Hello, Godfather!

A wasteland in northern Birmingham, Britain.

A grave stood abruptly in the middle of the wasteland.

A full thousand people stood scattered across this wasteland before the grave, all wearing matching deep gray tweed British caps, gray trench coats, and suits and shirts underneath.

At the front of the formation, a boy of about eleven years old in a black gentleman's suit gazed at the tombstone before him with indifferent green eyes beneath an ink-black fedora.

Carl Shelby.

Born on May 3, 1950.

Died on June 30, 1990.

The crowd fell silent for a long time before the boy at the front of the formation spoke.

"Today is my father's death anniversary. Old Carl, this poor wizard, spent his whole life protecting Muggles, yet died because of that kindness."

"First, fire a salute for my dead father."

As the boy's words fell, the thousand people behind him neatly drew guns from their waists, raised them, and pointed them toward the sky.

"Bang, bang, bang!"

"Bang, bang, bang!"

This place was not far from the city center, and in the distance pedestrians could even be seen hurrying past. The gunfire here was loud, yet no one dared to glance twice in this direction.

Living in Birmingham, practically everyone knew the underground emperor of these parts, the eleven-year-old boy, Lyon Shelby.

In the year since his father's death, he had gone from an honest, hardworking student to a generation of bloody-handed godfather, swiftly organizing a mafia in Birmingham.

The Razor Gang.

Relying on iron-fisted methods, they had once blown up the strongholds of all hostile gangs in Birmingham in a single night. It was rumored that over six hundred people went missing that night, and the local law enforcement didn't even dare to touch an organization like the Razor Gang.

The gunfire at the graveyard ended, followed by a long stillness.

With a black-gloved hand, Lyon slowly pulled an antique-yellow envelope from his pocket, the front bearing a large letter "H" composed of an eagle, a lion, a snake, and a badger.

This was the Hogwarts acceptance letter.

He had transmigrated to this magical world for ten years now. Raised by his father, a wizard who deeply loved Muggles and even sent him to a Muggle school for his education.

Lyon had originally intended to honestly become a well-behaved student excelling in character and scholarship, and receive his Hogwarts acceptance letter upon turning eleven.

But.

Last year, a few Death Eaters caused a disturbance in Birmingham. To protect a few Muggles, his father was killed by those Death Eaters.

His father's corpse was pulled back and forth by several Death Eaters, yet that bunch of good-for-nothings at the Ministry of Magic simply conducted a perfunctory investigation and left.

From that day on, Lyon left school.

A year later, the gang bosses across Birmingham died violent deaths one by one, and Lyon became the godfather of all Birmingham.

Just yesterday, an owl brought the Hogwarts acceptance letter in its beak, and Lyon finally had the opportunity to enter the magical world.

As long as he entered Hogwarts, he could begin studying magic, and by then he would be able to wield it.

More importantly...

He wanted everyone in the Razor Gang to possess magic, to hunt down the Death Eaters who killed his father, and eventually find a way to overthrow the Ministry of Magic and lead the Razor Gang to become the co-rulers of the entire Wizarding World!

"Lyon, someone is looking for you."

Amidst Lyon's silence, the full thousand people behind him didn't dare make a single sound, but then a voice broke the stillness.

Lyon glanced beside him as a man of about forty or fifty approached, whispering into Lyon's ear.

"That person says he's from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You told us before to keep an eye out..."

"I know, Alan, but there's one thing..."

Lyon's voice suddenly shifted.

Doops of eyes flashed among the formation behind him, reaching a consensus in an instant as they raised their handguns and aimed straight at Alan's back.

The man named Alan felt his heart sink, but his body dared not make the slightest movement. He could guess that there were definitely a dozen guns aimed at his back right now.

As long as he showed any abnormality, without waiting for Lyon's command, he would be riddled with bullets on the spot.

The Razor Gang was loyal to Lyon alone.

Alan's body trembled as he suddenly felt his collar grabbed, a tremendous force accompanied by a suffocating sensation flooding his brain!

It was Lyon who had grabbed him by the collar!

"You speak up at a time like this—do you want me to receive guests at a graveyard?"

"You couldn't even bring yourself to call me godfather... Do you think your status as the former Black Snake Gang boss makes you high and mighty? Huh?"

Though young, Lyon possessed immense strength, his voice calm yet laced with murder. Alan was choked to the point of silence, able only to shake his head with difficulty.

Alan had led members of the Black Snake Gang to defect directly to Lyon back then, and now he had no idea whether Lyon was trying to put him in his place or take him out once and for all.

After a long while.

He felt as though he was on the verge of suffocation.

Suddenly, Lyon's grip loosened.

Alan's body slumped to the ground like a deflated balloon, gasping heavily for air.

The people around them collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

No one dared make another sound until Lyon strode out toward the edge of the wasteland, the thousand people behind him following in a mighty procession.

"Bring that professor to the tavern. I'll see him there."

Half an hour later, on the top floor of the Razor Tavern, in a Gothic-style office.

Lyon sat in the primary seat, his eyes scrutinizing the elderly man opposite him, who wore full-length black robes with a white beard concealing half his face.

Standing beside Lyon was a middle-aged man of about thirty in a gray gentleman's trench coat, respectfully pouring wine into the goblet in Lyon's hand.

"Professor Dumbledore, do you mean to say I have to abandon the entire Razor Gang in order to enter the wizarding world?"

"Mr. Shelby, that is indeed the case. In fact, the thousand-odd Muggles under your command all knowing about the wizarding world is a complete violation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish for such things to occur."

Dumbledore gazed at Lyon with profound eyes; from Lyon, one could not detect the childishness appropriate for his age, and the opponent even exuded a sense of oppression.

"Hahahahaha..."

Lyon suddenly let out a bizarre laugh, staring straight into Dumbledore's face.

"The Ministry of Magic?"

"Where was the Ministry of Magic when my father was murdered by Death Eaters?"

"Where was the Ministry of Magic when those Death Eaters desecrated my father's corpse?"

"Take a look, the scar on my neck..." Lyon pulled open the collar of the suit waistcoat he wore, revealing a gruesome scar on his neck that made one's blood run cold.

"And when I was wandering, and those bloody tramps wanted to sell me off to a priest, where was the Ministry of Magic then?"

"What on earth are those good-for-nothings at the Ministry of Magic doing? Playing mahjong?"

Dumbledore remained silent, looking at Lyon with a complicated gaze.

The magical world owed this man far too much.

A character forged by such experiences was destined never to be confined to a puddle in the future.

But.

"Mr. Shelby, you must understand—no one wishes to break the rules," Dumbledore began.

He hardly wanted a full thousand-plus people flooding into Diagon Alley; Britain's wizards only numbered a few thousand total...

Lyon's expression returned to calm as he neatly straightened his suit and waved a hand.

"It's fine if I don't bring my men into the magical world, but I recall that you do permit students' family members to enter the wizarding world, don't you?"

Hearing this, Dumbledore let out a breath of relief, seeing that Lyon intended to take a step back.

"Yes, as long as it's within—"

"Good, since family members are permitted to enter the magical world, it's very simple." Lyon interrupted Dumbledore, standing up and walking over to the office window. "Professor, please come over here."

Dumbledore was somewhat nonplussed, but nonetheless stood up and approached the window.

He cast his gaze down toward the ground.

The next moment, his eyes widened.

Down below, a thousand people stood in identical gray trench coats, wearing gray British caps, their leather shoes polished to a high shine.

Though standing scattered, they projected a powerful sense of oppression toward Dumbledore.

In unison, they bowed.

"Hello, Godfather!"

Lyon glanced at the silent Dumbledore beside him and smiled.

"They call me godfather, so... they are all my family."