Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

“Prout and Sevich have temporarily regained consciousness, but they will need to rest for a while,” Augustus Pai said.

Nietzsche didn't wait for him to finish speaking before heading straight to the spell damage department on the fifth floor. It wasn't his first time here, but his mood was completely different now; at least he didn't have to be on edge anymore.

There were only two beds in the ward, and the room was spacious. After seeing them come in, the two middle-aged wizards struggled to get out of bed.

"Director!" they said respectfully.

Then he stared blankly at Nietzsche and Quirrell, his mouth agape for a long time, unsure of how to address them.

“Just say whatever you remember…” Quirrell washed his hands, rolled up his sleeves, walked to the bedside, and carefully lifted the gauze. A strong, masked herbal smell immediately filled the room.

Even Scrinker couldn't help but cover his nose with a handkerchief, and he gave an awkward laugh.

Nietzsche leaned closer and saw that the skin under the gauze had begun to ulcerate, like a piece of rotting flesh, showing no signs of improvement whatsoever; the bleeding had only been stopped.

The surrounding blood vessels and muscle tissue were all necrotic, and a destructive malice adhered to them.

“That’s impossible. If it were E-11, it would be impossible for it to cause such power.” Quirrell covered the bandage again and whispered in his ear, “This goes beyond a low-level black magic like the Shattering Charm.”

"Could it have been modified?" Nietzsche's mouth parted slightly.

"Impossible! Once black magic goes too deep, it will inevitably involve personal will, and it cannot be simply attached to a weapon... Moreover, this is clearly not a wound caused by a curse."

In other words, there is a second person.

Scrimgeour pulled a notebook and a magic quill from his pocket, then closed the door, shutting out the screams of the mentally broken wizards outside.

"Were you attacked while protecting Lucius Malfoy?" he asked.

"We teleported from the Ministry of Magic to Diagon Alley via the Floo Network. A lot of people surrounded him and started yelling at him and the Ministry, and there was also a group of reporters... I was trying to calm them down when suddenly someone in the crowd attacked..."

Sević's voice grew softer and softer, and her tone gradually became sorrowful.

"And then William died?" Scrinker said.

"Yes, he was at the very front, initially blocking the reporters and the crowd, but who knew... who knew the Purifiers were hiding inside? That Muggle started attacking Malfoy relentlessly with the Iron Wand."

Nietzsche's mind was like a radio that had been paused; the spinning tape immediately got stuck.

A voice seemed to suddenly ring in his head, deep and hoarse, calling out: 'Wait.'

"If the Purgers killed the scouts in the first place, why didn't they kill Malfoy too?" Quirrell asked.

“Because I was protecting him,” Prout said from the side. “When William fell, I immediately used the Ironclad Charm, but Muggles can unleash dozens of spells at once, and I couldn’t handle it, which seriously injured Malfoy.”

Scrimgeour praised, "Good response. You're well-suited for the Auror."

Although it wasn't a good time, the two reconnaissance teams still showed a bit of joy, though it was unclear whether Scrimgeour was being honest or trying to boost their morale.

"Then Sevi used a disarming charm to knock the Muggle's wand away, and just as we were about to take him down, then... Boom!"

“How did he commit suicide?” Nietzsche asked. “Did he take anything out or pull anything?”

“He was so restrained that he couldn’t move, and then he just exploded for no reason.” Sevich pointed to half of his body. “If we had gotten any closer, we would have been blown up on the spot… By the way, the explosion came from inside that man’s body.”

Very good. If it were ordinary explosives, the destructive power to the outside world wouldn't be that great if it exploded inside the human body.

To generate tremendous power, a person would need to hide several kilograms of high explosives and detonating devices inside their body. But if that were the case, the person hiding explosives inside their body would die on the operating table and wouldn't be able to take a single step.

And black magic...

"Alright, alright, I know you're busy with work, but please leave now," a therapist said as she entered. "They need their dressings changed."

They can only come out temporarily.

Scrimgeour admired their quick thinking in the face of danger, so he went to the teahouse on the sixth floor and bought some small cakes to comfort them.

“It seems these Purgers have planned everything.” He ate a snack and flipped through his notebook. “Human bombs… The Purgers back then were much more benevolent than this; at least they didn’t dare to die themselves.”

then?

Nietzsche suddenly thought of the origins of the purges, but what good did that do?

He watched as each patient's family member came and went from the teahouse; some sat down to rest, while others numbly carried gift bags, leaning against the wall and weeping with their faces covered.

“Who would have thought that the descendants of those wizards would become so hateful of the magical world? How ironic… What’s wrong? What are you thinking about?” Nietzsche sighed.

He noticed Quirrell suddenly staring blankly at his teacup.

“Silently,” Quirrell suddenly muttered.

"what?"

“It’s an unstable and uncontrollable dark force that can suddenly erupt and then disappear without a trace…” Quirrell desperately squeezed out the knowledge in his mind, “Those wounds were left on them by the Obscurial.”

“That’s impossible. If it were the Obscurial, the entire Diagon Alley would be destroyed,” Scrinker said.

“But besides that, what else do you think could cause that kind of injury?” Quirrell said. “As for power… perhaps the Purifiers’ magic itself isn’t that great.”

Even the Ministry of Magic knows very little about the Obscurus.

The only thing Nietzsche knew was that Professor Binns mentioned it briefly in his history of magic class when he talked about the history of the Magical Congress of the United States. Apart from that, even the forbidden book "The Poisonous Magic" in the restricted section did not mention it.

It seems that no dark wizard would be willing to try something that has no way to control, even if it has great power.

"Go quickly and fetch Dumbledore!"

Scrinker immediately came up with a solution.

When they returned to the fifth floor, they found three more people outside Prout and Sević's ward, who were loitering in the corridor: two middle-aged men and a woman with a headscarf. They kept watching Nietzsche and the others warily.

“I am their superior, and you are relatives of Prout and Sevich, right?”

“Yes…yes, that’s right,” the woman sobbed, covering her face.

"Don't worry, they'll be fine." Scrimgeour, showing concern for his subordinates, patted her on the shoulder and reassured her, "The therapists here are changing their dressings."

Scrimgeour handed over the cake he had bought.

"Are you alright?" The woman hesitated for a moment, then buried her head again after taking the gift. "That's great, as long as you're alive."

But just as the woman took the bag containing the gifts, he noticed several obvious wounds on her wrists, cheap cotton fabric exposed at the cuffs, and an extremely rough headscarf around her neck.

After she buried her head, Nietzsche quickly shifted her gaze to the two men sitting next to her.

One of them would stand up every now and then, anxiously looking out the window, while the other's face was turned toward the ward, but his eyes were fixed on the other side, and he was holding a slightly bulging women's cloth bag in his arms.

"Let's go, let's go, I won't bother you any longer..." Scrimgeour sighed, shook his head, and prepared to return to the Ministry of Magic.

But Nietzsche didn't turn around with Quirrell. Instead, he mimicked Scrinker's action, patting the woman's shoulder before suddenly pressing down and kneeing her in the chest.

The woman couldn't even scream; her painful cries were blocked above her chest, turning into a dull thud.

"What are you doing?!" Scrimgeour turned around at the sound of the voice, and was shocked by the sudden turn of events.

But the next second, the two middle-aged men moved even faster, pulling out two oddly shaped and short pistols from the woman's handbag.

One person fired at him, while another slammed open the executive division's private ward.

"Armor protection!"

Nietzsche drew his wand with a backhand motion, blocking the two beams of red light. Then, with a flick of his left hand, he twisted the arms of the person blocking his way to a 180-degree angle. A scream instantly echoed through the corridor of the spell damage department.

"What's going on? What's going on?!"

"What else could it be? Isn't this blatant murder to silence them?"

Chapter 207 The Silent Explosion

First of all, in the magical world, as long as it's not some special kind of dark magic, all kinds of injuries can be solved by a spell or potion for a wizard. Are they, as family members of the execution team, researching dark magic?

Secondly, the scratches on the wrist are very fresh. Old wounds do not scab over, and the surrounding skin is pale yellow or pale red, rather than bright red with swelling, while the back of the hand is very clean.

Women should disguise young people suffering from serious mental illnesses; a headscarf covering the Adam's apple represents a sinner kneeling in repentance, a Catholic Puritan.

"The Purgers!" Quirinas Quirrell kicked Scrimgeour in the back, his voice tinged with emotion.

Scrimgeour dropped to the ground, and a red beam of light grazed his scalp before striking a healer in the middle of the corridor behind him. The area hit exploded like a stone.

The innocent therapist lay on the cold ground, his warm blood staining his green coat a dark green.

The fifth floor was thrown into chaos. The remaining healers formed a temporary defensive line and evacuated the rest of the people. Quirrell snapped his fingers, twisting the entire fifth-floor corridor and turning it into a rolling kaleidoscope.

"Upside down!" Wherever his wand pointed, things began to shift out of place.

It wasn't spatial magic, but an extremely precise transformation spell. The seats were moved to the ceiling by the twisting of the floor, and the Purifiers, whose 'wings' had been broken by Nietzsche, were also swept into the cracks between the walls and crushed into dust.

The rooms of the reconnaissance team members of the Execution Division were like a Rubik's Cube, shrinking layer by layer towards the end of the corridor.

"Ahhhhh!!"

Prout and Seville, holding onto the hospital bed, were hanging upside down, thus avoiding the attack of the purgers who stormed into the room.

Nietzsche, on the other hand, gripped his wand, unfurled his lightsaber, and plunged it into the wall to gain his footing.

The single-minded Purifier ignored him, his cold eyes fixed on the hospital bed above him. As he leaned back due to the floor twisting, he aimed the compact and easily concealed E-11 at them.

Is it faster to chant a spell or to pull the trigger?

The latter was the better choice. The energy of the Explosion Spell was activated by the runes, and E-11 quickly fired three shots in quick succession.

One shot shattered the armor spell protecting Nietzsche and the two, the second shot blew a hole in the ceiling (floor) due to the shaking of the building, and the third shot immediately went towards Prout and Sević, who were falling in mid-air.

"There are many obstacles!"

Nietzsche used the Obstruction Charm to freeze the following Explosion Charm in mid-air, and with a powerful push of his feet, he flicked upwards and lightly severed the young Purifier's right arm.

Not a single drop of blood flowed from the wound scorched by the lightsaber's heat.

He reached out with his left hand, and magic gripped the other person's neck, lifting them into the air.

"Leave no... survivors..." He spat out a mouthful of blood, using his last bit of oxygen to utter his words of atonement, "Cleanse this land... of... evil, and save our... souls."

Then, she looked towards the doorway, nodded to the purge agent disguised as a woman, and closed her eyes, seemingly waiting.

Before Nietzsche could make a further move, the 'woman' who had just been struck in the chest tore off her headscarf, held it between the index and middle fingers of her left hand, and then, with trembling right hand, drew a large cross from her forehead to her chest, and from her left shoulder to her right shoulder.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit..."

"Get out of here!!" Ni used his lightsaber to throw the unconscious scouts and healers out of the window with magic, then turned and shouted at Quirrell outside the door.

The purgator, who looked very weathered, had a black, oily substance about him.

"Amen."