Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 360 Hermes: You hit me with Fiendfire?

After dinner, Avery returned to his dorm room, flopped onto his bed, pulled a copy of "Quidditch Season Review" from his bedside table, and yawned after flipping through a few pages.

Alex sat at his desk organizing his notes, dipping his quill in ink and copying down line by line.

Hermes sat on the edge of the bed, wand resting on his knees, slowly wiping with a velvet cloth, his movements mechanical, his eyes somewhat vacant.

Baruch had just finished eating meat and was lying in the fireplace, its bristles glowing in the firelight, its carapace shimmering with a scaly sheen. Its eight legs were curled up under its body, and it lay there quietly.

Regulus wasn't in a hurry to go to the Room of Requirement, even though it had only been a few days since school started.

He didn't really force them to practice before; he just went, and they followed.

The first few days of the semester were busy; the professors were busy, and he was also quite occupied.

The news of the Christmas dinner had been circulating throughout the holiday; those who needed to know knew, and its influence continued to spread.

The Blake family's door is not easy to get into; it's not so easy for people from outside the school to get close to them.

For family-to-family connections, the barriers to entry are high, and there are few channels. To establish a relationship, one needs a legitimate reason, equal standing, and a suitable intermediary.

But Hogwarts is different.

Everyone attends classes and eats in the same castle, seeing each other all the time. Their identities are naturally similar; they are all Slytherins, all pure-bloods, and all classmates.

Outside of school, if you're from a small or medium-sized family, you'd have to go through several roundabout ways to even speak to Blake, and you might not even get a chance.

On campus, we'd bump into each other in the hallway between classes, move to the seat next to him during lunch, pretend to be looking up information in the library and come over to say hello, and nod to each other wherever we met.

At least that's what those who want to stick around think.

For them, it was much easier for young wizards to connect with each other, or for classmates to connect with each other, than for families to connect with each other.

That's certainly not the case.

Regulus's position in Slytherin is no longer adequately defined by the label of heir to the Black family.

In today's Slytherin, every action he takes—saying a few more words, nodding, or even not looking at someone—is interpreted in different ways.

Showing patience to a young wizard from a pure-blood family might earn that family a higher regard in the upcoming social season.

Showing impatience to someone who approaches you could spread outside the school as a rumor that the Blake family is cold towards a certain family, affecting a collaboration or a negotiation.

He doesn't even need to do anything; his attention itself is a resource.

The scene in the common room on the first day of school was just a brief glimpse.

In such situations, only the most general expressions of goodwill—a nod, a handshake, a welcome back—are appropriate; specific matters should not be discussed.

No one would approach Regulus under the watchful eyes of dozens of people and say, "My father would like to meet with Mr. Black to discuss the procurement of potion ingredients for next quarter."

That's stupid.

Those who really want to talk business will look for opportunities in the next few days.

You might bump into someone in the hallway, or meet them after class in a corner of the common room or among the bookshelves in the library, using the pretext of asking a question or borrowing notes to give them a hint.

On the surface, it's a friendship between classmates; behind the scenes, it's a family affair.

During the first few days of school, Hogwarts' corridors and common rooms become a miniature version of a pure-blood social arena.

Regulus didn't feel any burden about it.

He doesn't need to meet or talk to each person individually, nor does he need to deliberately maintain any sense of propriety.

He neither has the time nor the need.

Those who should be seen, will be seen; those who should not be seen, will not be seen.

A person who can be dismissed with a single sentence is not worth my time. But someone who knows to try again in a different way after being rejected is someone I can listen to a little longer.

His criteria are simple: those with brains deserve an extra minute, while those without brains don't even need a perfunctory response.

However, if they are received one by one, it will make everyone feel that they are having an equal dialogue with the Black family heir.

That definitely won't work; there must be a threshold.

Avery and Alex, these two should be useful here.

Avery's role is clear: heir to the Cuthbert family, making him the perfect match for connecting the Twenty-Eight Clans and the top-ranking purebloods.

Alex is in charge of the gentle purebloods and small to medium-sized families.

Purebloods from other academies are also making moves.

In the eyes of adult wizards, the house is never a faction. Hufflepuff purebloods and Slytherin purebloods have no distinction of house crests when it comes to family interests.

Avery and Alex have been incredibly busy these past few days, while Regulus himself has been quite relaxed.

The two of them compiled the information they needed to know and told him; the information they didn't need to know, they kept to themselves.

He only needed to appear a few times in the common room, sitting on the same sofa in front of the fireplace, surrounded by Avery, Alex, and Hermes, reading or talking as he pleased.

When someone comes over to say hello, I nod in response; when someone brings up a topic, I chime in.

Those who want to get closer will find the right entrance themselves.

Those with enough influence should approach Avery; those without should approach Alex; and those with real brains will approach him directly at the right time.

It's like an automated screening system; he just needs to sit in the center.

Hermes was not involved in these matters.

He didn't bring it up, and Regulus wouldn't let him do it anyway, so it's best if everyone just stays at peace.

After a few busy days, things have finally calmed down a bit.

Regulus sat at his desk, and Baruch climbed out of the fireplace, shook the sparks off his bristles, and leaped onto his shoulder.

He reached out and tapped lightly twice on Baruch's back armor, just as he was about to open the alchemy basics book he had borrowed from the library, when Hermes' voice came from the other side of the bed.

"What did you use at the Lestrange house?"

His tone wasn't full of curiosity; he just wanted to know, so he asked directly.

He finished wiping his wand, tossed the cloth aside, looked up, and his gaze fell on Regulus.

Regulus could sense that Hermes had an instinctive hunger for stronger magic, not out of greed, but out of a very pure drive.

Hermes' attitude towards power has always been straightforward: if he wants it, he will pursue it.

Avery threw the book down next to his pillow, sat up, peeked over, and his eyes lit up.

Alex also stopped writing, turned his chair around, and looked on with curiosity.

Regulus glanced at Hermes, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Want to give it a try?"

Hermes' eyes lit up too.

"The House of Requirement".

Regulus stood up, and Baruch climbed down his shoulder, stepping on his sleeves, and crawled all the way into the inner pocket of his robe.

The four of them walked through the Slytherin common room. It was almost eight o'clock. The corridor was empty, and the dim light of the torches cast long shadows on the stone walls.

Go up to the eighth floor, opposite the tapestry. Regulus walked back and forth three times, and a door appeared on the wall.

Pushing the door open, the Room of Requirement had automatically transformed into a training ground.

The room features a high dome and dark wood flooring that has a slight springiness that cushions the impact of a fall.

The four walls are made of smooth stone, with runes engraved on the surface to absorb magic and prevent spells from reflecting or damaging the walls.

In one corner of the room were several training dummies covered in thick leather, and in another corner was a wooden table with several books and practice tools on it.

Regulus walked to the center of the field, turned around, and Hermes stood a dozen meters away opposite him.

Avery and Alex were standing a few meters to the side.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, gesturing to Baruch.

Baruch jumped off Regulus's shoulder, ran on his eight legs to Avery, tucked in his arms, and leaped onto Avery's head.

Avery paused for a moment, then grinned and raised an eyebrow at Alex with a smug look.

Alex glanced at him enviously, then curled his lip in a smirk.

Baruch lay down on Avery's head, his eight amber eyes all staring at the center of the field.

Hermes assumed a fighting stance, lowering his center of gravity and leaning forward, raising his wand to his chest—a standard dueling starting position.

He thought it was going to be a sparring session.

Regulus smirked, gripped his wand in his right hand, and swung it outwards with a sudden motion.

Black flames were drawn from the tip of the staff, elongated, and solidified.

A whip, fifteen or sixteen meters long, unfurled in the air. Its body was jet black, with dark red patterns wrapped around it. The flames did not shine outwards but were drawn inwards.

The surrounding air was drawn into the whip by the high temperature. The whip tip was suspended in mid-air and had not moved yet, but waves of heat were already surging out, making even breathing feel scorching.

The protective runes on the walls sensed the magical impact and began to hum and tremble, causing the entire training room to shake slightly.

Hermes' pupils contracted slightly.

He instinctively waved his wand, and the Ironclad Charm activated, unfurling a silver barrier in front of him.

Regulus twisted his wrist and swept the whip horizontally.

The whip tip grazed a foot away from Hermes without touching anything, but the moment the air was torn apart, it exploded with a sonic boom.

The sonic boom in the enclosed space is completely different from that in the wild. The sound waves hit the stone wall and bounced back, superimposed, and exploded into a muffled sound in the room, making the floor and the dome tremble.

The shockwave slammed into the Ironclad Curse, causing the barrier to shake violently. The silver light on its surface rippled outwards like water, taking several seconds to stabilize.

Hermes was jolted back two steps, his jaw clenched, and he gripped his wand with both hands, continuously channeling magic to maintain the Ironclad Charm.

His somber features took on a different quality in the firelight.

His brow bone was lowered, the light in his eye sockets was bright and focused, his lips were pursed into a line, all his indifference and emptiness were put away, and his whole face became focused.

Regulus swung his whip a second time, this time striking the front.

The whip lashed out in an arc, leaving a trail of black flames in the air.

Hermes's Ironclad Spell has reached its current limit; the translucent light barrier has solidified, gleaming with a metallic silver sheen.

The whip tip exploded an inch away from the surface of the Ironclad Curse.

The silver barrier trembled violently, and silver light spread outwards from the point of impact, revealing fine cracks on its surface.

The barrier didn't break, but the impact passed through.

Regulus had already discerned the distribution of Hermes's armor spell's magic as he lashed out with his whip.

The barrier remains because he allowed it to remain.

But the impact penetrated directly through the weak point, striking Hermes through the barrier.

He was thrown back several meters, his feet screeching on the wooden floor before he crashed into a training dummy and came to a stop.

The Ironclad Curse shattered, scattering into a shower of silver specks that floated in the air before extinguishing.

Regulus withdrew his hand, the flaming whip swirling in the air before the black whip began to dissipate from its tip. The flaming fragments floated a few times before extinguishing themselves before hitting the ground.

Hermes stood there, his hair disheveled by the impact, the collar of his robe askew, and his wand still raised.

He looked down at himself. He wasn't injured or burned, but his chest felt tight, his head was buzzing, and there were lingering sonic booms echoing in his ears.

He glanced at the wand in his hand again; the tip was trembling slightly, the magical output had been shattered, and the Ironclad Charm was gone.

He looked up at Regulus, shook his head, and asked in a slightly trembling voice, "What is this?"

Regulus put his wand back into his sleeve and said casually, "Flame Whip, Fiendish Transformation."

Fiery Blaze?

Hermes' lips twitched, his eye followed, and he asked incredulously, "You attacked me with Fiendfire?"

Avery leaned against the wall, a dozen meters away from Hermes, but the sonic boom in the enclosed space made no sense of distance.

The impact of the two whips bounced back and forth in the room several times, still carrying considerable force to him, making his chest feel tight and his ears ring for a while.

But the expression on his face was fascinating: shock, excitement, and a hint of lingering fear.

Baruch's eight legs gripped his hair firmly, his amber eyes still fixed on the center of the arena, his chelicerae closed, making him appear quiet.

Alex took two steps back, his face pale.

Those two blows made the air vibrate, and his lungs felt a bit stuffy, like someone had nudged his sternum with their elbow.

He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the center of the field.