The scorching flas transford into a giant dragon, roaring as it lunged at Dumbledore.
Phoenix Fawkes flew towards the dragon, and the two collided in mid-air, erupting into a dazzling light.
Dumbledore appeared, clad in a silver-gray robe, with his silver-white hair disheveled in the wind, and his blue eyes gleaming with a cold light.
"Dumbledore!"
Grindelwald shouted loudly, a hint of madness flashing in his eyes, the tip of his wand trembling slightly, seemingly unsure what to say, yet he shouted again, "Dumbledore!"
Simultaneously, he suddenly waved his magic wand, and a lightning-like spell shot towards Dumbledore. The latter, however, flicked his magic wand and deflected the spell.
The two spoke not a word, nor did they chant any spells, just wielded their magic wands like whips, the gleams of the spells intertwined and clashed, as if each strike carried a destructive force.
Whether intentional or accidental, most of the spells that were deflected or diverted flew towards the mansion not far away, and in the deafening roar, the newly dispatched reinforcent unit of the organization vanished from the ground as soon as they appeared.
Moreover, large areas of buildings and concrete ground began to collapse, vehicles overturned, weapon turrets twisted and deford, becoming sandbags casually thrown at each other by the two, revealing the massive structures and the panicked, fleeing figures below from the gaps in the ground.
At this mont, whether the soldiers of the Witch Pure Party or the organization, all had ceased fire, sprinting desperately to escape into the distance.
Werewolves ran wildly, bats fluttered in fright, and ordinary soldiers only wished they had two more legs; wizards swiftly Apparated a thousand ters away, watching the battlefield with awe.
"Dumbledore... why is Dumbledore here?"
The Witch Pure Party mbers looked at each other in panic, even Delaine was dripping with cold sweat, his breathing rapid, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists, his nails deeply embedded in his palms, yet he felt no pain.
"Dumbledore... he’s alone..."
Delaine’s Adam’s apple rolled with difficulty, his chest heaving violently, yet he still said, "We should go help Mr. Grindelwald!"
He took a few steps forward with strides seemingly glued in place, just about to raise his magic wand when Moro pounced to hold him down.
"Are you crazy?" Moro shouted: "Look over there! You might be killed by the aftershocks of the battle just by getting close! Right now, Mr. Grindelwald can’t afford to care who you are!"
Dust flew and mist shrouded the center of the battle, flas danced wildly and grew frantically under the engulfing storm, and from the flat ground occasionally sprang up tall stone pillars, stone giant statues, or cages, seemingly even the terrain itself was changing.
Their figures lood in the midst, occasionally their gazes t, and their eyes carried a tallic coldness, as if the one before them was the most hated enemy.
Anyone witnessing this scene would have no doubt — should either side show the slightest weakness, they would be utterly slain by the other!
Delaine’s pupils contracted, veins bulged on his neck, he grasped Moro’s arm forcefully, glaring at him viciously, and squeezed out a hoarse voice through his teeth:
"Mr. Grindelwald... he’s not well! He can’t maintain this state for long!"
Even in such anxiety, he didn’t forget to lower his voice, allowing only Moro to hear his words.
Moro stared at him in shock, then his face turned paper-white, his neck stiffly rotating to glance at the battlefield over there, his lips trembled as he said:
"But... how to help? All of us going up would just be sending ourselves to death... And in such chaos, the spells randomly shooting could very likely injure Mr. Grindelwald..."
Delaine seed drawn back to reality by his question, his eyelids slowly blinked, and the arm holding the magic wand fell limply, trembling involuntarily.
He realized clearly that at this mont, apart from watching and waiting, they had no ans... If Dumbledore didn’t stop, Grindelwald almost had no chance of survival...
Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried every ans to get Grindelwald out of Nimongard. If not for that, he might still have had a long life, instead of burning away what remained in such a short ti.
Thinking back to the words Grindelwald had spoken to him in recent days, Delaine suddenly realized that perhaps he had been leaving a last ssage, even selecting a future successor.
During the escape, had he already foreseen his own end?
Delaine’s face was ashen, with blood flowing out through his fingers.
He hated himself for being so slow-witted, thinking only that his immaturity had greatly disappointed Mr. Grindelwald, expecting to journey long under that person’s leadership, yet he hadn’t expected...
Suddenly, Delaine recalled Grindelwald’s praise and expectations for Vid Gray, he turned abruptly, yet could not find that silhouette among the many black-robed wizards.
Though all were cloaked, Vid Gray, being an Alchemist, had so unique Alchemy Products hanging on his body, sothing Delaine rembered vividly, he could not possibly mistake it.
He grabbed Moro, urgently asking, "Where’s that kid? Did you see him?"
Moro was stunned: "Wasn’t he with you and Mr. Grindelwald..."
The two instantly turned their heads, looking towards the battlefield of spells shooting everywhere, veins at their temples throbbed, with a sense of dizziness.
"Could he be... could he have gotten caught in it... and not managed to escape?" Moro murmured.
Delaine’s lips opened and closed several tis, holding onto the last glimr of hope and asked, "Can he Apparate?"
Moro replied in despair, "Thirteen years old... what do you think?"
Delaine instantly blacked out.
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