Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"They can't come."

While the two were bickering, Nietzsche took the bottle and secretly poured some into a glass filled with chilled soda.

It still happened... How can I put it? At least it was within Watson's expectations. He knew that the Holmes family, the big and the little, wouldn't be so kind. Although he was prepared, he was still speechless.

"Everyone? What about my friends from medical school?" Watson asked deliberately, a smile playing on his lips.

“I called them, but they didn’t come.” Sherlock held up his glass as if offering a toast, but his head was darting around like a clever owl observing its surroundings.

"So none of the people I know are here?"

"Why are you so agitated? You know me, and Nietzsche. Don't act like a sissy, Watson." Sherlock was getting impatient with the questioning, so he clinked glasses with him and pretended not to know anything.

Watson leaned back dejectedly. At this point, he could only accept the fact that he had been tricked.

There was absolutely no bachelor/bachelorette party!!

"Why are we here?" he asked, a mixture of disappointment and a mischievous, cat-like curiosity.

Nietzsche was savoring the combination of fine champagne and sparkling water when he suddenly noticed Sherlock kicking him under the table. The gesture felt familiar, giving him a sense of déjà vu, as if he were still in school.

So, when did Hermione learn this from Sherlock?

"Congratulations on your marriage!" Nietzsche raised his glass, feigning regret as he offered words of comfort. "It's a shame your friends aren't available..."

Perhaps it was too morbid, but Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle, and his laughter made Watson laugh too... though he was laughing out of anger.

The three of them sat together, and the atmosphere gradually became comical.

Halfway through his laughter, Watson abruptly stopped. It was quite sudden; almost the next second, his face fell. He stood up and glared coldly at the two of them: "I'm going to play a few rounds. I can't accept that my party has been ruined by you guys."

He first snatched back the money from Sherlock's pocket, then grabbed Nietzsche's sparkling wine, smelled it, and carried the glass to the table where they played cards.

Nietzsche sighed sadly; that was the sparkling wine he had concocted using his potion-making skills.

"I'll leave the ring with you for now." Sherlock's hands were busy too; the two of them only brushed shoulders lightly before getting what they wanted. "So you don't lose the ring later."

Fortunately, at least they were detectives, not professional thieves.

Watson adapted to the new environment quickly. He stood next to the card table, chuckled and cursed in his London accent, then pushed aside one of the losers and blended into the group of gamblers.

They really never seem to stay idle...

He gently lifted the curtains, and as night fell, he saw someone come out of Bath Abbey across the street and light the eternal lamp at the entrance.

Bath is a remote small city, so the streets are very empty at night. Occasionally, you can see a few Catholic monks in black robes coming and going, bathed in the light shining through the stained glass paintings.

But when Nietzsche and Shylock walked over, they were stopped.

But does it work?

For the Holmes family, there's only how to get through a door, not whether you can get in.

“I want...I want this child to repent.” Sherlock pushed his adopted son forward without even blinking. “He’s done a lot of foolish things at school, so I hope he can learn a lesson.”

Nietzsche clenched his fist and fiercely shook off the arm that was draped over his shoulder.

The retribution came too quickly.

But to others, he looked more like a teenager going through puberty and arguing with his parents. He then put his arms around himself, turned his head away expressionlessly, and didn't even look at the nun who opened the door.

"What did he do? I'm sorry, please forgive my curiosity... After all, these days very few parents would let their children come here to repent."

"Nothing much, except that he beat up a classmate so badly he ended up in the hospital after school started, and he almost got someone's parents thrown in jail..." Sherlock counted on his fingers.

“He deserved it!” Nietzsche growled.

As it turned out, they succeeded, because the nun, after hearing only half of what Nietzsche said, immediately reopened the door and, with a combination of pulling and coaxing, dragged him to the side of the church's confessional, where he made the sign of the cross on his chest every time he heard a word of 'sin'.

She spoke a few words to an old man, who glanced in her direction and then went into the small dark room.

“You know all that nonsense about Catholicism, right?” Nietzsche said abruptly.

"Don't worry, I'll be standing outside." Sherlock pushed him inside without a word and closed the confessional door.

In this small wooden hut used for repentance, there is only an oil lamp emitting a faint fragrance and a chair. The two rooms are covered by a thick curtain, and in the middle is a small iron box for putting money in.

Nietzsche sat there, unsure how to begin.

“If you’re ready, give a shout…” the old man said in a low voice from behind the curtain.

"Does this 'preparation' require me to buy coupons?" Nietzsche tapped the small tin box.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, as if they were considering whether to lift the curtain and give him a good whack.

Then the old priest added, “What I mean is that you can silently reflect on your sins in your heart. It’s okay. I’ve seen many children like you. It’s not a big deal to make mistakes, the important thing is to turn back.”

“I’ve already been silently… silently reciting it.” Nietzsche stuffed a headscarf filled with folded banknotes into the box, then changed the subject, “But to be honest, I actually want to talk about… the crimes of the Puritans.”

Chapter 210 All the winnings are gone

Nietzsche spent money to buy indulgences for the priest.

He swore that this was another thing he should be most proud of.

After the headscarf containing the change was tossed in, sparse sounds immediately came from the other end of the room. The small tin box fixed to the table was opened, and after a long time, Nietzsche heard a soft sigh.

“You self-righteous fool…” said the priest administering the sacrament of confession.

“I’ve got it!” Nietzsche came up with a reason for him: “Someone has gone astray and is deeply involved in things he doesn’t even understand. Let me think… a young ascetic undergoing trials and tribulations?”

"No one here goes astray; the ascetic practice is to temper his will."

Nietzsche lowered his head and, through the gap between the curtain and the table, saw a pair of slightly trembling, wrinkled hands.

The situation took a subtle turn. Nietzsche, who was supposed to be repenting, became the 'priest'. He suddenly pulled down the curtain and looked at the old priest in front of him.

“Tell me about this Irish ascetic.” Nietzsche raised his left hand, intuitively sensing the change in magical power, and clenched it tightly.

The other party seemed to be stuck in a viscous swamp, unable to move.

“The devil…” The priest’s eyes showed fear as he clutched the cross to his chest and silently recited the Bible.

Ironically, the image depicted on the turban that had fallen onto the table bears a striking resemblance to the present: the old priest, clutching the crucifix with both hands, bowing his head and trembling, in the exact same posture as the sinner in the painting.

Nietzsche asked, "What is your relationship with him?"

"That...that child was brought back by the nun from a welfare home in a village on the English border. It was a Catholic institution. I heard that he had killed many people and was ostracized and beaten, so the nun brought him back."

Why did he leave?

"He didn't leave! Back then...back then a politician took a liking to him and wanted him to go...go...how could he go with that personality of his, sigh..."

The priest was so terrified by Nietzsche's magic that he stammered.

But what we know so far is that the Irishman was ostracized because of his magic, which led him to harm people, and after coming into contact with Catholicism, he harbored an extreme resentment towards his own abilities.

The key point is that 'politician,' which means that the other party knows about these silent members within the church.

"It's time to close!" The priest, feeling the pressure on him lessen, stood up, supporting himself on the table.

“You have other ascetics, and their situation is very dangerous.”

Nietzsche rushed out of the confessional and grabbed the other man's robe.

"No! You demons... You killed an innocent believer, a nun, and drove them away... Those innocent children were forced to possess demonic powers, and they regret the harm they have done!"

That's right, so the Obscurians began to hate the wizards who gave them this power.

Of course, in addition to psychological reasons, a touch of fanatical religious ideology must also be included.

The old priest had a very bad impression of Nietzsche. Clutching the monk's belongings tightly, he forcefully pushed Nietzsche and Shylock out of Bath Abbey in front of some nuns and monks.

The evening breeze blew in through the door, and just then, Nietzsche grabbed the priest's wrist, stopping him from moving.

In the wind, he smelled a pungent odor, mixed with the aroma of cornbread and pepper. Sherlock saw his gaze, and with a burst of strength, he led the old priest to the wall with the stone carving of "Angels Ascending the Ladder".

“Shh…you may hate magic, but the next guest to come to the church to pray is a North American wizard,” Nietzsche whispered, covering his mouth.

He waved his hand and pushed the bewildered nun into the confessional.

"Click~"

Sherlock pulled out his gun in front of several ordinary people, while Nietzsche, after protecting the Muggles, walked slowly to the center of the church aisle, turned his ear, and listened to the solemn organ music.

Due to environmental factors, North American wizards are generally adept at hiding themselves.

Nietzsche reluctantly drew his wand. If he violated the "Underage Wizards Act" again, it wouldn't be as simple as a warning. But he could only explain it to Minister Fudge in person later.

"Nox".

Originally intended to break the Illumination Charm, its true meaning lies in 'extinguishing' rather than 'breaking the spell'.

He waved his wand, and the priest and nun witnessed something they would never forget—all the lights and flames in the church went out in an instant, leaving only the moonlight shining through the stained glass.

All energy returned to calm.

Amidst the solemn strains of the organ, Nietzsche heard the squeak of his shoes scraping against the ground as he turned.

"Shattered to pieces."

The irrational shattering spell tore through the darkness of the church, blasting one of the stone pillars to pieces, but Nietzsche's mind was not on attacking, but on determining the location of the other side.

The flying pebbles scattered in all directions, but some of them simply hit the air...

"Sunlight shines!" Nietzsche threw his wand, and the spinning lightsaber sliced ​​through rows of benches like a cutting machine. After hitting a thin white film, it was deflected to the other side and stuck into a cross.

Sherlock led the old priest away from Bath Cathedral.

Enraged at being forced to reveal his true form, the North American dark wizard turned the ground into a puddle of mud. After controlling Nietzsche, he went off alone to pursue his target—a priest connected to the Purifiers.

"The magic wand flies over."

Nietzsche didn't even bother to dodge the spell. He gripped his wand and cleaved it downwards, splitting the church floor, which had turned into a mud pit, in two with the force of Moses parting the sea.

He simply applied a braking spell to his shoes, and in two or three steps he leaped in front of the dark wizard, engaging him in combat and clipping his wings—using magic to wear down the energy of the armor spell.

North American wizards had never seen anything like this before; what wizards ever fought in close combat?

I had just heard a few whooshing and muffled buzzing sounds when I quickly ducked down, almost losing my head.

"Sand and stones flying!" the black wizard screamed at Nietzsche, face to face.

The red beam of light didn't hit him, but instead struck the ground. In fact, after seeing that Nietzsche seemed to be wearing something that could defend against magic, the black wizard abandoned the idea of ​​fighting him and focused on the mission.

The massive explosion sent sand and gravel flying, causing both of them to squint.