21. Worry

The gathered dark wizards angrily denounced the Ministry of Magic and the unfairness of the current wizarding world.

Just because they had been connected to the Death Eaters to some extent in the past, they could not even find stable work now. It was only a minor connection, that was all.

In short, these nearly thousand dark wizards present could be considered the lowest-status group in the wizarding world at the moment. Given their resentment, if Voldemort returned, eighty percent of them would probably run eagerly to join him. As for the remaining twenty percent, they were people like Karkaroff—those who had swiftly changed sides after Voldemort's downfall.

After all, Azkaban still held a number of Voldemort's fiercely loyal followers. Many former Death Eaters had died, fled, gone into hiding, or been injured. Why should these people, born traitors, instead live more freely and comfortably, even having the chance to gather together and complain about society's unfairness?

Sherlock watched as Fumengde was surrounded layer upon layer by the dark wizards, each pouring out their grievances to him.

Fumengde could only use his status as Honorary Vice Chairman of the International Dark Magic Association to soothe them as best he could. He deeply regretted not listening to Lucius's advice. He truly should not have come all the way to Turkey for some dark wizard gathering.

Sherlock looked around indifferently, only to find that many pairs of eyes among the gathered dark wizards were fixed on him.

"Don't be put off. They're just curious... after all, you're the famous Prince of Spells."

Karkaroff held a long-handled staff, with his wand presumably concealed inside it. It was probably modified much like Lucius's snake-headed cane. Sherlock had always thought Lucius's cane was the flashiest wand modification in the world.

"I heard that you're the vice principal of Durmstrang Institute, as well as the chairman of the International Dark Magic Association. As someone who was once a Death Eater, you've come remarkably far. You can be called an extraordinary man."

Sherlock spoke bluntly. After all, Karkaroff's former status as a Death Eater was no secret.

Karkaroff was slightly embarrassed, but quickly regained his composure. Looking at Sherlock seriously, he said, "So you're very interested in Durmstrang Institute? After this gathering ends, would you like me to take you and Mr. Fumengde on a visit to Durmstrang? I heard that Dumbledore invited you to visit Hogwarts last year. In fact, Hogwarts and Durmstrang are both among Europe's three great magic schools. Fundamentally, neither is stronger or weaker than the other—their teaching methods simply differ."

Karkaroff continued, "Durmstrang School of Magic is in Germany. We do not fear teaching students Dark Magic. So long as they do not abuse it, our school even offers Dark Magic classes. Unlike Hogwarts, which has a special Defence Against the Dark Arts class, our Dark Magic course textbooks were written more than five hundred years ago by the then-head of the Mephisto family. Many remarkable members of the Mephisto family graduated from Durmstrang."

Karkaroff became exceedingly enthusiastic. If he could get the renowned Prince of Spells to study at Durmstrang, then as the key person behind it, the influence it would bring him would be immense. It would even greatly help him compete for the position of headmaster of Durmstrang School of Magic.

He would point at his rivals and mock them loudly. "The Prince of Spells came to study at Durmstrang only because of my personal invitation! Which one of you has that kind of ability? This is the Prince of Spells!"

Sherlock shook his head. "Of course I know Durmstrang is an excellent magic school. Many remarkable people came from there. Grindelwald was a student there too! Many of my family's elders graduated from there, including my grandfather and uncle."

Sherlock refused outright. "That's different. Dumbledore invited me to Hogwarts when I was five, and I've put the matter off for two years. Personally, I don't have any clear idea which school I want to attend yet. It's still three years away, after all. And lately, I've been feeling unwell, so I don't want to talk about these things."

Sherlock stood up, intending to go out for some fresh air, while Karkaroff opened his mouth behind him, his face full of regret.

Naturally, the school Sherlock wanted to attend was Hogwarts. After all, the main story of Harry Potter revolved around that boy and that school. What would be the point of anything if he went to Durmstrang instead?

And Sherlock had not lied when he refused Karkaroff. He truly had felt somewhat unwell lately. The magic within him had become increasingly repressed, and it was not because Sherlock had failed to channel it.

He occasionally used magic too, but the magic inside him was so vast that one or two spells seemed incapable of consuming even the slightest amount. Instead, the magic was naturally forced back down under the pressure of the magic within him.

He had been worried about this condition recently. Moreover, he felt that under this extreme repression, a particularly strange yet powerful force seemed to have emerged within his magic.

That power was inside Sherlock, but he had not yet learned how to control it. He could only sense it.

He decided that once the gathering ended, he would go to St. Mungo's and have Director Oster personally examine him. Ever since he had invented his first spell, he and the director of St. Mungo's had formed something like an unlikely friendship despite their age difference.

The dark wizard gathering was truly oppressive, even with the International Dark Magic Association's name attached to it.

His father was still handling matters there, while Sherlock wanted to return to his tent and get a good night's rest, then leave the next morning.

And while wandering around the dark wizards' campsite, Sherlock discovered that most of the dark wizards looked at him with admiration and fervor. It made him deeply uncomfortable, and he wanted to find somewhere he could be alone in peace.

"It's a full moon tonight, too!"

Sherlock raised his head and glanced at the silver moon in the night sky, round as a disc.

"Master! I can sense the presence of a dark creature!"

Camilla slithered over the grass, and Sherlock held out his hand for her to climb up his arm.

"The presence of a dark creature?"

Snakes had keen senses. If Camilla said so, Sherlock had no reason to doubt her.

A sharp wolf howl rang out, followed by a terrified scream. "Werewolves! Werewolves have infiltrated the area!"

The surrounding wizards instantly fell into chaos.

Sherlock slowly walked toward the source of the disturbance. Amid the chaos, he even secretly snatched the wand from a wizard who was too busy fleeing to notice.

Four or five werewolves with green eyes appeared especially violent beneath the full moon. Since there were so many dark wizards nearby, the chaos lasted only a short while before several powerful dark wizards stepped in and subdued the five werewolves.

"What happened?" Fumengde stepped forward and asked. "Why are there werewolves here? I thought you had inspected the safety of this location beforehand!"

"This place truly is safe. Before sending out the invitations, we thoroughly checked the area. There were no dark creatures here. I think these werewolves must have arrived suddenly—for example, they may have entered the nearby forest at dusk and waited for the moonlight to appear, enduring their painful transformations. But they didn't discover our gathering site until after becoming werewolves, when their sharp hearing led them here!"

A dark wizard stepped forward and said.

Just then, one of the werewolves broke free while the surrounding dark wizards were off guard and lunged straight at Sherlock.

Before the astonished eyes of everyone around them, only a corpse remained on the ground—a werewolf mummy drained entirely of blood.

Sherlock held up his wand, still maintaining the posture from casting the Dark spell just now. He inwardly cursed, because when the werewolf had pounced at him, Sherlock had instinctively raised his wand and used one of his proudest self-created spells.

"Blood Sacrifice Bat Plague."

When cast, the spell released a black bat-shaped shadow from the wand core, which attacked the enemy at incredible speed. It then drew all the blood from the enemy's body, forcing it out through the flesh to form a swarm of scarlet bats before they fell to the ground.

It was equivalent to forcibly stripping a creature's flesh and blood apart.

"The viciousness of this spell was no less than that of the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra. Its terrifying effect guaranteed death to anyone struck by it!"

That was the conclusion published in the Daily Prophet the following day. It caused a tremendous uproar and inexplicable panic in the wizarding world, as some attention-seeking wizards even declared that Sherlock would sooner or later become an even more terrifying dark wizard than Voldemort and Grindelwald!

It was worse, not better—a fact plain for all to see!