Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"Easier said than done... Since you two are guests, please come and meet the host of this place first."

Nietzsche still wanted to fight back, but at the same time, dozens of beams of light lit up all around him. Even though he survived most of the attacks in front of him, he was still hit by a barrage of knockback spells and could not escape.

He struggled to stay conscious and got up from the ground again and again.

"Moran..."

"Your will is truly remarkable." The other person applauded him. "If you graduate smoothly, you should be able to become the youngest Director of the Legal Enforcement Division, if you live to see that day."

Nietzsche faced the surrounding army, gritted his teeth, and erected a barrier. He couldn't even tell if he had mispronounced the incantation.

The only thing that can be confirmed is that the reason he didn't fall as quickly as Sherlock was because of the anti-curse suit he was wearing.

The blue-white beam of light was reflected, splashing beautiful sparks on the Ironclad Charm, but it was all in vain, just like in a storm, even with an umbrella, you can't avoid getting wet.

Before he fell into a coma, Nietzsche was thinking to himself that he would make a full suit of armor from the basilisk scales.

When he woke up again, he found himself transported. He was dizzy, and all he could feel was soothing music and... a fragrance.

"A few Purgers just escaped. If you don't mind, you can have something to eat before I find the Doctor. It's the local famous smoked minced meat sausage and apple tart."

Moriarty sat at the table and tied scarves around their necks.

Nietzsche didn't appreciate the gesture. He tried to change his posture but found himself tied to the chair, with only his hands free to move. Meanwhile, Sherlock, oblivious to the danger, started enjoying his meal.

He sighed without any emotion:

"I am terrified of your crimes as much as I admire your skill in committing them."

"You used those children to create various crises in both worlds under different identities for the Obscurials, and after learning about Voldemort from the purebloods, you shifted the blame onto them..."

"wrong!"

The emptied room had only one light bulb shining, just enough to illuminate the dining table.

A cold wind blew in through the vent above, causing the three of them—Moriarty, Nietzsche, and Shylock—to be unable to see each other's true faces, leaving them in a state of alternating light and shadow.

“I haven’t transferred this concept. Purebloods and wizards, like religions and commoners, always instill a slave-like mentality.” Moriarty suddenly turned his head again. “I have a question… why don’t you face yourselves?”

He seemed to be targeting Nietzsche, which suddenly ignited a fire in Shylock's heart.

Even gin suddenly doesn't taste as good anymore.

“What do you mean?” Nietzsche said calmly.

“Nietzsche...you are honest, but you are also cautious and always limit yourself.”

"Do you intend to exploit those young Obscurians like you do, and then fuel a war with no limits?" Nietzsche suddenly erupted, slamming his fist on the table.

The guards at the door were so frightened that they immediately pointed their blaster guns at the wizard.

Moriarty wiped the spittle that had splattered on his face, glanced discreetly to the side, and then one of the young guards slammed him hard with the butt of his rifle, slamming Nietzsche's head into a plate.

After the pain came a moment of numbness, followed by a trickle of blood flowing down my forehead.

As it turned out, Moriarty did not treat him specially because he was a child; in a sense, he treated him with equal respect.

“To be honest, I didn’t start the war. I was just a maintenance worker who provided fuel for the train of history.” He looked at Nietzsche with disappointment. “Between you and me, there is only a layer of morality.”

Sherlock's eyes gradually turned dangerous as he glared at the other man.

However, Moriarty disagreed, even saying that he now enjoyed the gazes of Holmes and his son, and the more they hated him, the more he could feel the taste of victory.

“I told you, I would find your most fatal weakness, Sherlock. You always deceive yourself, thinking you are different from others, but in fact, you value feelings more than anyone else... First it was Irene, now it's him and Watson.”

Even if you kill him... my son, I will make you regret it.

“I won’t kill him,” Moriarty hummed classical music gracefully. “I will make you suffer for the rest of your life.”

He attached a hook to Nietzsche's shoulder blade.

Immediately afterwards, the iron chain was pulled hard, and Nietzsche, who was sitting next to Shylock, was pulled back rapidly, hanging in the air along with his chair.

The weight of himself and the chair intensified the tearing pain. Nietzsche felt as if his arm was about to break, and the echo of his wails in the room made Sherlock break out in a cold sweat.

He admitted that he started to panic, glancing at the sky and estimating the time by the position of the moon.

Meanwhile, Hermione Granger, who was fast asleep in England, suddenly felt something stepping on her face. When she opened her eyes, she found Crookshanks kneading her nose.

"How did you end up here?" she asked groggily as she turned on the nightlight.

Crookshan raised his neck, on which was tied a letter.

The letter contained only the signatures of Nietzsche and Shylock, a location, and two sentences:

Heilbronn, the military factory in Mahd.

If it's convenient for you, please come over; if it's not convenient, please still come over.

Chapter 214 Jedi Master (Mistaken)

Surprisingly, no readers recognized the famous line at the end of the previous chapter (the famous scene between Watson and Holmes), sob sob sob.

------

Hermione, excitedly arriving at Heilbronn with Quirrell after receiving the 'invitation,' was still churning from the Apparition Charm...

After leading away several dazed Obscurians, Watson didn't meet with Nietzsche and the others. Instead, he ran into Hermione and Quirrell, who had come to help. The group exchanged glances and knew something was wrong.

They then split into two groups—the priest and the Purifiers headed towards the station, while Quirinas, Hermione, and John returned to Moriarty's factory.

But now that I'm inside, it's completely different from before; there are patrolling soldiers and guards everywhere.

A beam of light appeared from the towering heights. Quirrell didn't even bother to lift his hand; the surrounding walls shifted and blocked their path, blasting them to pieces.

The sirens, footsteps, and German curses left Hermione's head spinning.

What's even more chilling is the radio that was turned on, from which came out gnashing wails and music from a phonograph.

"It's the broadcasting room!" Hermione said, moving through the residential area and along the roads, roughly determining the location of the group. "A factory like this wouldn't have any other transit points."

But just as she anxiously took a step, a pale red beam of light flew over instantly, and the impact of the explosion knocked her over, with rubble and broken tiles cutting her exposed skin.

Quirrell dodged to the side, deflecting the two spells that followed, and then immediately used Polymorph to hide himself and his group in the street.

"Did you find anything?" he asked.

"It seems... to be in the direction of the watchtower." Watson's excellent intuition and observation skills in battle immediately detected the direction of the attack.

“The other party is an expelled Auror, and he’s rather arrogant,” Quirrell calmly analyzed. “Hermione, I’ll draw their fire. As soon as they start to get impatient, that’s your chance to strike.”

After saying that, he rolled over and disappeared into the street.

Although Quirrell's combat experience was far inferior to Moran's, his skill in using magic temporarily bridged the gap, and the courage he displayed impressed even Hermione.

While skillfully dodging, he also used various tricks to clear out the surrounding fodder soldiers.

All I can say is... no wonder he dared to dream of defeating Voldemort when he was young.

"What a flea." Moran gradually became impatient after several failed attempts.

Although the factory area was protected by an anti-phantomization spell, the other side did not intend to retaliate. They simply hid from him everywhere. Moran, whose competitive spirit was aroused, began to become increasingly aggressive with his gunplay—switching to full automatic.

From above, the ground below looks pitted and uneven, but as soon as a hole is blasted open, Quirrell will immediately repair it.

He wanted to see how this person could outlast him, knowing that a wizard could recover his magic through rest, but the body, as a vessel, was ultimately limited.

“Granger, aim! You only have one chance.” Hermione held her breath, staring at the distant lighthouse.

She was completely focused, concentrating her mind on her goal, but what kind of magic should she use...?

War magic?

Explosion spell?

No, she thought of a better magic that could ignore precision.

Hermione's thoughts drifted back to when she first started learning magic, and the phrase "there is no such thing as trying, only doing or not doing" echoed in her ears. To be honest, she had a plan, but she was worried about whether she could succeed.

"Floating~"

As she raised her hand, Molan, who was blocking them from the lighthouse, began to feel a tremor.

At first, he thought it was an earthquake because he noticed that the target in the camera lens was gradually shrinking... He abruptly looked away and realized that the entire lighthouse he was in was beginning to suspend itself in mid-air.

Why did Moran choose the lighthouse as his hiding place?

Because he considered himself a hunter, he needed a wide field of vision, and the thick brick walls could withstand the baptism of dozens of spells.

But to everyone's surprise, Hermione would pull this stunt.

“This is not fair.” Moran threw down the E-11 blaster and jumped down from it as the steel pipes and bricks began to distort, the space gradually contracted inward, and he was dozens of meters in the air.

But Hermione was clearly not going to let him off easily. As she struggled to control the giant lighthouse and smash it down, she found it wasn't as difficult as it had been at first.

It's like...breaking free from some kind of shackles.

'I see... Weight isn't the issue; willpower is key.'

Hermione gradually came to understand everything.

Everyone in the factory witnessed this astonishing sight: the lighthouse, used to illuminate the sky and guide ships on the river, floated up like a castle in the air, while the ruins became a dark cloud hanging over their hearts.

"Run!" Former Auror Sebastian Moran burst out of the smoke, grabbed the professor, and ran, yelling at the arriving guards, "Attack! If they get away, I'll kill you all!"

Half the area was reduced to ruins, and even Moriarty swallowed hard.

"Wand, come here!" Hermione stood on a piece of rubble, summoned Nietzsche's wand, and threw it down from above.

“Wow, she looks much better than you,” Sherlock said.

"Yes, that's amazing. She almost crushed us to death... The gates are wide open!" Nietzsche clutched his shoulder and used a simple unlocking spell to smash the wall that had trapped him, creating a hole that was emitting black smoke.

A hardcore opening.

But it must be admitted that Nietzsche was still happy to see Hermione, even if he hadn't been so disheveled.

"You should be glad I arrived just in time."