Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Nietzsche had also heard from Scrimgeour that the Killing Curse had become a spell that Aurors were required to learn at that time.

“Complete your mission, kill the Pope.” Moran suddenly emerged from the darkness. “Don’t forget the significance of your fight against the demons.”

The silent one paused for a moment, as if recalling unbearable memories, struggling to break free from Nietzsche's suppression.

"No! You're a monk...you'll go to hell for doing this..."

"I am an ascetic, and I have spent my entire life fighting the 'demon' within me!" The Silent One convulsed as he pushed the priest away. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this. As long as those wizards are all dead, the death of a pope is nothing!"

This is the problem that comes with asceticism—the cost.

Once the mind is guided, it is easy to give rise to another extreme: in order to reach the other side of utopia, I can even sacrifice myself, let alone others.

An Obscurus named 'The Scourge of God' burst forth from the Obscurial's body. It was an Irish ascetic and a descendant of an abandoned wizard. The unease and panic behind the ballroom door became its prey.

"Call the gods to protect you."

Hermione deftly tore off a section of her skirt to make it easier for her to move around.

The silvery-white mist blocked the Obscurus's path, but Nietzsche could sense that this time it was more violent than ever before, and the Obscurus seemed to be prepared to die.

Everyone could sense the silent resentment—as descendants of the 'Purgers' who had been banished from the magical world, they received no invitations from magic schools and were forever bound by hatred, caught between two worlds.

He is neither a wizard nor a Muggle.

"Call upon God... Guardian! Call upon God, Guardian!!" She called out to the silent man again and again, expressing the joy in her heart, her mind filled with her belief in her ideals.

The silvery-white mist grew thicker and thicker, becoming the only light in the corridor.

Hermione's Patronus gradually changed under the repeated collisions with the Obscurus. Nietzsche and Quirrell, who had arrived, could see the silvery-white mist transform into a large bird three meters long.

Its long legs have four toes, and when it spreads its wings and crashes into the Silent One, it emits a shower of white light.

Phoenix?

Moreover, Nietzsche always felt it was more beautiful than Fox.

"Rainbows appear wherever she goes... and her guardian spirit is the Phoenix." Quirrell glanced at Nietzsche again and murmured to himself, "Then his should be..."

He shook his head and began to softly chant the incantation 'Peaceful Guardian,' causing steam to rise out of thin air in the corridor, and the temperature began to rise to a perceptible level.

‘Buzz buzz~’

Nietzsche, his face cold, gripped his wand horizontally, the reflection of the lightsaber giving the Phoenix a fiery hue.

The powerful braking spell allowed him to instantly increase his speed and rush in front of Moran. Against such a seasoned Auror, there was no time to think. The illumination spell brought Moran not only burning pain, but also a stinging pain.

That kind of piercing pain from the depths of the soul...

If he had known about Nietzsche's research, he certainly wouldn't have faced magic, which even Tom Riddle despised.

The complex and rapid offensive gave him no chance to catch his breath; every time the lightsaber slashed, he felt excruciating pain—Nietzsche had become accustomed to using this tactic ever since he tasted its effectiveness.

"Crushing Heart Curse?" Moran frequently used Apparition to distance himself from him.

“You have already lost,” Nietzsche said somberly in the crimson light. “I will tell the Ministry of Magic about your deeds, and the entire wizarding world will hunt you down.”

"Is that so?" Moran sneered. "Our goal was achieved the moment the wizards got involved. Think about it, do you think those stupid dogs in the Ministry of Magic will erase these Muggles' memories after today?"

Of course not, this is not an ordinary magical incident handled by the Department of Disasters of the Ministry of Magic.

The Muggle population is small, so wizards don't need to erase the memories of an entire city on a large scale. However, these Muggles are all high-ranking officials and heads of Muggle governments, so wizards cannot erase their memories.

Therefore, the facts are clear—the magical world has no way to deal with this matter.

Although Nietzsche prevented an assassination attempt and a crisis, he could not stop the rift that had already formed.

“Father Joseph will identify the Obscurians, he will…they will…” Nietzsche struggled with him while falling into doubt.

Will people believe it?

Will they really believe that these wizards, hiding in a world they can't see, will pose a threat to them?

Taking advantage of his distraction, Moran unleashed a killing spell without hesitation, and Nietzsche could only dodge hastily. Death's scythe grazed his shoulder, and in that short time, Moran revived a complex protective spell.

Meanwhile, the magical energy unleashed from the battle between Nietzsche and Moran made the Obscurial even more violent and restless.

The entire ceiling of Belfast was teetering on the brink of collapse, causing the golden magic runes on it to gradually fade, threatening to break through Quirrell's ancient runes at any moment.

"I'll look forward to the Ministry of Magic's pursuit... Really, I'm looking forward to running into some familiar faces..." Moran, seeing that his goal had been achieved, didn't linger in the fight. He covered his wound, turned around, and disappeared from the spot.

Silently, it repeatedly crashed into the surrounding walls, and then suddenly turned its spear towards Nietzsche.

It swooped down, and Nietzsche did not dodge. He stood still, wand in hand, watching the Obscurus get closer and closer, but he felt lost: whose fault was it that the Obscurus was being used?

He could even sense the jealousy and hatred in it.

Perhaps it was trust, because the Phoenix Bird knocked Momo's head to the side the next moment.

“Fiendfyre…”

A tiny flame emerged from the blackened unicorn hair core, barely noticeable as a spark when it flew through the air, but it stuck to the silent man the moment it landed.

Those uncontrolled magical powers were excellent accelerants; in less than half a minute, it silently turned into a burning bubble.

They won, but they didn't experience the joy that victors should have.

After dealing with the raging fire with Quirrell, Nietzsche reopened the door and saw many people huddled together, trembling, making the sign of the cross, and spontaneously making way for each other, their eyes devoid of gratitude or joy.

On the balcony of the concert hall, Nietzsche saw Moriarty sitting there, the smile on his face seemingly coming from winning a five-minute rapid chess game against Shylock.

“It’s all over,” Moriarty said with a smile.

“You don’t seem surprised by the Purifiers’ fate…” Nietzsche gripped his wand tightly, unable to act under the watchful eyes of the crowd.

The Silent One is dead, but the hatred seems to have shifted to him.

Just like war is unavoidable.

“Aren’t you surprised that the British Prime Minister and Home Secretary didn’t stop me? Especially after they learned that this was my goal... All I wanted was to have weapons, and Britain needed money.”

Ironically, after Mycroft reported the assassination attempt, all that was done was to double the police force.

Even though the Prime Minister already knows that there will be wizards and Obscurus tonight.

“Even if I don’t give them a reason, this peace will end sooner or later. I just need to wait. And you, Nietzsche, who took this path ahead of time, even if I don’t live to see that day, aren’t you still here?”

Moriarty slowly put his pieces back in their places and changed their orientation.

He and Sherlock were finished, Nietzsche knew, and now... it was his turn.

Chapter 217 They're All Cheapskates

That night, Nietzsche ultimately did not take action, nor did he give those high-ranking officials and nobles a reason to break off their facade.

Although Moriarty was arrested, there was no news about it in the filtered news. On the bright side, he might even continue to work behind the scenes for those people.

Nietzsche lay in bed, not wanting to go anywhere. He didn't even open or read any of the letters his friends from school sent him... He just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Normally Sherlock would be the one doing this, but today it's his turn.

The bedroom door was open, and Hermione stood in the doorway, mimicking a knocking sound.

"Knock knock (ding ding)~"

Nietzsche ignored her, turned over, and buried his head in the hair of Crookshan.

“You’ve locked yourself in the house for a month!” Hermione sighed, gently sat down next to him, and casually opened a few unopened letters. “Tsk...looks like we missed Ron and Neville’s invitation.”

Initially, she and Nietzsche were invited to participate in the quadrennial Quidditch tournament.

After not receiving any letters or replies, Harry sent several photos: a huge Quidditch pitch and wizard tents; and some classmates playing with fireworks.

Nietzsche merely glanced at it indifferently.

So?

So be it, he wasn't that interested in Quidditch anyway.

“How about going to Diagon Alley?” Hermione twisted his head and flipped it over forcefully. “Mr. Watson is getting married, and my mother wants me to go buy him a gift.”

Nietzsche only sat up in bed listlessly upon hearing the news that his second father was getting married.

"I have no idea..."

"Let's go to Diagon Alley and see," Hermione said, assuming he didn't know what gift to buy.

“I don’t know if we are right.” Nietzsche’s eyes were vacant, his gray-blue eyes dull and lifeless. “Inevitable war, inevitable death, it seems like everything is a cycle.”

The confident government wants to gain both fame and fortune.

Innocent people are gradually erased from the human symbol system, leaving only desires and purposes.

He seems to be following in Moriarty's footsteps... Putting that aside, even if he could prevent himself from becoming like Moriarty, he couldn't guarantee that everyone else would be like him.

It's as if, at times, he thinks the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary have simply been deceived by bad company, just as he has taken advantage of Fudge.

Unexpectedly, they and Moriarty formed a complete interest group: Britain wanted to profit from the war and regain its 'empire on which the sun never sets', and therefore had to protect Moriarty's desires.

Nietzsche was driven mad by his own doubts...

Hermione remained silent about it, but simply draped her clothes over him and dragged him off the bed.

The living room was quiet. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in a chair knitting. She had been in charge of the Holmes family's meals for the time being.

Hearing their footsteps, Sherlock Holmes pursed his lips, seemingly speechless.

“Well…” He seemed to understand what Nietzsche was thinking, and only after hearing Hudson’s cough did he stammer, “At least we avoided this war… didn’t we?”

He did it reluctantly, to appease Nietzsche's smile.

“But what if I want to drive the third energy revolution?” Nietzsche replied absentmindedly.

The thought that his achievements would inevitably be eroded in the overall macro system disgusted and angered him, and he even began to loathe the things used to maintain order.

He has another way—to stop this crazy idea.

If he couldn't promote an energy revolution, Moriarty's ambitions couldn't expand. But for Nietzsche to do this meant he had to maintain the order that had existed in the magical world for thousands of years and deny all his own ideas about wizards.

Superman does not exist.

Sherlock fell silent, and in his daze, he continued to drink heavily.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know much about those things… but isn’t Sherlock a detective?” Mrs. Hudson said softly. “As long as the war hasn’t broken out, you can always find a way.”

Nietzsche wanted to object to her, but Hermione pulled his arm and shook her head slightly.