Hogwarts: Voldemort, don't stop me from studying

Chapter 962 Fear
Iraq has fallen.

Before he could even let out a complete scream, he collapsed heavily to the ground, his blood quickly spreading across the polished marble floor.

Just a second ago, he was a delicate and crucial piece of the power struggle, the core of everyone's attempt to control the overall situation.

But now, he is just a corpse that is rapidly cooling down.

For the first time, Sir William's face showed genuine, undisguised shock. He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair tightly, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the excessive force.

Paul's secretly cultivated confidant had just fired a shot and hadn't even had time to turn his gun around—

“Bang bang bang bang bang!!!”

More intense and ferocious gunfire erupted like popping beans!
At least seven or eight submachine guns opened fire simultaneously, and the bodyguards around the hall riddled the shooter with bullets in just two seconds!

The smell of blood and gunpowder filled the air instantly.

"kill him!"

Chris's roar was almost ripping his throat as he pointed at Paul, his eyes bloodshot: "Kill him now! This traitor! This—"

"stop!"

Before Paul could speak, William's roar echoed through the hall.

Chris's scream stopped abruptly, and he looked at his grandfather in astonishment.

The elderly man in the wheelchair was still breathing rapidly, and even coughed violently because he was shouting too fast, but he raised his hand and made a "stop" gesture.

Many gun barrels were still pointed at Paul, but the bodyguards' fingers were only on the triggers, and they did not fire again.

Paul stood still, without moving an inch.

He didn't even look at his confidant who had been riddled with bullets, nor at Iraqi's body on the ground.

He simply watched William quietly, his face showing neither fear nor smugness, only an almost indifferent calm.

"kill me?"

Paul looked at Chris and said softly, "Of course, I'm just a fragile ordinary person. With just one bullet, I'll immediately become the next corpse."

As Sir William coughed, Paulton paused, a very faint smile curving his lips:

"However, without Illari as the creator, all the puppets' contracts are with me."

He took a step forward, ignoring the bodyguards who suddenly tensed up around him, and looked directly at William:

"If I die, what will happen to the unrestrained puppets? Will they immediately go berserk? Or will they never accept any external commands again? Or will they move freely as they please?"

Paul looked at William, then at the furious Chris and the bodyguards around him, and asked:

"Are you willing to bet that these alchemical creations, even without an owner, will remain as obedient as they are now?"

For a moment, no one could utter a sound. Even the silent bodyguards involuntarily lowered their guns, as if worried that they might accidentally kill Paul.

Illari's body lay silently on the ground, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, as if mocking her in silence.

For the Stonefield family, only he could create the puppets they needed, and only he could transfer the contracts.

But his cowardice, talent, betrayal, and loyalty all vanished into a meaningless past the moment the bullet pierced his chest.

All attention was focused on Paul and William.

The more than two hundred puppets remained seated or standing. Their eyes were all fixed on Paul, and also on William.

Without emotion, without inclination, just "watching".

But it is precisely this absolute "silence" and "gaze" that is more chilling than any roar or threat.

Sir William's chest heaved violently, and his heart ached so badly it felt like it was going to convulse.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, all the shock, anger, and even murderous intent on his face had receded like the tide.

"Ha...hahahaha..."

He suddenly laughed out loud, saying with a self-deprecating yet helpless tone, "Good... very good... Mark, you really... have never disappointed me."

Sir William suppressed his anger, tried his best to soften his tone, and said calmly:

“We can talk… What do you want? Money? Power? Or a property of the Stonefield family? Tell me, and we can discuss it.”

He paused, a hint of coldness returning to his voice:
"But if you think that controlling these puppets gives you the right to demand exorbitant prices from me... then you'd better give up now, or we'll only end up dying together!"

This is the bottom line.

This is also the final warning.

After all... it's said that the puppet will go out of control if Paul dies, but that's just speculation. Who can be sure what it will become?
Perhaps the puppets are like robots, unable to move again after losing their commands?

At worst, Sir William could abandon his annexation plan and let the unsuspecting guests leave; the Stonefield family would still be a behemoth that no one could ignore.

Paul remained silent for a few seconds.

He looked down at his clean hands, then looked up at William, and finally a hint of... almost genuine regret appeared on his face.

"Making exorbitant demands? How could that be? I know that even if you were to die, you would never accept endless threats."

He bowed slightly, his posture as respectful as ever, and said, "I only need to be a partner, to get a share of your plans. The Stonefield family controls the overall situation, and I will be responsible for execution and maintenance... The decision-making power remains in your hands."

Sir William laughed heartily, a ruthless glint in his eyes, but readily agreed, "No problem, I can agree!"

"That's great." Paul smiled with relief, as if his previous plot to replace Stonefield had never existed.

He took a step forward, his tone becoming more amiable, even tinged with a hint of complaint—like he were complaining about an overly cautious elder:

"Actually, Sir, I really don't understand... why would you doubt me?"

“According to family tradition, such an important matter as signing a contract with Ilari should have been arranged by me.”

“If you had done that, none of this would have happened today…this farce, these deaths.”

He spread his hands, looking innocent, and said:

"We will complete the replacement plan together. I will remain your most capable assistant, Illari will live to create more puppets, and those VIPs will be perfectly replaced before dawn... Everything will go smoothly. Not like it is now—"

Paul sighed deeply and said with great regret:

"Both sides suffer losses."

William's smile vanished abruptly, and he fell silent.

In the long silence, the only sounds in the hall were Chris's heavy breathing and the faint dripping sound from somewhere in the distance.

Finally, William spoke slowly, his voice so low it seemed to be squeezed from the depths of his chest:
Why do I suspect you?

He looked up at Paul, his eyes filled with complex emotions:

"Because you're so much like me, Mark...so much like me when I was young."

"So I know what I would do if I were in your position, faced with such a golden opportunity."

More importantly... he worried that after his death, Chris would be unable to control Paul and would instead be manipulated by his assistant, who was skilled at disguise and manipulating people.

Although young Chris was ambitious and intelligent, his methods were nowhere near those of Paul, whom William had personally trained.

William glanced at his grandson, his eyes filled with worry, scrutiny, and a deep sense of helplessness.

When he planned to "test" Paul, he was already prepared to break this sharp sword.

But unexpectedly, although Paul failed the test as predicted, he himself was also forced to submit to others.

Paul knew what William hadn't finished saying, so after a long while, he also sighed softly and a relieved smile appeared on his face.

"I see." He nodded. "So... while the current outcome isn't the best, it hasn't reached the worst point yet, has it?"

He took out his pocket watch and glanced at the time—less than four hours until dawn.

“Sir,” Paul said in his usual tone, “without Illari, who will extract memories and implant the puppets into the remaining guests? We don’t have much time left.”

William paused for a moment, then slowly said:

“I know a few wizards and we’ve been working together. They’ll do anything for money. Their skill levels vary, but they should all be good at memory magic.”

He glanced at Paul:
"It just comes at a high price. And the risks are even higher."

Paul smiled, and once again displayed the respect and efficiency expected of an assistant:

“Money is no problem, Sir. Risk… I think they’ll be just as docile as Illari when faced with death.”

William nodded, leaning wearily back into his wheelchair.

“That makes sense. I’ll have someone contact them later.”

Now... he needs to rest for a while, even if it's just a few minutes.

The tense atmosphere suddenly and strangely eased, even becoming quite harmonious.

It was as if the gunshots, the deaths, the standoffs, the threats... were all just a nightmare that was too realistic.

Chris stood to the side, looking at his grandfather and Paul, feeling a strong sense of bewilderment.

Is this what the game of power is all about? There are no eternal enemies, only eternal interests? One second they're fighting to the death, the next they're shaking hands and making peace?
It was as if only he remembered the tense standoff from moments before.

William and Paul had clearly reached some kind of understanding. Paul turned to arrange the next steps, raising his hand and speaking in a louder voice to the puppet in the hall:
"Return to your seat and await further instructions."

The puppets swayed slightly, and the vampire and werewolf puppets that were closest to the group unusually moved forward.

Chris felt a pang of panic. Sir William frowned and looked over, while Paul also paused, then raised his voice again:

"Return to your seats! That's an order!"

The puppets began to move one after another, but unlike their previous uniformity, they now resembled a group of old machines with poor signal reception.

But Chris, with his sharp eyes, noticed that the puppet wasn't incapable of understanding commands; on the contrary—

Their eyes darted around with unusual agility, moving slowly and cautiously as they looked at each other, as if silently exchanging opinions.

Chris felt a chill run down his spine and instinctively gripped Sir William's wheelchair tightly, quickly pressing the button to raise the barrier!

In that instant, a werewolf puppet walking past Paul suddenly swayed, almost turning into a blur in an instant—

"Pfft!"

A very faint sound, like the sound of a watermelon being cut open.

Paul's head flew out and, just before the barrier rose, slammed into Sir William's arms with a thud.

His eyes were wide open, filled with utter astonishment. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

The severed neck cut was extremely smooth, the wound looked as if it had been burned by high temperature, there was no gushing blood like a fountain, only dark red liquid slowly oozing out.

The barrier rose again, and Chris breathed a slight sigh of relief, only to see the old man in the wheelchair suddenly stiffen.

Sir William lowered his head and met Paul's unseeing eyes, feeling the thick blood soaking through his trousers and flowing down his legs.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

For the first time, extreme horror appeared on Sir William's face.

His mouth was agape to its limit, but no sound came out. His eyes were so terrified they almost popped out of their sockets, and his pupils were dilating rapidly. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest!

"Uh... huh..."

Chris heard a strange hissing sound.

He knew what he had to do... at least throw the head out of his grandfather's arms, but Chris was trembling and couldn't move at all.

Even though he had handled an enormous amount of assets in the past, and even though countless families and businesses had been driven to the brink of collapse by the expansion of his family, Chris still could not face this primal, bloody horror.

Sir William's hands trembled, and before he could do anything, a deathly pallor spread visibly up his neck, extinguishing the last trace of color.

His rapidly heaving chest suddenly calmed down, his head tilted to the side, and he slumped into his wheelchair.

sudden death.

The extreme shock triggered an already fragile heart.

Chris stood there, frozen in place.

His mind went blank; he was unable to process the series of unimaginable upheavals unfolding before him.

He looked at his grandfather's limp body, then at Paul's head, which stared back at his dead grandfather, and then at the werewolf puppet outside the barrier, slowly straightening up.

It turned its head, and its eyes, which were probably inlaid with gems or some kind of crystal, were now looking at Chris.

Then, it opened its mouth.

The werewolf revealed an extremely dangerous and malicious grin.

The smile was twisted yet vivid, a stark contrast to her previous rigid, mechanical, doll-like demeanor.

It's laughing!

Inside the hall, the more than two hundred puppets began to move slowly, their hands and feet moving with remarkable agility.

[—I've been scammed! I've been scammed! I've been scammed! I've been scammed! I've been scammed!]

The ones who truly deceived them were not Paul, nor their grandfather, nor even the foolish Illari, but these puppets who were always in disguise!

The horrific truth roared through Chris's mind; his pupils went unfocused, and it was as if his heart had forgotten to beat.

In the silence, only a drop of blood, not yet congealed, fell from the werewolf puppet's claws onto the marble floor.

"despair."

A soft sound.

(End of this chapter)