Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

The anti-curse suit was good in every way except for its impact resistance. Nietzsche was blasted to the side of the road, while the other man was even more unlucky... He smashed through the window and flew into the Crescent Restaurant, which was just across the street.

The dark wizard suddenly stumbled in, landing right on Watson's gambling table.

Large amounts of pounds, along with chips, cards, broken glass, and debris, were scattered all over the ground, along with Watson's joy at having just won money.

"Wait... Gentlemen, no one is allowed to move..." He instantly stopped smiling and slowly bent over as he spoke.

"Same rule as always! Whoever picks up the money that falls on the ground keeps it!"

"No! That's all my money!!"

Chapter 211 Bounty Hunter

Watson kicked the dark wizard away, while Nietzsche chased after him. The overturned gambling table turned the entire Crescent Restaurant into chaos.

The winners roared, the losers fought amongst themselves, the gentlemen tore at each other's expensive suits, and poured expensive wine and champagne down from the second floor like flower petals, while the ladies, with cigarettes in their mouths and clutching their chests, were jostled around.

Nietzsche, wand in hand, moved nimbly through the crowd like a French swordsman, each thrust eliciting gasps of surprise.

In the final collision, they were blasted away by the burst of magic. The wands that slipped from their hands were caught by the onlookers, and countless hands pulled the dark wizard and Nietzsche apart, rendering them powerless.

"Looks like we can gamble again!" the drunken Muggles shouted.

Amidst shouts, the Muggles handed their wands back to the two men, completely unaware of what they were doing.

"I'll bet you two hundred pounds, kid." The young Muggles' faces were flushed, and alcohol-smelling saliva flew everywhere. "Let's show those old geezers what we're made of!"

It seems like it's halftime now.

Nietzsche whistled and grabbed a glass of refreshing rum to rinse his mouth.

"Four...three...two...one!"

With a chorus of shouts, the two wizards present were pushed out by the Muggles behind them. In this ancient Roman building, they were like wild beasts and mercenaries in the ancient Roman Colosseum.

They were surrounded by emotional shouts and screams, sweat and blood.

Nietzsche tore off his tattered outer garment, revealing a smooth, protective robe that reflected a dark green light under the lamp. He changed his grip to two hands, holding the wand upright on his right shoulder, the hum of the lightsaber blending seamlessly with the environment.

The advantage of a wand is that it has no weight.

"Armor protection."

Seeing Nietzsche approach closely, the other party dared not be careless. He then used a transformation technique to turn the wine glasses in the hands of several ladies into dozens of venomous snakes with sharp teeth, which pounced on him amidst screams.

But when it leaped into the air, Nietzsche used his magic to mold it into a ball of flesh.

"Rip it open!"

This is a gut-cleansing curse.

But the other party wasn't attacking him, but rather... a Muggle.

The space was far too small. Nietzsche had just crushed the snake into shards of glass when several Muggles, still wearing their wizard robes, lay on the ground, subjected to a brutal dissection. Their intestines, perfectly intact, suddenly fell to the ground.

As expected of Americans, even their magic is so bloody.

The other person pushed aside those people, muttered a few incantations, and with a light leap, grabbed the curtain hanging on the wall and swung down to the third-floor corridor.

Nietzsche grabbed the intestines and roughly stuffed them into the Muggle's body, then used healing magic to stitch up the wounds.

"Grab him! It's Jack the Ripper!"

The Muggles parted in fear, but their eyes remained fixed on Nietzsche and the dark wizard.

Without the interference of these people, Nietzsche quickly locked onto the enemy. When the enemy saw the priest, his wand had just flashed green light when he felt difficulty breathing. He was then lifted into the air by the throat.

But that wasn't the end of it. He was then slammed hard onto the ground, smashing a hole through the wooden floor.

Nietzsche walked over, panting, and found that the man had already passed out due to spinal cord injury and lack of oxygen; at best, he would be partially paralyzed.

“A Mexican?” Sherlock’s head popped out from the hole. “Don’t go near him. Who knows if he has smallpox, measles or some other flu.”

The old priest, who was standing nearby, was already terrified. He walked over in a daze and closed the man's eyes.

“You have a bounty on your head,” Nietzsche said. “A professional assassin, one of those North American wizards who takes heads for a reward… How much do you know about the Purifiers?”

“I heard about this organization a long time ago because of my work,” the priest sighed, puzzled. “But an old man like me doesn’t like it; it’s too extreme… Why would anyone want to kill me, and you…”

His gaze swept back and forth between the bounty hunter and Nietzsche; clearly, he was referring to 'the power of the devil'.

“He is a wizard,” Sherlock said.

“Some of your young, confused monasteries have befriended some very dangerous people, and they believe these people will reveal certain things,” Nietzsche countered. “Why do they want to wash away their sins?”

"Because of power, I've said it before... those kids want to be normal people."

"But they are normal! The suppression brought about by asceticism will only turn them into unstable time bombs! They were originally meant to be superhuman!"

No wonder the ascetic practices of monks were later criticized; it's fortunate that Freud wasn't born in the 16th century.

As the smoke cleared and the farce gradually came to an end, Watson walked over, his clothes disheveled.

His hair was disheveled, one of his eyes was bruised, and his suit sleeves were held together by only a few strips of fabric, revealing the white shirt underneath. He was also carrying a half-finished bottle of champagne and was walking unsteadily.

"Just had a fight?" It was unclear whether Watson was referring to himself or to them.

But Nietzsche cleared his throat and didn't dare look him in the eye.

"Where are you all?" Watson mumbled, taking a swig of his drink. "Where were you when I was being beaten up? Did you even see it? She bit my leg! I finally won one game, and now it's all gone!"

“But at least you went crazy once before you got married,” Nietzsche muttered.

On the way back, Sherlock was driving, Watson was dozing in the back, and the priest was so choked by the strong smell of alcohol that he had to open the car window a crack.

Only the cool evening breeze could bring him back to his senses from the wizards and magic.

The dying black wizard was thrown into the trunk of the car, and Nietzsche would have to drag him to a secluded place and clean him up later.

“Your monks have been manipulated; they’ve become living bombs.” He described the whole thing briefly, “Last time they blew up a wizarding hospital.”

"I don't know about these things..."

The old priest looked out the window at the streetlights, still struggling with his inner conflict.

He subconsciously rejected wizards and magic because of his work and faith, but if the price of practicing his faith was killing innocent people, wouldn't that go against the original intention of his faith?

If magic is evil, then what is the faith that turned those young people into the Obscurials?

“You need to live and help us save the Obscurians.” Sherlock glanced at the mirror above and saw the priest caught in a dilemma. “Only if you bring them back can you serve as evidence.”

“But where are we going?” the priest said. “I don’t know where those organizations have sent those children.”

"No matter where you go, you can't go back... Oh, and make a call later, so no one will say you've been kidnapped by a demon."

Chapter 212 Fudge's Meeting with the Professor

In mid-July, Fudge was invited to a banquet at Downing Street, where he was there to deal with the Purifiers.

There weren't many people coming and going. Apart from the Prime Minister and a few cabinet ministers, he could see Yurik Gump's portrait hanging in the center, but Minister Gump could only wink at him and rarely spoke in Muggle territory.

“I have deep sympathy for what you have gone through…” the Prime Minister said.

But in fact, he suddenly felt that it wasn't such a bad thing that those purgers went to the wizards' place to cause explosions. At least it made the Minister of Magic in front of him see reality—he needed the help of Muggles.

Although the Prime Minister admitted that it was their dereliction of duty, this little bit of blame is nothing.

More than that, they gained something else: they opened the door to wizarding, which meant a constant stream of technology and wizards joining the new world.

“We will help you investigate this matter. Also, we hope you will not forbid wizards from associating with us because of this.”

“No, aren’t those wizards working here now?” Minister Fudge said awkwardly, stammering, “I just hope you can protect them and not let the Purifiers in again.”

He wasn't very familiar with these Muggles, let alone had a meal with them. He ate a few bites and then took his snacks to the side.

But no one paid any attention to him, which made him even more distracted and start to doubt: Muggles don't have much ability after all.

Just as Fudge was standing by the window, watching the bustling traffic outside, Professor Moriarty, dressed in a suit, walked over. Unlike politicians with their fake smiles, he shook hands with Fudge gently and helped him out of the predicament.

"I apologize to my friend... Don't be fooled by his nonchalance; in fact, we have already begun an investigation."

Fudge felt some relief and gave him a grateful look.

Why didn't he say?

“Because I heard they are some remnants of the Puritans, and recently relations between Ireland and us have deteriorated,” Moriarty said calmly, like a wise man. “You have black wizards, and we have similar people.”

"You mean...those people who persecuted wizards in the past?"

"If you're talking about the legacy of the Vatican, then so be it, you bunch of liars."

Moriarty made a fitting joke, but Fudge, as a wizard, at least outwardly, felt that this Muggle disliked the Puritans and was particularly averse to religion.

Thinking about this made him feel a little relieved.

“Of course, in the end, those murderers must be handed over to us. We need to hand them over to the Wizengamot Trial and then take them away to have their memories erased.” Fudge thought he didn’t understand and explained, “That’s an international organization of the wizarding world.”

“No problem, Mr. Minister... However, this matter may need to be raised by you at this year’s peace summit.”

Fudge was confused. Was this matter not over yet?

This is why he doesn't want to deal with Muggles. In the wizarding world, if a criminal escapes to another country, all that's needed is for the local Ministry of Magic to catch him and hand him over to the British Ministry of Magic.

But now that he's here with Muggles, everything is going wrong.

'They're unlikely to amount to anything... Muggle brains just can't handle this kind of thing.'

Despite his inner contempt, he still asked, "What do you mean? What does your peace summit have to do with me?"

“Because this peace between Britain and Ireland has a large number of supporters from the Catholic Church, and the Purgers are associated with them, you need to discuss this,” Moriarty added. “I am in charge of this.”

“Those Muggles…” Fudge muttered, frowning.

However, the impatience that was rising within me was suppressed a little.

Since the person chosen to support the peace summit is British, at least the representative is just going through the motions.

“I can tell you wizards are very capable.” Moriarty sighed, glancing at him with feigned envy. “We don’t have those magical powers; we already pay a heavy price just to protect peace.”

Fudge hesitated after hearing what he said, and his initial disgust gradually turned into pity.

Of course, Muggles don't have the powers of wizards; they use all their energy to wage all sorts of wars and maintain post-war peace, almost like a cycle.