At the eastern end of Oxford Street, the Centre Point Building stands at the intersection, like a gray chess piece forgotten on the edge of a chessboard.
The southwest wind, carrying cold rain, slammed into the building, stirring up violent ground eddies at the corner of the intersection, and raindrops lashed horizontally at anyone who dared to walk on the street.
This is one of the few high-rise buildings in West End of London. At this moment, it is completely empty. Even the emergency lights in the corridors are only on the lowest setting, like a row of sleepy eyes.
When Allen waded through the puddles to the bottom of the building, the hem of his trench coat was already half wet.
He looked up at the rooftop; the rain blurred its outline into a gray shadow.
"This should be high enough," he muttered, gripping his wand tightly and pushing off with his foot.
The Flight Spell lifted him off the ground like a bird launched by a slingshot.
As he rose, rain lashed across his face, stinging his cheeks. He had to squint and pull his trench coat collar up.
The water accumulation on the rooftop was even more exaggerated than on the street. The entire concrete surface resembled a shallow lake, and raindrops splashed up a layer of mist, shrouding the surrounding view in a white, granular haze.
Allen slipped and almost fell when he landed, but luckily he regained his balance in time.
The street resembled a soaked gray ribbon, cut into sections of dim yellow light by the streetlights. Occasionally, a vehicle would drive by, and the splashes of water kicked up by its tires looked from a distance like dark wings fluttering.
He withdrew his gaze, took a deep breath, and pulled the Jianmu Wand from his sleeve.
The wand felt slightly warm in his hand, and the silvery-white light inside was brighter than usual, as if it knew it was about to pull off something big.
" Weather Charm..." Allen murmured, recalling the fragments of knowledge left behind by Ravenclaw.
Unlike the contents of a spellbook, which are listed clearly one by one, this knowledge only automatically coalesces into a usable form when he needs it.
The Gale Spell is one such example.
He raised his wand, its tip pointing diagonally to the sky, and began to chant.
The incantation was very long and its syllables were far more complex than ordinary incantations, but he only recited the first short part before stopping.
Strictly speaking, he didn't "finish reading".
Ravenclaw's remaining knowledge told him that the last syllable of the Gale Spell locked the release range.
As long as he doesn't finish reciting the spell, the powerful airflow generated by the Gale Spell will only swirl around him and won't spread outwards.
"That's a useful little trick," he muttered to himself.
As soon as he finished speaking, the air around him began to swirl.
At first, it was just a gentle breeze swirling around the hem of his trench coat, but a few seconds later the wind suddenly picked up, as if someone had turned on an invisible giant fan right in the middle of the roof.
Allen's hair was blown into a mess, the hem of his trench coat was flapping wildly against his calves, and rainwater was swirling around him in the air currents, forming a thin curtain of water.
The water beneath his feet was churned by the wind, splashing in all directions before being swept back in, making him feel as if he were standing in the eye of a constantly tightening storm.
But more importantly, the quality of his magic, enhanced by [ Ravenclaw's Blessing ], is now comparable to that of a sixth-tier wizard.
In other words, the same Gale Spell, when unleashed by him, had a power far exceeding that of a normal spell cast by a fifth-tier wizard.
Moreover, he had used most of his magic power, which had been amplified by Ravenclaw's Blessing, making the resulting airflow exceptionally intense.
The air currents surrounding him were extremely powerful, so powerful that he himself was forced to bend slightly over by the wind and had to use his wand to tap the ground to maintain his balance.
The air around him almost solidified, forming an invisible barrier around his body. Raindrops that hit that air were deflected and turned into fine mist half a foot away from his skin.
"Good heavens..." he thought to himself, "If I don't control this, I'll be blown down the stairs myself."
He tried his best to control the surging air currents, preventing them from dispersing and confining the wind force to a range of about two meters around himself.
Then he changed the spell, silently casting an Sonorus while maintaining the half-baked Gale Spell.
The silent Sonorus did not interrupt the Gale Spell he was chanting; the two spells flowed like parallel rivers, remaining undisturbed under his magical control.
Allen could feel himself losing control.
The gale around him had exceeded his expectations. The air currents surged wildly on the rooftop, like a pack of wild beasts that had been caged for too long, desperately pounding against every railing.
His mana reserves were still rapidly decreasing; at this rate, in a few seconds he would only have enough left to cast a small spell.
I can't hold on much longer...
He took a deep breath and, before the gale completely spiraled out of control, spoke in a low voice under the Sonorus:
Thirty International Auror have invaded London!
The moment he finished speaking, he completely lost control of the wildly surging air around him.
The gale, which had been forcibly confined to the narrow space, seemed to have finally broken its chains and surged outwards in all directions.
The water accumulated on the roof was completely ripped up, exploding outwards like a giant water curtain.
The rain curtain was shattered by the gale, reweaving into a denser and faster rain net that rushed towards every direction of the city.
A fierce gale swept outwards in all directions. Within the gale, that grand voice echoed continuously:
Thirty International Auror have invaded London!
The winds of war suddenly intensified throughout London.
The southwest wind, which had been carrying cold rain and slowly pushing along the streets, suddenly seemed to have been whipped hard from behind.
What was originally just cold, rainy wind from the southwest suddenly turned into a violent airflow surging in from countless directions simultaneously.
The trash can on the street corner was overturned, tree branches were broken, and clothes hanging outside the window were swept into the air.
And that grand and majestic voice echoed again and again in the wind, reaching every corner of London:
Thirty International Auror have invaded London!
Thirty International Auror have invaded London!
Thirty International Auror have invaded London!
The sound echoed through the rain, as if pouring directly into everyone's ears from the sky, leaving nowhere to hide.
In a café on Oxford Street that was still open, a middle-aged man was holding a cup and looking out the window at the rain.
When he heard that voice, his hand trembled and he spilled coffee all over the table.
"What was that sound?" He looked up, his face full of confusion.
The waitress next to her was also stunned, and almost dropped the tray she was holding.
"I don't know... it came from outside."
In a 24-hour convenience store, a young clerk on the night shift is dozing off on the counter.
Soft music was playing from the radio in front of him, and the sound of rain seeped in through the cracks in the door, creating a kind of soporific background noise.
Then a loud sound came from outside the window, like someone had tapped a giant drum against his ear, or like the loudspeakers all over the street were broadcasting at maximum volume at the same time.
He suddenly looked up, his glasses slipping off his nose and hanging on one ear.
"What—what's that sound?" He stood up, staggered to the door, opened the glass door, and looked outside.
The rain was still falling, but the wind was several times stronger than before.
The puddles on the street were blown sideways, the streetlights swayed violently in the wind, and the treetops fell in one direction as if they were going crazy.
"Thirty... Auror?" He repeated the word, completely bewildered by its meaning.
"Invaded London? Who invaded London?"
He stood at the doorway, the rain hitting his face and making him shiver.
He hesitated for two seconds, then turned and ran back to the counter to grab the phone.
"Hello? Is this the police? I... I think I heard some strange noises, something about 'invading London '..."
Meanwhile, in an ordinary row house in East End of London, a middle-aged woman was sitting on the sofa in the living room watching television.
Her husband was already asleep; her even snoring could be heard from upstairs.
When the sound hit her ears, she almost dropped the teacup in her hand.
"My God—" she exclaimed, jumping up and running to the window to look outside.
There was nothing outside the window except the torrential rain, but she could hear the echo of that sentence lingering in the wind, repeating it over and over again.
Thirty International Auror have invaded London!
She didn't know what an " Auror " was, but she understood "invasion of London."
" John!" she called upstairs, " John! Wake up! Something's happened outside!"
Her husband, still half asleep, came out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong? In the middle of the night..."
"Listen!" she pointed out the window, her voice trembling, "Someone on the radio says London has been invaded!"
Her husband leaned close to the window and listened for a while, then his expression changed. "Could it be a radio signal getting in?"
"What radio station would broadcast something like that?" she retorted. "And the sound seemed to come from the sky; it could be heard all over London!"