merely raised his right hand slightly.

"If you think the Necromancer Underground Guild has survived here for hundreds of years simply by hiding and compromising..." He paused, a hint of sarcasm in his voice for the first time, "Then you are seriously underestimating us."

As he pointed forward with his right hand, three magical artifacts shimmering with black light flew out of thin air in the next instant.

An ancient Holy Grail, weathered yet intact, its surface etched with patterns depicting the cycle of life and death;

A black and white banner fluttering in the Soul-Summoning Banner, its surface seemingly reflecting the faces of countless deceased;

And an ancient-looking Ankh cross, radiating a divine brilliance that transcends civilization.

Herpo and his group immediately recognized it—it was Ankh, a ritual implement inherited from Egypt by Anubi, and the Soul-Summoning Banner, a ritual implement inherited from China by Yan Feng.

"Yan Feng did indeed die at your hands!" Barbarossa shouted, his voice tinged with anger. "But I never imagined that even the guy who killed Anubi was one of yours!"

Herpo had remained silent until now, frowned deeply and spoke for the first time, "That cup... if I'm not mistaken, that's the Holy Grail of the Knights Templar!"

The Knights Templar were a monastic military organization that existed in ancient times. Since the order was destroyed in the fourteenth century, its sacred relic—the Holy Grail —has been lost.

Morgan le Fay's expression also changed drastically, her pupils contracting sharply. She was certainly aware of the Knights Templar' long-buried and bloody history, and at this moment, she clearly also instantly connected it to some extremely terrifying possibility.

"Abaddon," Herpo's usually icy tone showed an unusual fluctuation, "You've been lying in wait for so many years, meticulously plotting to obtain the Holy Grail, the Soul-Summoning Banner, and Ankh... what exactly are you after?"