Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 322 News Spreads, Subsequent Impacts

The news spread within hours of the Christmas dinner ending.

The guests didn't leave in an orderly fashion. The members of the larger families left early, as they didn't need to exchange pleasantries outside the manor. It was the members of the smaller families who left later.

Then a fight broke out inside.

The walls collapsed, debris flew, there was an explosion, and flames erupted.

Someone saw the scene inside: a young man in a dark robe stood in the middle of the ruins, opposite Bellatrix Lestrange, and the air between them seemed to be distorting.

Then Li Huo appeared, and no one dared to linger any longer.

What we see is the truth, but there is much more that we don't see.

They knew nothing about what happened after the Fiery Blaze, how the banquet ended, whether Bella was dead or alive, or whether the Black boy walked out or was carried out.

But not knowing doesn't affect the transmission.

The fireplace network was busy on Christmas Eve. Wizards who had returned home threw Floo Powder into the fireplace while changing into their robes, and one head after another poked out from the green flames.

"Have you heard? Something happened at Lestrange Manor."

Firsthand information was fairly reliable: the Black family heirs and Mrs. Lestrange got into a fight, the banquet hall was smashed, and they were eventually set on fire.

The second move went awry; the two fought their way outside the manor, destroying half of it. The Blacks and Lestranges faced off on the lawn, nearly going to war.

The third party is a different story altogether; some clever people added their own judgments when spreading these messages.

If the Black family heir dares to make a move at Lestrange Manor, how can the Lestrange family tolerate it?

Of course not, so the Black and Lestrange families are going to war.

Not only did that brat fight Bella, but the two families will continue their battle on the ruins of the manor, deploying several powerful wizards for an even larger-scale fight.

Orion Black and Rodolphus Lestrange personally entered the fray; casualties are unknown.

As for why there's been no follow-up news? Why haven't we heard of anyone dying in any of those families? The fire has already been lit; how could it possibly end peacefully?

By the fifth time the message had been passed, the answer was clear, because that important person had stepped in.

He personally intervened and subdued Orion and Rodolphus; otherwise, the two families would not have given up so easily.

The chain of reasoning is clear: Fiendfire was used, Bella was beaten so badly, but there's no news of Bella dying, nor of the Black family being punished in any way.

The conflict between two top pure-blood families has reached this point and can still be contained. In the magical world, there is only one person who can simultaneously suppress both Black and Lestrange.

There were no eyewitnesses to this story; no one saw Voldemort enter the manor, nor did anyone see him leave, yet it is believable.

If he hadn't stepped in, this matter wouldn't have ended there.

Once the conflict between the two families escalates, there will inevitably be follow-up actions, but so far, there has been no movement at all.

There was no retaliation, no declaration of war, and no one died.

The only explanation is that someone made it stop, and the name of the person who could do this doesn't need to be revealed.

In the magical world, news can travel anywhere, regardless of distance. Floo Network, owls, Apparition, house-elves—if they wanted to send it, it could circle the Earth three times in one night.

By the next morning, everyone who was supposed to hear it had heard it.

The versions circulating are varied and the details don't match up. Some say Bella struck first, some say Regulus provoked her, and some say Bella released Fiendfire but couldn't control it.

Some say that the flames belonged to the Black family's little brat from the very beginning, and that he had been waiting for that moment all along.

But no one denies the core fact: Regulus Atallos Black, at the age of twelve, completely overwhelmed Bellatrix Lestrange.

The reactions to this event varied so much from person to person that they were almost three completely different interpretations.

Wizards of all ages, those with poor talent and low skill, who had never witnessed a real wizard duel in their entire lives, reacted remarkably in unison.

They didn't think it was a big deal.

Two wizards are fighting, each casting a spell at the other; whoever can't dodge it loses.

Bellatrix Lestrange?

I've heard of them. They're pretty powerful. They're Death Eaters, you know. They've killed and tortured people. They have a great reputation.

But frankly, isn't it just about being ruthless?

Whoever strikes hard wins; it's that simple.

Did the younger son of the Blake family hit her?

That means the younger one in the Blake family was even more ruthless than her.

Twelve years old is a bit young, but wizards are born to fight, so what does age have to do with it?

They are referring to themselves.

When they argue with their neighbors, they throw curses at each other, and whoever throws first wins—it's that simple.

They didn't know the level of Bellatrix's dark magic, the extent of her spells, or the reaction speed and spell comprehension required to fight against that level of power.

They haven't seen it, so they don't know; they don't know, so they think it's just so-so.

They make up the majority of the magical world; they are the most stable listeners and the most reliable disseminators.

Because their version is the simplest and easiest to understand, and it won't be distorted when it's transmitted.

They wouldn't bother asking about the details anymore; in their view, details were completely unimportant.

On the other end are the truly powerful wizards, whose reactions are exactly the opposite.

Most of these people are quite old, in their forties or fifties, some even in their sixties or seventies. They have lived most of their lives, seen a lot, and are the backbone of their families, or are themselves the heads of their families.

Their information comes faster and is more accurate.

Those members of the powerful families who left early returned home to find the battle still raging in the manor, but within an hour, they knew all the necessary details.

After obtaining these details, their judgment on the matter was completely different from the widely circulated versions circulating outside.

What is Bellatrix Lestrange in their eyes?

A young witch who graduated a few years ago, highly talented and with an extreme personality, works for that great man and is said to have received personal guidance. She has a great reputation.

Torture people, eliminate dissidents, carry out the will of that great one, create panic in the shadows, use cruel methods, and dare to kill anyone.

These things sound terrifying to ordinary wizards, but to people at their level, they're nothing special.

Anyone can be cruel, as long as they have the willpower to do it.

Torture a bound person with dark magic. You don’t need sophisticated magic, you just need to not value human life. But if that’s all, what’s the difference between you and a butcher?

Truly skilled wizards don't need to torture people to prove themselves; they can dodge killing curses and withstand crushing curses.

They can escape unscathed from the reach of dark magic and suppress their opponents in direct combat to the point that they cannot even retaliate.

But a wizard of average skill, if ruthless, insane, and fearless enough, can still kill and torture people with the Unforgivable Curse.

The only thing Bellatrix can be praised for is that she doesn't care.

She doesn't care about the cost, the consequences, or even her soul, which makes her virtually unrestricted in her actions, and she's willing to do things without any bottom line.

But in terms of pure magical ability, these older wizards knew what they were doing.

If Bella's skill level were placed within a normal wizard evaluation system, she would at best be considered one of the most outstanding among those who had just graduated.

She is quite powerful, much stronger than her peers, but compared to truly skilled wizards who have accumulated decades of experience, she is still far behind.

Torture and beat are not the same thing.

When true masters fight, it's not about who's more ruthless, but about the precision of their spellcasting, the efficiency of their mana allocation, their spatial judgment, their reaction speed, and their real-time analysis of the battle situation.

Bella has talent in these areas, but she hasn't fully realized it yet; her age and lack of experience are factors to consider.

Even if you really want to kill or torture someone, you don't necessarily have to use black magic.

There are too many methods; black magic is just one of them, and it's not necessarily the most efficient.

They disdained to do what Bella did, simply because they didn't want to dirty their hands and souls.

So in their eyes, Bella was just that—a fanatical madwoman willing to trade her soul for power, her reputation largely built on fear, and her actual strength not being that great.

Regulus Black, who was able to defeat Bella, is certainly skilled.

To achieve this at the age of twelve speaks volumes about talent, and he has already realized a significant portion of that potential. He went from potentially being very strong in the future to being very capable right now.

They will remember the name, treat the Black family with respect when they meet, and give them more importance in family interactions.

But that's about it.

They wouldn't make a fuss, wouldn't overreact, and wouldn't think the world was about to change just because a twelve-year-old child defeated a young witch in her early twenties.

These people have lived long enough and seen enough geniuses. Some of these geniuses did indeed become great figures, while others disappeared without a trace.

It's too early to get excited.

The middle layer is the most exciting.

The family is neither particularly powerful nor weak, holding onto their own businesses or shops. They live a decent life in the magic world, but they are not exactly glamorous either.

Most of these people have little ambition; they're content with just getting by, and who's in charge or in charge doesn't really concern them.

Bella was attacked or not, the Blake family became stronger or not, and they continued to open their businesses as usual.

But some people are not content with that and feel that if they reach higher, they might be able to change their way of life.

They are most sensitive to changes above, because each change could be a gap for them to squeeze upwards.

The Black family has just demonstrated its power, and that power comes from the younger generation, which means the Black family will be even more important in the future landscape.

A rising family will always need people around it: people to do the work, people to run errands, people to provide information, and people to fill the periphery.

These middle-level families may not be able to become the core, but they are more than capable of being on the periphery.

Some are already planning how to get close to them, where to start, and what excuse to use to establish a relationship.

Those with business dealings want to increase their orders, those with social connections want to arrange a tea party, and those with children at Hogwarts want their children to get closer to the Black family heir at school.

These people were the most proactive, seeing the situation more clearly than the wizards with their full range of skills, and needing this opportunity more than the top families.

Your position in the circle shouldn't be predetermined. Why should you occupy those positions and not move on?

They had been waiting for this kind of window for a long time.

A few hours later, it was dawn.

The Nott family manor is located in the hills of Yorkshire. It is a three-story grey stone estate, covered with Muggle banishment and illusion charms, and appears from the outside as just a desolate pasture.

On the morning of December 26, old Nott sat at the head of the table with a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him. The front page was filled with Christmas greetings, but there was no news about Lestrange Manor.

Of course not, such a thing definitely cannot be published in the newspaper.

His eldest son, Theodore Nott, sat to his right. Nott had just graduated from Hogwarts this year and had already secured a minor position at the Ministry of Magic.

On the left is Darius Nott, the youngest son, a first-year student who lost to Rosalie Selwyn in the competition for the top spot among Slytherin freshmen this year.

Old Nott turned a page of the newspaper without looking up, and said casually, "In the future, when you run into the Black family, be more humble."

Theodore paused for a moment, chewing on a piece of toast.

He publicly questioned Regulus's status as the top freshman while he was at Hogwarts, but ultimately that was a school matter, just kids' disagreements.

Now that he's graduated and out in the world, all those things he fought over at school are nothing to him anymore.

Besides, he also heard about what happened last night.

At school, everyone is a Slytherin. If you don't like me or I don't like you, it doesn't matter. The circle is only so big, and you can't deal with everyone.

But outside of Hogwarts, the pure-blood faction is a unified whole, and the Black family's influence here has just increased again. There's no need to cause trouble for the family over trivial matters at school.

He stuffed the bread into his mouth and mumbled a "hmm."

Darius sat in the chair, his usual gloomy expression unchanged.

He had witnessed some of Regulus's actions at Hogwarts, which were far from the level of what happened last night, but still enough.

In the Slytherin environment, strength is strength, and there's no such thing as being subservient. If someone can't act superior in front of him, then they are naturally inferior.

He nodded, poked his fork into the fried egg on his plate, and said nothing.

The Cuthbert family's estate is in Sussex, near the South Downs Hills, surrounded by vast pastures and oak forests.

The mansion is in the Georgian style, with warm yellow brick exterior walls, five stories, and tall, narrow windows.

Old Cuthbert was in his study, the door ajar. Above the fireplace hung a family painting of a falcon, the eagle in the frame occasionally turning its head to scan the people in the room with its golden eyes.

There was a parchment on the table, and he was writing a letter to Orion Black.

I carefully considered my words for a long time; they were warm but restrained, and they conveyed the necessary politeness and meaning.

The visit to Grimoire Square that was mentioned at the dinner, and the proposals from Wiesengamo need to be discussed in person; I'd like to set a date.

Old Cuthbert finished writing the last line, put the quill back in the inkwell, and blew on the ink on the parchment.

He raised his head.

Avery stood at the study door, not going in. He hadn't quite recovered since hearing the news last night.

He remembered how excited he was at the dinner party last night.

The belief that his father had kept hidden in his heart and pondered repeatedly in his study was spoken aloud by Bellatrix in a high-pitched, trembling voice, and it stirred his blood.

Reclaim the glory of purebloods and let the true wizards reclaim everything that belongs to them.

He wanted to throw himself into it, to be at the forefront, to stand with Regulus, with Hermes, and with all the true purebloods.

Then they left, and not long after, it was heard that Regulus had beaten Bella, beaten the man he had been cheering for, and not only beaten him, but also set fire to the place.

Avery probably thought about more things that night than he had in the past year combined.

Just a few hours ago, he thought everything Bella said was right, but reality taught him a lesson the next day.

The person you thought was right knelt before the person you were following.

Old Cuthbert looked at his son standing at the door, feeling a mixture of relief and worry.

Children grow up, but growing up is never an comfortable experience.

"Come in," he said.

Avery stepped in, stood opposite the desk, his hands hanging at his sides, unsure of what to do.

Old Cuthbert leaned back in his chair, looking at him: "What kind of person do you think he is?"

Without even saying their names, both of them knew who they were talking about.

Avery opened his mouth, racked his brains, and then uttered a single word: "Awesome."

Old Cuthbert stared at him expressionlessly, his gaze conveying a clear message: this was nonsense.

Avery raised his hand as if to scratch his head, but then lowered it again halfway through.

"His ideas are quite different from ours," Avery added.

Old Cuthbert remained silent and waited.

"He seems to plan everything in advance," Avery said, getting more and more carried away, "Exactly, he's always very calm, as if everything he does has a purpose. You know he must have a reason, but when you look at him, it seems like he didn't think about anything, he just did it on a whim."

Old Cuthbert nodded slightly.

They are highly purposeful and have deep thoughts.

"And another thing is, he's always practicing," Avery continued, "magic, always practicing, always learning new things, as if he'll never have enough."

Old Cuthbert nodded again.

That was to be expected. At his age, he was able to do something like that. Talent is a foundation, but no matter how good the foundation is, you can't reach that level without practice.

Avery stopped abruptly, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back.

He hesitated.

He had witnessed some of Regulus's magic in the Room of Requirement; he hadn't hidden it from them—that was trust.

He saw a ball of light he didn't recognize emerge from Regulus's hand, saw the air inexplicably twist, and saw some spells he couldn't understand fly out from the tip of the staff and disappear into the air.

He didn't know what those things were, but Regulus was practicing them right in front of him, which meant that at least within this small group, he wasn't an outsider.

Now his father is asking, and he doesn't know whether he should answer.

Old Cuthbert didn't rush him.

He knew what it was. Every follower had something that belonged to their own small group. They could see it, but they couldn't tell others.

He didn't need to know the specifics, but he wanted to see how Avery would choose.

If Avery wants to speak, he listens; if he doesn't want to speak, he knows what should be said and what shouldn't be said.

Both answers were good; he was just waiting.

Avery was silent for a moment, then spoke: "He practices some magic that I've never seen before, nor have I read about in any books. I don't know what it is."

He shut up after saying that.

Old Cuthbert glanced at his son a few times, then nodded.

Avery responded correctly to the trust placed in him by the Blake boy, neither betraying that trust nor playing dumb in front of his father.

"Visit Grimmauld Place on the 29th," old Cuthbert said, folding a piece of parchment in half, dripping sealing wax on it, and stamping it with the Cuthbert family seal. "You will come with me."

Avery's eyes lit up immediately. "Go to Grimmauld Place, go to the Black's house, and see Regulus."

In formal settings where the two families interacted, he stood before Regulus as the heir to the Cuthbert family.

He likes it.

Old Cuthbert handed the letter to the house-elf squatting by the table and waved it over.

"Go out."

Avery turned and left, his steps much lighter than when he came in.

Old Cuthbert stared at the doorway until the footsteps faded into the distance before turning his gaze away.

The falcon on the fireplace turned its head and stared at him with its golden eyes.

He ignored it, picked up another blank sheet of parchment, and began writing a second letter.

The Mooreseber family lived in North Norfolk, far from any settlement, with no roads nearby.

The mansion was built at the bottom of a valley, surrounded by bare rock walls. The valley entrance was always shrouded in thick fog, so no Muggle exorcism spell was needed. No one would come to such a place anyway.

The building was made of black stone, and the walls were engraved with very old runes, some of which had weathered away and were no longer legible.

Hermes sat at the table, his breakfast barely touched.

His father, Abros Murseb, sat opposite him, holding a cup of black coffee and taking a sip.

"Little Blake," Abros said, setting down his coffee cup, the bottom tapping on the wooden table, "how far behind are you?"

Hermes' face was already gloomy, and hearing this question made it even more so.

After a long pause, he finally spoke: "I don't know."

Abros remained silent.

Hermes thought for a moment, then added, "I don't understand."

Abros picked up his coffee, took a sip, and swallowed.

can't read.

Hermes' talent is not bad, and the bloodline of the Murseb family guarantees this.

Hermes said he couldn't understand it, which can only mean that Regulus Black was so powerful that his peers couldn't comprehend it.

This strength is not singular.

If it's just that a particular spell is exceptionally powerful, Hermes can understand it.

He had seen powerful spells before; the Murseb family's library contained hundreds of dark magic spells, and he wouldn't be unable to understand a single spell.

The inability to understand it implies that its power is holistic.

From the quality of the magic itself, to the way spells are used, to judgment and reaction in battle, to control of the situation, everything is a cut above the rest.

Hermes had told him that Regulus could beat him to a pulp with a barrier spell.

Barrier Charm, one of the most basic defensive spells, is something taught in the first year of Hogwarts.

"Let's put the black magic on hold for now," Abros said.

Hermes raised his head, his expression unchanged.

Abros didn't explain, but continued, "Practice with him."

Hermes remained silent and did not speak.

Abros looked at him: "He won't teach?"

Hermes shook his head: "It's not a matter of magic."

Abros frowned slightly, his tone carrying a hint of reprimand: "Nonsense."

It's definitely not a matter of magic.

If it's just a matter of the strength of a certain type of magic, the Murseb family has plenty of resources to make up for it. Abros's own expertise in dark magic is enough to teach Hermes, so there's no need to find outsiders.

But comprehensive strength cannot be achieved through training alone.

"He won't teach you those core things," Abros said, taking another sip of his coffee. "His family traditions, his self-created spells, his unique techniques—forget about them."

Hermes thought for a moment and nodded.

"But how he trains, how he approaches a fight, how he makes judgments under pressure," Abros said. "You're right next to him, with your eyes on your head, can't you see that?"

Hermes nodded again, thinking to himself, "Why should I look? Can't I just ask?"

Abros looked at his son's face: "Go."

Hermes glanced at the breakfast but didn't touch it.

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