The Arrogance and Submission of Pure-Bloods

Ryūichirō slowly wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, then raised his head and calmly swept his gaze over these self-satisfied pure-blood representatives.

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked at old Bosde.

"Mr. Bosde, is this what you mean as well?"

Old Bosde looked somewhat embarrassed. He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to smooth things over.

But Oliver could no longer hold himself back. With a hint of drunkenness, his tone turned impolite.

"Mr. Ryūichirō, let's be frank! We acknowledge the Uchiha Clan's strength, but this cooperation must be led by our pure-blood families!"

"You provide the Galleons and those... special techniques, while our connections in the Ministry of Magic and the channels we have accumulated over centuries can help 'legitimize' you and truly integrate you into the upper circles of the United Kingdom's Wizarding World!"

He puffed out his chest, trying to display his so-called "pure-blood bearing."

"This is a win-win!"

"Led by you?" Ryūichirō finally spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried an icy edge.

He slowly set down his napkin.

"By the likes of you... whom even the Dark Lord disdained, leaving you to scavenge scraps after the war..."

He paused, his gaze scraping across Oliver's flushed face like a blade.

"Trash?"

The words were like ice water poured into a vat of boiling oil!

"Impudence!"

"What did you say?!"

"You uncouth upstarts!"

Oliver, Alger, and Bellatrix shot to their feet, their faces red as their hands instinctively reached for the wands tucked in their sleeves.

Old Bosde went pale with fright and repeatedly waved his hands. "Everyone, calm down! Please, calm down!"

At that moment, Ryuichiro Uchiha slowly removed the sunglasses he had deliberately been wearing.

Buzz—!

A scarlet light ignited in the dim banquet hall!

Within Ryūichirō's eyes, a black Magatama slowly turned! That pure, inhuman scarlet, along with the cold and sinister aura contained within it, instantly stunned everyone present!

"It seems you have misunderstood the terms of cooperation proposed by the Uchiha Clan."

Ryūichirō's voice carried a trace of amusement.

His Sharingan locked directly onto the three loudest agitators—

Genjutsu: Hell Viewing Technique!

Old Bosde and the representatives of the other minor families, who had not been directly targeted, watched the bizarre scene in horror—

The three pure-blood representatives who had been so arrogant moments ago now behaved as though they had been struck by the most vicious Cruciatus Curse, making complete fools of themselves as they screamed out their most filthy and shameful secrets!

"No... it wasn't me! Father made me embezzle from the family vault!"

"That Muggle-born Auror... I used a Memory Charm to make him go on that mission!"

"Those smugglers in Knockturn Alley and I..."

Unbearable confessions and shrieks echoed through the banquet hall.

Ryūichirō watched coldly. Only when the three were on the verge of mental collapse did he slowly withdraw his ocular power.

Oliver, Alger, and Bellatrix collapsed to the floor as though utterly drained, gasping for breath. Their bodies were soaked in cold sweat, and their eyes were filled with boundless terror as they looked at Ryūichirō. They no longer dared show the slightest insolence.

The banquet hall fell utterly silent.

Ryūichirō picked up his wineglass and took a light sip, as though he had merely chased away a few annoying flies.

He looked toward the ashen-faced old Bosde and the remaining pure-blood representatives, who were silent with fear. His voice returned to its calmness, yet carried an unquestionable decisiveness.

"Now, we can discuss 'cooperation' again."

"The Uchiha Clan will provide the necessary funding, certain enhancement resources, and... security guarantees." He gave the three people sprawled on the floor a meaningful glance.

"And you, the so-called 'Pure-Blood Alliance,'" his tone dripping with undisguised contempt, "will use your pitiful connections and channels to clear the way for Uchiha within the Ministry of Magic, while providing legitimate distribution routes for the magical items and resources controlled by Uchiha."

"All decisions and final interpretation rights belong to Uchiha."

"The distribution of profits will be determined by Uchiha."

He set down his wineglass, its base striking the table with a crisp sound.

"Any objections?"

Old Bosde was the first to react. He practically threw himself toward the table, his voice trembling but immensely urgent. "None! Absolutely none! The Bosde Family will fully support every decision made by the Uchiha Clan!"

The representatives of the other minor families also rushed to declare their submission, terrified that if they were a moment too slow, they would end up like those three.

"Very good." Ryūichirō set down his glass, and at last a smile that could barely be called "friendly" appeared on his face. "Then, to the Greater Good?"

"To the Greater Good!" Old Bosde hurriedly raised his glass. The others quickly echoed him, their forced smiles uglier than tears.

The air in the banquet hall seemed to solidify. Ryūichirō's words, "to the Greater Good," still lingered in the air, and the crisp echoes of clinking glasses had yet to fade, but something colder and more violent had already begun to spread silently.

Oliver Bulstrode, Alger Travers, and Bellatrix Carrow lay collapsed on the floor, their faces a mixture of fear, humiliation, and a venomous unwillingness forcibly suppressed.

As they watched old Bosde and the others bow and scrape before the Uchiha father and son, a poisonous fire of jealousy and hatred burned within their chests.

Oliver in particular was young and hot-blooded. Having just been tortured into making a spectacle of himself before everyone by the genjutsu, he was nearly on the verge of a mental breakdown.

His father's weakness and his allies' swift betrayal made him feel that the last shred of the Bosde Family's dignity had been trampled into the mud.

No!

I can't admit defeat like this!

No matter how powerful the Uchiha are, there are only two of them here!

As terrifying as those red-eyed monsters may be, can they truly withstand the manor's ancient defenses and... the "backup plan" he had prepared in advance?

A mad thought seized him. While everyone's attention remained on Ryūichirō, who was raising his glass, Oliver used his still-trembling fingers to viciously press a concealed rune switch that had long been set before him!

Buzz—!

A dull tremor, as though it had risen from deep beneath the ground, swept through the entire manor!

The active magic in the air instantly became sluggish and heavy! Ancient defensive runes on the walls and floor lit up one after another with a dim gray glow—

The ancient Anti-Magic Formation inherited by Bosde Manor, capable of greatly suppressing the magic of Bloodline Wizards who did not belong to the family within a limited area, had been forcibly activated!

"It worked!"

A flash of wild delight and ruthlessness appeared in Oliver's eyes.

He struggled and used all his strength to scramble up from the floor. He staggered from the force of his movement, but a twisted, vicious expression surfaced on his face once more, mingling fear with the thrill of revenge.

"You monsters! You damned upstarts!"

He first helped the other two companions to their feet, then smugly pointed at the silent Ryūichirō and the others. His voice was shrill from his earlier trauma. "You bastards! We only intended to cooperate with you because we thought highly of you! You ungrateful yellow pigs!"

Then he walked up to old Bosde, snatched away his wineglass, drained the red wine in one gulp, and screamed at Ryūichirō, "Now! Can you still use your magic? Inside this Anti-Magic Formation established by the ancestors of Bosde!"

"That's right! What Blood Lord? If you want to establish yourselves here, you should obediently bring the benefits right to us!" Alger bared his teeth and chimed in while supporting his aching waist.

"Oliver! We must teach them a lesson! Deal with these lowborn filth who dare insult pure-bloods!" Bellatrix Carrow roughly slapped the guard beside her, then yanked away the handkerchief in his hand to wipe the grime from her face.

Oliver clapped his hands, turned toward the heavy carved wooden doors of the banquet hall, and shouted with all his might, "Come in! All of you, come in! Take these people down!"

What he had imagined—

Dozens of Muggle desperadoes bribed by him, armed with magic-breaking daggers and poisoned crossbow bolts, rushing in to hack these two detestable Uchiha into minced meat within the anti-magic environment—

Did not happen.

There was no movement outside the doors.

Only his hoarse cries echoed through the empty banquet hall enveloped by the Anti-Magic Formation, sounding exceptionally hollow and... ridiculous.

"Oh? So that's how it is." Ryūichirō gently set down his wineglass. He did not even look at the crazed Oliver, merely tilting his head slightly as though listening for something.

There was even a trace of... amusement on his face.

Kentaro let out a snort of laughter and glanced at Oliver as though he were watching a monkey perform a clumsy farce.

Silence.

A suffocating silence.

Then Oliver, along with Alger and Bellatrix beside him, who had also begun to harbor a sliver of hope, smelled it.

A thick, pungent scent with the sweet, rusty stench of iron. It seeped in through the cracks beneath the tightly shut doors, drifting from the corridor in thin strands before rapidly growing stronger and filling their nostrils.