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He glanced at the other werewolves around him who had begun transforming again, then looked back at Ian in front of him who seed oblivious to the danger.
"Yes, child, we are people who have nothing left to lose. So don't expect us to be like those people you're used to dealing with, who cower the mont you blurt out your House na." Lucas found the whole scene so bizarre and absurd that he could only chalk it up to what happens when pure-blood families keep intermarrying, producing children with broken brains.
"What are we waiting for? Grab him! That traitor who ran will definitely co back to rescue him!"
It was Ryan again. Honestly, this guy was practically the champion of rash behavior among the werewolves.
And sure enough—
With a loud roar, werewolf Ryan once again transford and lunged at Ian at lightning speed— But before he got close, the ground shook violently beneath him, and he stumbled, crashing to the earth.
"What's happening?"
"Is it an earthquake?"
"I feel like the earth is going to crack open!"
The tremors were like an earthquake asuring 8 on the Richter scale, throwing all the werewolves into a panic.
Old Lucas grabbed his wand, but his hands were trembling uncontrollably.
"What is this magic…" He looked toward Ian in disbelief, his voice filled with fear.
Above the shattered ground, Ian had risen into the air, the red cloak on his back billowing vividly behind him.
"Lucas! Lucas! His magic power… his magic power…" A female werewolf, whose eyes had clearly been magically enhanced and had stood beside Lucas all along, suddenly collapsed to the ground.
Unlike most of the werewolves, who still hadn't fully grasped what was happening, her altered eyes allowed her to clearly see the imnse, surging power flooding the space like a tidal wave.
"Jenny! What about his magic power?"
Old Lucas's pupils contracted violently. He instinctively raised his wand to cast a spell, but then flas suddenly burst from it. The mont he saw the color of the fire, his spine turned ice-cold.
That was an enchanting blue.
"Damn it! Fiendfyre!"
Without hesitation, old Lucas threw away the wand that had accompanied him for so many years. He watched as it turned to ash on the ground, and yet he felt no anger.
Only terror. Panic. And… deep, overwhelming fear.
Silent casting.
Everything was silent casting.
"What are you, exactly!?"
Old Lucas suddenly stared up at Ian, suspended in midair.
And then—
"I saw a mountain we could never cross… Lucas… he… he could kill us all!" The female werewolf, still collapsed on the ground, spoke in a trembling, horror-filled voice.
"Yes, yes, exactly. Just like I said earlier when I disagreed with you, you do have sothing left to lose…" Ian tilted his head slightly, his smile pure and gentle. "That's your so-called hope, and your lives."
As his voice fell—
The trembling earth began to churn, as if a long-slumbering giant was waking up.
With a series of dull, thunderous rumbles, the soil and rubble on the ground started to roll and rise, gradually forming huge figures. They were made of clay, towering several ters high, hulking like giants.
The werewolves turned to flee in every direction—
But then…
The clay giants began to move. They swung their massive arms, delivering blows as heavy as mountains, slapping the werewolves with brutal force. Those fierce and savage werewolves now seed small and fragile before the clay giants. With each slap, a werewolf was slamd to the ground, howling in pain.
More and more werewolves were knocked down one by one by the clay giants, falling like leaves swept away by a fierce wind. Even old werewolf Lucas, their pack leader, was not spared.
In the face of such overwhelming power, even transforming again and again couldn't help the werewolves resist. They could only watch helplessly as they were beaten down by the massive beings one by one.
"Of course, I'm not a bloodthirsty person. Just like you once gave two choices, now I'll give you two as well. Either take your so-called hope... and die with it."
"Or…" Ian slowly descended to the ground. He glanced around, then looked down at old werewolf Lucas, who was being pinned to the earth under the massive hand of a clay giant.
"…show your value."
His voice echoed softly across the vast ruins.
Surrounded by a host of clay giants, Ian's thin fra stood out starkly in contrast.
Ten minutes later.
"Whew~"
There was a fluctuation in space.
After relaying another ssage to Albus Dumbledore and waiting a while without receiving a response, Lupin, unable to shake his concern, returned fully ard once his magic power had recovered a bit.
But—
Prepared for the worst, Lupin found himself raising his wand in high alert, only to be greeted by a scene that completely froze his brain. He couldn't begin to make sense of what he was seeing.
Under the dim, mystical light, a group of werewolves stood silently in line. Their silhouettes appeared large and worn down. These werewolves, once known for their strength and ferocity, now bore visible wounds, so missing an arm, so a leg. Though their eyes still held the glint of humiliation—
There was even more of a helpless submission in them.
"What… is going on?"
Lupin wondered if he had sohow missed Dumbledore's arrival and decisive intervention on the battlefield.
But—
Just as he was searching for the figure of the old headmaster, he was stunned to see, standing in front of the neatly lined-up werewolves, a small wizard.
"Your silver Sickles."
"You owe ten vials of blood."
"Your silver Sickles."
"You owe twelve vials, no helping it, you've got one extra arm."
…
Ian was holding a syringe and conducting so kind of transaction with the werewolves.
As if sensing Lupin's arrival, he turned.
"Look, dear senior, I told you before, gold Galleons are really useful. Even if there are so bumps along the way, I always find a way to make them work."
The small wizard raised the pouch in his hand.
As if showing off.
"…"
Lupin found himself even more confused than before.
"Where's Headmaster Dumbledore?"
He looked around but couldn't find the person he was looking for. All he saw was old werewolf Lucas slumped in a corner, his face pale, clearly soone who had just been drained of a lot of blood.
"Who forced you to donate blood?"
In Lupin's eyes, buying werewolf blood with silver Sickles was sothing only the worst kinds of dark wizards in Knockturn Alley would do. It was essentially the sa as forcing werewolves to donate blood for free.
He had been deeply worried about Ian's safety earlier.
Now, though—
He was starting to feel a bit sorry for the werewolves instead.
"Who is that boy? He can't possibly be one of Dumbledore's."
Old Lucas didn't answer Lupin's question. Instead, he lifted his dizzy, blood-deprived head and gave Lupin a look filled with emotions too complex for him to understand.
"Hm?"
Lupin's face showed even greater confusion and doubt.
"So, you don't know either."
Old Lucas read the truth from Lupin's face. He sighed and lowered his head, his mind drifting back to the words spoken by the self-proclaid Gryffindor youth.
"This potion will take you to… your promised land."
In that mont—
Old Lucas felt as though he had achieved enlightennt.
But before he could truly grasp it—
It was clear he wasn't quite as clever as the other werewolves had imagined.
(End of Chapter)
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