Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 326 Where Regulus Should Be

The Apparition landed in the same spot as last time: the marked clearing outside the plantation.

Cornwall in winter is completely different from July.

Last time I came, the morning mist was as thin as gauze, and it would dissipate as soon as the sun came out. The sea breeze carried a warm, salty smell, and there was only dew on the grass.

It's late December now, and the morning fog is so thick it's like a gray wall pushed directly up from the sea, reducing visibility to less than twenty meters.

The grass blades were covered with white frost, and they crunched underfoot, leaving a dark footprint with every step.

The sea breeze blows in from the east, cold and harsh. The dampness clings to the robe, seeps into the collar, sneaks into the sleeves, and lingers on the skin for a long time.

A thin layer of ice had formed on the glass roofs of the greenhouses in the distance, making them appear hazy in the fog. The sun had not yet risen, and the sky was a grayish-blue.

Regulus was wrapped in a dark, thick woolen robe with a cashmere lining, a tight collar, and hidden buttons on the cuffs. It was a custom-made winter garment. Over the robe, he wore a thick black cloak with the hood up.

Baruch poked his head out of the inner bag, felt the cold wind outside, and immediately pulled back in with a reluctant click.

"Mr. Black."

Agnes walked over from the side of the stone path, her steps still quick, making a soft sound as she stepped on the gravel.

She was wearing a thick leather jacket and an old scarf around her neck, the edges of which were already pilling.

Her short, grayish-brown hair was tucked behind her ears, with a few strands falling down and clinging to her cheeks, damp with mist.

The fingers were thick and strong, with prominent joints, and the nail crevices were filled with indelible marks of dirt and plant sap.

Regulus glanced at her and noticed that she seemed shorter than when she last came.

Of course, she didn't change height, but he did.

Last time she came, she was just below his ear; this time she was probably only up to his shoulder.

"Ms. Agnes," Regulus nodded, "Merry Christmas, sorry to bother you so early in the morning."

Agnes looked up at him, smiled, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened: "Merry Christmas, Mr. Black, you've grown taller again."

Regulus stroked his chin: "Really?"

"Last time I came, I saw you raising your hand so high," she said, placing her hand at the tip of her nose and then raising it two inches higher. "This time it has to be this high."

Regulus raised the corners of his mouth.

"Go north," Agnes turned and led the way. "You've been seated on the north side. This way, please."

As the two walked north along the stone path, passing the greenhouse complex on the east side, the glass roof of greenhouse number three was faintly visible through the fog.

Regulus glanced at the spot where he had last studied the mandrake.

Agnes noticed: "That room is still empty; we can tidy it up and use it anytime."

"No need," Regulus said. "This time, the north will do."

The stone path passes between the greenhouse complex and the main house. The further north you go, the wider the path becomes. The greenhouses and stone walls are left behind, and in front of you is a large slope that was originally planted with windbreak shrubs.

Two rows of old holly and a row of dwarf photinia blocked most of the north wind. In the summer, the shrubs were so dense that even dogs couldn't squeeze in. Now, half of them have been cleared, making room for a space with a radius of about fifty meters.

A ring of short wooden stakes was temporarily erected along the outermost edge of the open space. Each stake was about waist-high and had runes for driving away earth spirits carved on its top. The carvings were fresh, and you could still see wood chips sticking out from the edges of the carvings.

Thick hemp ropes were strung between the wooden stakes, swaying slightly in the wind.

In the center of the open space stood those two willow trees that could beat people.

Regulus stopped outside the low wooden stakes.

Wild, mature plants, 25 feet tall.

The trunk is thick and the bark is dark brown to black, covered with large, overlapping bumps, as if something had pushed it outwards from the inside and then healed it, leaving behind irregular scars and bulges all over its body.

The bark at the edges of those bulges was peeling up, revealing the darker wood underneath, looking like an old scar that had been torn open before it could scab over.

The number of branches far exceeded that of the Hogwarts tree, with no fewer than thirty or forty branches on each tree, branching outwards from the middle of the tree, layer upon layer.

They vary in length and thickness, with the thickest being almost as thick as an adult's arm and the thinnest only as thick as a finger.

It's December, and most of the leaves on the tree crown have fallen, with only a few withered yellow leaves hanging on the tips, trembling in the wind.

Even when no target is approaching, the branches are still moving; each branch has its own sway and rhythm, without touching or tangling.

The thickest ones moved the slowest, but swung the most, drawing huge arcs in the low sky.

The finer ones move much faster, constantly sweeping back and forth at a height.

The thick and thin branches move in completely different directions; the thick branches make large circles from left to right, while the thin branches repeatedly cut from top to bottom.

With two layers overlapping, the attack range of the entire tree means that at any given moment, more than one branch will sweep across the same point.

Regulus noticed that the branches of the two willows were swinging in complementary directions.

One plant leans to the left, the other to the right; the arcs of the thicker branches do not overlap, while the sweeping range of the thinner branches just touches each other.

There was an almost invisible gap between the two trees, and all the branches stopped at the edge of that gap, never crossing it.

It was clearly a deliberate adjustment, and looking at the trunks and branches of the two trees, he found no obvious signs of damage or shrinkage, indicating that the transplantation was of a high standard.

Agnes stood next to him and gestured with her chin towards the inside: "When it was transported here, the branches were bound with three magic ropes, and they were untied the next morning."

The first branch that lashed out shattered two passing seagulls. Seagulls are nothing, but when the transplanted wizard approached, three were slashed—

One person had two broken ribs, another had a dislocated arm, and yet another was thrown and smashed into a stone wall, spending two days in St. Mungo's.

Regulus nodded and continued looking at the two willows that were about to beat people.

He remembered the tree at school, where James Potter and Sirius Black had drilled into it countless times, at most getting whipped until they howled, but he never heard of anyone breaking a bone.

As if tamed, the branches' attack power has been deliberately reduced, so even a young wizard wouldn't be killed if he crawled inside.

These two plants in front of me are wild plants that were dug up from a magic reserve in Bulgaria. They have grown for hundreds of years in an undisturbed environment, and every branch is a weapon for survival.

Agnes pointed to the edge of the clearing: "The attack range is roughly the same as the canopy projection, about fifteen feet. It ignores you outside this circle, but once you enter, the branches will come at you."

Regulus looked at the area, fifteen feet, about four and a half meters.

She continued, "There's a small stone house on the north side. It used to be used to store tools, but I've cleaned it up for you. It has a fireplace, a bed, and a table. The south-facing window faces these two trees, so you can have a clear view."

"Thank you for your help."

"No trouble at all," she waved her hand. "Just call me if you need anything. I'm usually in the greenhouse on the east side."

She turned and left, her footsteps quickly disappearing behind the low wooden stakes.

Regulus stood still.

The wind blew in from the sea, carrying a salty, astringent smell. A few withered leaves were blown down from the bushes and rolled twice in the open space.

A dead leaf drifted into the area within fifteen feet.

A branch snapped down without warning, so fast that it tore through the air with a sharp whistling sound, splitting the withered leaves in two.

Before the fragments even hit the ground, a second branch swept them away, shoving them into the soil.

Then the branches retract and continue to sway slowly.

Regulus looked for a while longer, then turned away.

The stone hut is located about 20 meters from the edge of the open space. The walls are made of local granite, which is grayish-brown. Each stone is different in size and shape, but they are laid out very smoothly.

The door was made of thick wooden planks, unpainted, revealing the natural color of the wood, and a brass key hung on the iron door knocker.

Pushing open the door, I found the room cleaner than I had imagined. The fireplace was already lit, the fire small but just enough to keep the room from getting too cold.

A single bed with an iron frame was placed against the north wall, and the bedding looked newly changed.

A table was placed against the south wall, and the south-facing window overlooked the open space outside, where the two willow trees that could be hit by fire were clearly visible through the window frame.

There was an oil lamp and a pot of water on the table.

Baruch climbed out of his inner pocket, up his sleeve to his shoulder, and all eight eyes looked at the two tree shadows outside the window.

"...Tree."

Regulus's lips curled into a smile: "Tree."

He reached out and touched Baruch's carapace, tapping it lightly twice with his fingertips: "I'll become powerful first, then you can become powerful."

Baruch's pincers opened and closed twice, clicking and clacking, his eight legs stomping back and forth on his shoulders, circling around before returning to their starting point: "...Regulus... impressive...Baruch... impressive."

He looked outside.

The willow tree, bathed in the grey-blue light of the sky, swayed its branches slowly.

Professor Sprout has discussed the magical properties of the Whomping Willow, specifically its conduction and oscillation.

These two things combined form the attack mechanism of the Man-Beating Willow: first conduction, then vibration. First, the magic is sent to the end of the branch, and then the vibration is sent into the target's interior.

The Disintegration Spell replicates the decomposition tendency of the mandrake, causing the whole to lose its definition from a magical perspective.

This time, he wants to replicate the shock transmission of the "Hit-and-Pierce Willow," causing the structure to collapse from a physical perspective.

There are two paths: one is based on concepts, and the other is based on physics.

The method has been used once, the path is readily available, so I can understand it, replicate it, and transform it into my own.

The only difference is the object.

He turned around, pushed open the door, and walked towards the open space.

Baruch crawled into the inner bag, leaving only half his body exposed, his eight eyes staring out.

He walked to the edge of the low stake and stopped fifteen feet outside the attack range.

The branches of the willow tree are still swaying, slowly and lazily.

He stood there, eyes closed, his magical perception spreading out.

Normally, magic perception and vision have been integrated; seeing is sensing, and no additional action is required.

But now he wants something more refined: the texture, flow, direction, core of magic, and those deeper properties and tendencies that don't even have a concrete shape.

He separated the magical perception from his vision, spread it out separately, and covered the two Man-Beating Willows.

The feedback has come back.

It is completely different from mandrake.

The magic of mandrake is net-like, slow, with multiple inlets and outlets.

The magic of the Whomping Willow is linear, fast, and directional.

The magic travels upwards from the roots, passing through the main channel of the trunk, branching out at each fork, flowing into the branches, from the thickest to the thinnest, all the way to the tip.

It was incredibly fast. The moment his senses connected to the main passage, the magic surged from the roots to the tips of the branches at the top of the canopy in less than half a second.

The conduction path is clear, and the direction, width, and bifurcation angle of each channel are as if they were designed. The magic flows through it with almost no loss, and the strength hardly decreases from the root to the end.

The magic itself vibrates during the transmission process, and the vibration comes from the magic itself.

This oscillation is confined within the conduction path, like water boiling as it rushes forward in a closed pipe.

The pipe confines all energy in one direction, and the vibration only bounces off the inner wall of the pipe and does not spread laterally, only being released at the end of the branch.

He could sense the release point, about a foot from the very tip of the branch, where the magic suddenly changed its nature, from conduction to intrusion, from flow to explosion.

A tiny, constrained burst of energy is completed the instant it makes contact with the target.

The moment the magic bursts out from the end of the pipe, it transforms from a constrained flow into an unconstrained oscillation, then penetrates into the target and pours the oscillation inside.

But he still doesn't understand how the transformation process at the end of the branch, how the magic at the very front changes from conduction to invasion and vibration, is.

To figure it out, you have to get close, touch the branch, and press your senses against the tip at the very moment it attacks.

Mandrake has biological characteristics, instinctively resisting external magic. The Whomping Willow is different; it resists everything from the outside world, or rather, it welcomes everything.

He can't get into the 15-foot circle now.

Regulus opened his eyes, withdrew his magical perception, and switched to a different method of output.

The magic of nature, the first thing he was given, and the magic of his natural affinity with all plants.

He allowed the natural magic to spread outward from his palm, without any purpose, without probing, without intruding, simply existing.

Like sunlight shining on leaves, like rain seeping into soil, it's there naturally without you having to do anything.

The magic of nature enveloped the two willows.

The first willow branch twitched, its swaying rhythm changing from a patrolling pattern to one of alertness, and the branch closed up somewhat.

A few seconds later, the alertness decreased, the branches slowly unfolded again, and the swaying rhythm was slower and the amplitude was smaller than before.

The second willow tree reacted a few seconds slower, but the trend was the same: first be vigilant, then relax.

The willow tree is a plant. No matter how aggressive it is, its roots, trunk, branches, and leaves are all plant tissues.

Its relationship with the soil, sunlight, water, and wind is the same as that of any ordinary tree.

The branches of the 'Hibiscus willow' are still moving, but its aggressiveness has decreased by more than half.

They haven't completely let their guard down around him yet, at least not today. The affinity of nature's magic takes time, just like the mandrake's initial rejection of him. Trust takes time to build.

Baruch had already climbed out, making a rapid clicking sound on his shoulder, his eight legs kicking back and forth on the fabric, his chelicerae slightly open.

Baruch was very comfortable.

"Baruch... wants to... weave a web..."

"No spider silk allowed," Regulus said.

Baruch circled around on his shoulder, making a clicking sound, appearing quite lively, climbing from his left shoulder to his right, and then from his right shoulder up to the top of his head.

Regulus shook his head, and Baruch was thrown off. He stuck out his rear end and sprayed out spider silk to stick to his shoulder, swinging himself back.

The sea breeze blew by, and it swayed on the spider silk, its eight legs kicking twice in the air, its rear end tightening, before it fell back onto its shoulder.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the gray-blue light peeked through the gaps in the clouds to the east, shining on the branches of the willow tree, casting shadows that moved slowly across the open space.

He looked at these and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

This is where he should be.