Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 386 Test of Killing Intent

In Regulus's mind, a spherical magical structure automatically took shape, becoming round, contracting, and collapsing inward.

A highly compressed core of magic, with a precise structure, each layer pointing to the same result, making the complete incomplete and making existence undefined.

Disintegration Curse.

An aura different from that of Li Huo emanated from him.

The purpose of the Fiery Blaze is to burn the target into a part of itself, allowing the target to experience the most violent way to die.

The Disintegration Curse doesn't have this; it's an erasure. Even if you get hit, you won't die. To die, you have to be alive first, but conceptually you're erased, so you don't even qualify as dead.

It simply and quietly transforms a living thing into a pile of parts that are no longer living things; the process is irreversible.

The aura wafted over Graybuck, and the reaction was much stronger than before.

The hair on his arms, the thick mane on the back of his neck, and the gray body hair peeking out from the tear in his vest all stood on end at once.

Goosebumps spread from his shoulders to his arms, from the back of his neck to his spine; a visible layer of goosebumps spread across his skin, and his hair follicles stood up, hard as thorns.

He shrank back, his legs involuntarily pulling inward, his back arched, his head buried in his shoulders, and a very low whimper escaped his throat, as if he were being crushed by fear.

This time it's fear, but it's not the same kind of fear as Li Huo's.

The fire in the room was so irritating; Luo could recognize his body.

Fire, burning, pain, death—that's the worst outcome.

But this one isn't; it's unknown.

Aside from Orion and Freya, no one else knew about Regulus's Disintegration Curse, and Graybury was even less likely to understand what kind of curse it was.

What he received was something he had never experienced before in his life, and something he couldn't categorize.

He only knew one thing: this little brat in front of him could make him disappear, could erase him from existence, leaving not a trace of blood, not a trace of bones, not even a trace of werewolf syndrome.

Death, at least, is an outcome. A prey lies motionless in a pool of blood. His instincts are familiar with this; he has created countless such outcomes.

But not having it is another matter.

A wild beast may fear pain and death, but those fears are still within the realm of its imagination.

But he couldn't imagine it; the things he couldn't imagine were the most terrifying.

The whimper escaped his throat; he didn't even realize he was making a sound.

Regulus stared at him for a while, the teasing look in his eyes fading and replaced by thoughtfulness.

The werewolf was unaware of the Disintegration Curse and had never come into contact with it, yet his body reacted precisely.

Retreat and fear are two different reactions, corresponding to two different types of destruction.

Fiery terror is a comprehensible terror; fission is an incomprehensible terror.

His animalistic instincts were not only keen but also layered; each reaction corresponded to a specific threat, clearly and without confusion.

He started to genuinely find it interesting.

This werewolf's internal structure was unlike any of the wizards he had ever seen; its underlying reaction mechanisms had been replaced.

Humanity, at the level of the most primal survival instinct, has vanished from his body.

Instead, it is replaced by animalistic instincts, pure and unfiltered instinctive reactions.

This instinctive way of categorizing threats—primitive fear, fear of the unknown—is completely different from rational human judgment, but in some ways it is more direct and more real.

Graybury finally realized what was happening, but he still couldn't understand why his body was behaving this way.

In just two short moments, he retreated once and shrank back once, both times his body moved first while his mind remained blankly in the back.

But he finally realized one thing: it was this little brat in front of him who was causing trouble, not him acting crazy.

From beginning to end, it was this little brat with black hair and gray eyes, dressed in pretty clothes, who looked like he could be crushed with one hand.

His body doesn't tremble for no reason, and his instincts don't frighten him for no reason.

He stared at Regulus, the predatory glint in his yellow eyes gone.

He couldn't understand the methods; he only knew it was him.

A look of wariness flashed in his eyes; he knew it was time to leave.

Even beasts, once they reach this point, only have one instinct left.

Run, get as far away from this brat as possible.

But he didn't run away, not because he was too ashamed—sense of shame was never a thing for him—but because he was too afraid to move his body.

The lingering scents of those two auras still hung in the air, and his instincts were still holding him back, preventing him from moving.

He didn't know if making a move would trigger something even more terrifying.

He stood there motionless, his gaze fixed on Regulus, the provocation gone from his eyes.

Regulus noticed that he wanted to run away, and of course he couldn't let him.

Where can you find such rare materials?

He glanced around.

He was targeting Greyback, that's true, but whether it was Fiendfire or the Disintegration Curse, the aura seeped out and spread out over a wide area, not just a single line piercing Greyback.

The two werewolves behind Graybury were still standing there, looking completely bewildered, wondering what had gotten into their leader, who was bristling and whimpering all of a sudden.

Needless to say, Lucius, who was standing next to him, was even more so.

Regulus glanced at him.

Lucius was looking at Graybury with an expression similar to that of the two werewolves.

The werewolf that had just been arrogantly poking its face at Regulus suddenly retreated and shrank back in the blink of an eye, its fur standing on end twice, and it even managed to squeeze out a sound of fear from its throat.

Lucius watched all this unfold, but his mind couldn't process it; he couldn't figure out what was wrong with the wolf.

There were no incantations, no sounds, no lights, no visible magic. Regulus stood quietly, while Greyback trembled.

He didn't feel anything; he had no awareness whatsoever when those two wisps of energy passed by.

So he could only stare blankly at the result, not even knowing what had happened, let alone reacting.

Regulus found the scene amusing.

Lucius Malfoy, a respectable and shrewd man, stood on the Yorkshire moors, completely bewildered by a werewolf.

Regulus looked away and continued working.

He built another structure in his mind: a tree.

A tree-like magical structure took shape in his mind. The main trunk lit up, and the branches branched out layer by layer from the nodes, becoming finer and finer, with the smallest compression and release port at the very end.

The magic flows in from the main trunk, is distributed proportionally to the branches at the fork, and after two and a half cycles of oscillation and adjustment, it narrows and compresses at the end.

An aura of physical destruction seeped out.

This time, Graybury's reaction was somewhat unexpected by Regulus.

He changed his tactics.

His teeth clenched, grinding together the two rows of yellow teeth with a grinding sound, and the flesh of his lower jaw bulged out, with two masseter muscles protruding high on his cheeks.

Its claw-like fingers spread out one by one, the cuts at the fingertips turned outwards, its entire body weight pressed forward, its forefeet dug into the mud, its shoulders sank down, and it assumed a pouncing stance.

This time he wants to fight.

Regulus was genuinely a little surprised, but upon reflection, he realized it was normal.

This wolf could understand things like the Disintegration Curse.

Tear apart, pulverize, smash a whole thing into a pile of pieces—this is physical violence, the language Greyback was most familiar with.

That's what he's done all his life: use his claws and teeth to tear his prey apart, break bones, turn the living into the dead, and the whole into the rotten.

Whoever is ruthless survives; whoever tears open whose throat with their claws first wins.

His instincts told him that in the face of such a threat, retreating was useless, and running away was useless.

This was the only kind of death he could fight against.

So the first two methods make him back down and fearful, while this one makes him want to fight.

His body chose the third option for him: resistance.

Regulus stared at him for a while, then dismantled the tree-like structure.

As the aura of collapse dissipated, Graybury's momentum to lunge forward suddenly lost its footing.

His body lurched forward less than an inch before he abruptly stopped, his forefoot leaving two marks in the mud.

Then he came to his senses, all those instinctive reactions in his body vanished, and his mind finally regained control.

Once the thought crossed my mind, I dared not act rashly anymore. The way I had almost pounced earlier still makes me shudder when I think about it now.

What is this in front of him?

A little brat who hadn't even lifted a hand manipulated his body like a toy three times, and he had no say in anything.

A low, mournful sound escaped from Graybuck's throat.

He retreated backward, one step, two steps, three steps, backing away, not daring to lift his head.

Yellow eyes stared intently at Regulus, this prey so small he could bite its head in one bite, yet dared not move any further.

He stopped a few steps away, his shoulders slumped, and he eyed Regulus warily, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Regulus ignored him and mentally went over the three points.

At first, it was just for fun, to see how the wolf would react. It was a bit amusing, a bit intriguing, like teasing a snake with your finger to see when it would finally bite.

As they continued teasing each other, they realized something was wrong.

Graybuck reacted too quickly; his body moved first, but his mind was still fuzzy.

Even the most quick-witted wizard, who happens to be able to sense this aura, would think twice before facing a threat of this magnitude.

How big of a threat is it? Can we stop it? Should we run?

Fear is inevitable, but this fear must first pass through the mind before it can be translated into action.

Analyze first, then fear, then decide. There is a rational processing interval in between, a fraction of a second, short, but it is evidence that the brain is working.

Graybury skipped that step; his body bypassed his brain and started moving on its own.

Later, Regulus became genuinely interested.

It was fun, but I also discovered something.

Three spells, three completely different in nature, each eliciting a different reaction from the will to erase the other from this world.

Fierce fire is retreat, splitting is fear, and disintegration is the desire to fight. They are clearly distinguished. When faced with different types of destruction, animalistic instincts have their own classification mechanism.

Fire is primal fear, conceptual destruction is the fear of the unknown, and physical destruction is the instinct to fight back.

At the level of the most primal survival instinct, his humanity is absent.

Regulus had just mentally rehearsed three ways to kill Greyback, each of which could become reality in the next moment.

Fiendfire could burn this valley to ashes, reducing all the werewolves and these stone houses to ash.

The Disintegration Curse can turn him into a pile of unrecognizable ashes, and even neutralize the werewolf virus.

The Disintegration Curse can break him into pieces from the inside, which then fall to the ground.

But he chose not to do it, and Graybuck's fears are more worthy of study than Graybuck's death.

Greyback was panting heavily, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his scarred face and trickling down the deep and shallow grooves.

The wildest wolf in the entire arena stood in front of a thirteen-year-old boy, watching from afar, not daring to move.

Regulus's expression remained unchanged from beginning to end.

He just stood there, his brow furrowed because of the pungent smell emanating from Graybuck.

Lucius, standing nearby, watched the whole thing from beginning to end, but didn't understand a thing.

He didn't know what Regulus had done, but he knew the outcome.

He had seen powerful wizards and powerful magic in his life.

He could understand some things, but not others. Even with his limited knowledge, he could still guess what the other party had done and how they had done it.

But what happened just now wasn't a matter of whether he could understand it or not; he didn't see anything at all.

From beginning to end, Regulus did absolutely nothing in his eyes; a child stood there, and a wolf went mad on its own.

Lucius had always thought that this thirteen-year-old Blake was destined for greatness.

In the future, when that great man is certain to win, such a Regulus will stand in a very high position.

He had already overestimated that position, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to cultivate this relationship. Now it seems that it wasn't high enough.

Lucius remained impassive, glancing at Regulus before looking away.

Regulus controlled the entire match, but we still hadn't had enough.

Those three movements just now were all based on the reactions outside; they were instincts that were drawn out by Graybury's body.

These are interesting, but not enough; he wants to see more of what's inside.

What exactly is going on in this wolf's mind? How did a human and a beast end up in this body?

How exactly does bestiality overwhelm humanity? Does that layer of humanity still remain?

If it's there, what's its state? If it's not there, was it eaten, or did it disappear on its own?

He was determined to take a closer look at what the wolf's mental structure was like.

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