"The most powerful Black Magic Lord in history..."
Hearing those words, some of the prisoners in the cells looked horrified, while others' eyes lit up.
If anyone else had made that assessment of him as the strongest Black Magic Lord in history, they might have scoffed at it.
But when the words came from veteran Death Eaters who knew Voldemort best, their meaning was clearly very different.
Even the most senior Death Eaters had to admit, after witnessing Charle's performance just now, that Charle at his age already possessed strength far beyond what ordinary wizards could imagine.
Not to mention his ruthless, unscrupulous cruelty.
Voldemort at the same age probably would not even have been worthy of carrying Charle's shoes.
If Charle spent a few more years honing himself, he might set the record as the youngest Black Magic Lord ever crowned!
When that time came, could this group of them count as Charle's first core followers?
Could Charle's order for the Dementors to make them compete be part of his plan to gather a core group of followers?
As that thought arose, a hint of fervor inevitably appeared in everyone's eyes.
Even if people like them were released from Azkaban, they had nowhere else to go. They could only follow the dark path to the end.
Pledging themselves to Charle, this young Black Magic Lord with limitless prospects, was not necessarily a bad idea.
Thus, the people who had previously resisted the so-called bottom-rank elimination system all found the same thought rising in their hearts.
"I have to perform well and strive to meet this young Black Magic Lord's expectations."
"Then perhaps I'll be released from Azkaban and entrusted with an important position!"
The hopeless, numb atmosphere within the Azkaban cells abruptly became full of vigor.
At that moment,