Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

But what could he do? He could only be patient.

“You—what you’re saying sounds a lot like a wizard I know,” Fudge said, turning his head to comfort her.

"Oh?"

"Holmes... well, he's just a student who hasn't graduated yet."

Fudge shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh, popped a snack into his mouth. He was so busy he was completely lost; what was the point of talking to Muggles about this?

Moriarty also lowered his head at the same time, using the alcohol to cover his trembling eyelids. When he raised his head again, he had a surprised expression on his face.

"A student who can be mentioned by the Minister of Magic must be quite good, right?"

"Understanding, intelligent... he reminded me of a lot, and to be honest, I'm sometimes persuaded even when I read his books." Fudge agreed, "Yes, wizards are far beyond Muggles."

After the banquet, as minister, he immediately returned to the wizarding world and planned to ask the Daily Prophet to publish an important statement to appease the frightened masses.

Fudge needs to prove himself to be far superior to the minister during Voldemort's era.

Moriarty, on the other hand, was sitting in a chair when a cat jumped from the Prime Minister's desk onto his lap, a gesture that showed he was a regular at the Prime Minister's residence.

"Humphrey, do you know Sherlock Holmes?" He took a handful of dry food from his pocket and expertly fed the cat.

His movements were so careful that it was impossible to tell that this was the 'Napoleon of the criminal world' that Sherlock had mentioned.

"Meow."

"No, I'm certainly not talking about Sherlock Holmes working for Britain..."

When he came out of Downing Street, he saw Sebastian Moran leaning against the roadside smoking, with cigarette butts all around his feet. When he saw the professor coming, he did not urge him, but respectfully helped him open the car door.

Moriarty watched him sitting in the driver's seat, lost in thought, without making a sound for a long time.

"What's wrong?" he asked casually, humming a Don Juan opera tune.

“Sir…” Moran hesitated even more when she saw that he was in a good mood. “The bounty hunters in North America have failed.”

As expected, Moriarty immediately stopped humming. The car was so quiet that you could hear them both breathing. Moran, meanwhile, had his head down, his fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.

"If you wait until I've dealt with the German arms dealers and come back, that'll be great. Those stupid wizards in North America are all amateurs and unprofessional."

His tone was full of disdain, and he even started cursing the idiot.

After a long pause, the professor said softly, "It's alright, the summit has already begun."

Moran took out his wand and wiped it on his clothes.

"Should we stall, or...?"

“Holmes will definitely use the Bath Abbey as a starting point to investigate. We just need to lay an ambush,” Moriarty said hoarsely. “Don’t rush. They can’t change the outcome. I’ll talk to him alone.”

Moran was a little confused; he didn't understand which Sherlock Holmes the professor was referring to.

Is it Nietzsche? Or Shylock?

Forget it, he doesn't care anymore. At worst, he'll just leave both of them behind.

Chapter 213 (Part 2) Moriarty's Factory

Watson found himself not lying in a warm bed, nor gently awakened by Mary's helpless cries, but rather... the sound of a train whistle.

He jumped out of bed in terror.

"Where am I?"

"On the way to the border between Germany and France—Heilbronn." Sherlock threw a new set of clothes at him. "A few days ago, arms dealer Alfred Mehard died suddenly, and his company was acquired for a large sum of money."

Watson clutched his head, still feeling dizzy from the large amount of alcohol he had consumed... and he was also very hungry.

Meanwhile, Nietzsche was tying a letter around Crookshank's neck. Just before the train started moving, the cat jumped out of the window, and it was to deliver the letter to Hermione Granger.

“You slept all day and almost got alcohol poisoning…” Nietzsche said.

“I’m truly sorry, because I had to drink so much!” Watson tore his clothes to shreds, put on a new suit, and growled excitedly, “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to forget how many pounds I’ve lost!”

He had to use alcohol to force himself to forget what happened at the bachelor party.

What's worse, he's about to get married, but he's still with Sherlock! Imagine if Mary suddenly found herself vanished before the wedding, would she call off the engagement?

With the priest's help, Watson stood up shakily: "I'm getting married in a month."

“Don’t worry, Hermione will call you in two hours after you see Crookshanks,” Nietzsche said, cutting off his escape route. “Going back now would be the most dangerous thing for you.”

This wasn't just him talking nonsense; he knew that the defeat at Bath Church would surely reach Moriarty's ears.

Watson sat blankly in the chair, looking at the only person in the carriage he didn't recognize.

“Joseph…by the way, who is Mahd?” The priest shook hands with him kindly.

“Arms dealer, heavy weapons,” Watson answered instinctively.

Nietzsche and Shylock, as if by unspoken agreement, turned their heads at the same time and looked at him meaningfully.

Some people say they don't want to get involved in anything and just want to live their own happy lives, but secretly they care more than anyone else. Watson realized he had said the wrong thing, so he tried to explain himself.

“I’m concerned about the cause of his sudden death.” He said from the perspective of an outstanding medical school graduate, “The only other person to die suddenly like Mahard was the Riddell family half a century ago.”

This surname... if Nietzsche wasn't mistaken, must be related to Voldemort.

This matter has nothing to do with Moriarty for the time being, but Nietzsche still wrote down what Watson casually mentioned, and would confirm it with Tom Riddle when school started.

"Because of the massive investment, the military factory now belongs to Moriarty, and it is very likely that it will become the Purge's base."

Nothing is independent.

Nietzsche connected the magical world with everything that happened in the outside world, and found patterns in them:

Those exquisitely crafted, groundbreaking magical energy weapons are one of the organization's methods, which means that there are strict production locations. The E-11 new weapon was produced in Heilbronn's military factory.

Therefore, the Silent Ones from Bath Abbey were moved there, much like Salem at the end of the 17th century.

It was evening when they arrived in Heilbronn. As an important industrial port in southwestern Germany that had just broken away from American control, it was heavily guarded. Even in the middle of the night, police cars could be seen patrolling the streets.

But it wasn't difficult for Nietzsche, and he also let the other three experience the Illusion Spell.

“You take Father Joseph to the residential area to find those people, and Sherlock and I will go find important evidence…” Nietzsche planned in the middle of the road, in front of several patrol teams.

But the Muggles acted as if they hadn't heard anything, simply propping their spears on the ground and taking a break to light a cigarette.

It is worth noting that those guys were not equipped with American or German weapons at all. What chilled Nietzsche was that those new weapons had already been used on a large scale, and the people here alone were enough to take over an entire wizard village.

"Are you happy?" Sherlock suddenly asked before they parted.

“I can’t be bothered to answer such a pointless question,” Watson said dismissively.

"This is our last adventure together, so... are you happy right now?"

"Shall we chat here, or wait for Moriarty's plot to succeed?" Watson lowered his voice and impatiently pulled the priest into a side path. "We'll meet at customs then."

He walked away without looking back.

However, Sherlock was quite satisfied with his answer. Generally speaking, avoiding the question means that the true thoughts contradict the reluctance he wants to express, which means that Watson might be happy because of the stimulation.

“But at least he’ll miss this moment before the wedding.” Ni nudged him with her elbow. “The perfect bachelor party.”

The crates of flammable materials and chemicals were carelessly thrown outside, while inside the military factory in Mahd, endless crates lay scattered about, labeled with various countries' names and orders.

It can be found almost everywhere in Europe except for Britain, and the writing is in Irish.

Even though Nietzsche had a premonition, he didn't expect things to develop so quickly.

He suddenly stopped at the door of an airtight room, and under Sherlock's questioning gaze, he took out his wand. Just now, he had sensed something—something familiar, because it was related to alchemy.

"Odel!"

As the words fell, Sherlock and he simultaneously saw several gleaming golden runes appear out of thin air on several large machine tools in the airtight room.

It has the same effect as the ceiling of the Ministry of Magic.

'Odel' means inheritance and accumulation, and judging from the current scene, it seems to be used to transfer runes such as the Explosion Charm onto items.

“Belfast…” Charlotte suddenly said.

"what?"

"The capital of Northern Ireland, where the Anglo-Irish peace summit is held."

Following his father's gaze, Nietzsche noticed a huge sand table in the corner, displaying the names of various countries and the events that were about to unfold, including what would drag the whole of Europe into the mess...

It was none other than 'Voldemort'.

Nietzsche suddenly understood the warning the professor had given him at Quirrell's house that Christmas: even Voldemort was just part of his plan.

Moriarty's appetite was so great that Nietzsche and Shylock began to suspect what the other was plotting.

They were so shocked that they didn't even notice that there was someone behind them.

"The Purifiers' advantage isn't the Obscurial... the two Mr. Holmes." The lights gradually came on, and Moran's magnetic voice echoed in the empty factory, "They can switch flexibly between 'wizards' and 'Muggles'."

Nietzsche's heart skipped a beat; he then realized the gravity of the situation:

Those who purged and their descendants were not wizards, but because of their own magic, they could not integrate into Muggles.

Therefore, Moriarty's interest in them wasn't because they could be turned into 'human bombs,' but because they could switch identities back and forth, and the horrific assassinations were merely a convenient way to utilize those identities.

The next stop is Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland, where a peace summit will be held.

"armor..."

Nietzsche turned around, raised his wand, and only uttered two words of the spell before being struck by a beam of blue light. As if he had been hit by a bull, his head slammed against the heavy, airtight door with a loud thud.

A silent spell?

No, it wasn't a silent incantation back then. After all, thinking takes time, and it's impossible to do it so quickly.

Sherlock's hand, which was reaching for his gun, stopped.

"Put down your wands and revolvers, they're outdated." Moran took off his hat and slowly introduced, "E-11 blaster, automatic fire, can switch between stun and lethal, each charge tube can sustain up to five hundred rounds."

He gestured with his chin, and at his prompting, Nietzsche grasped one of them.

Taking advantage of the other party's inattention, he tried to use the magic in his body to pull the trigger, but to no avail... Without an energy-rechargeable magazine, the wizard seemed unable to use it.

“If you want to play Western duels, you haven’t given me a magazine yet.” Sherlock raised his hands.