Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 432 A makeshift troupe and the wind of the wilderness

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, near Aragog's lair.

The night was so dark it was suffocating; the tree canopy closed overhead, preventing any moonlight from getting through. Only the glowing ferns shone with a cold, white light from the gaps in the tree roots.

The air was damp and thick, mixed with the sour smell of decaying leaves and spider silk secretions. Something rustled in the bushes in the distance, then fell silent again.

The moment Regulus Apparated and landed, Baruch had already sprung out from the edge of the depression.

Its two-meter-long body approached at high speed, its eight legs moving in alternating steps, so fast that its movements were almost invisible, before it suddenly braked upon reaching the front.

All eight legs plunged into the soil at the same time, the spider's head moved forward, its amber eyes all lit up, and its chelicerae made a long series of clicking sounds.

Regulus reached out and patted its big head, then flipped up its carapace and sat cross-legged.

Baruch immediately started running, his eight legs moving swiftly through the forest, avoiding tree roots and stepping over fallen logs at great speed, creating a gust of wind.

But Regulus sensed it; despite moving at high speed, the armor beneath him was remarkably stable, barely wobbling.

Riding on Baruch's back used to be bumpy; he had plenty of legs, but it wasn't stable enough. The eight-eyed giant spider wasn't originally designed for people to ride.

Every leg impacts the ground, and when you're running at full speed, you need shock-absorbing and speed-reducing spells to ensure comfort.

This time it's different; I can barely feel the vibration.

He bent down and glanced at it; Baruch had added something to his leg joints.

The joints of each leg are wrapped with fine spider silk, forming a miniature web structure that connects adjacent legs.

Spider silk is elastic. When the legs land, the joints compress the web to absorb kinetic energy. When the legs bounce back, the web rebounds and releases the energy, which is not transferred to the carapace.

The rhythm is also precise, with the eight legs divided into two groups that move alternately, four supporting and four swinging, the transition is so smooth that it is almost seamless, and the carapace always remains horizontal.

An eight-eyed giant spider has built itself a shock-absorbing suspension system.

Regulus patted Baruch's back armor, satisfied.

A clever guy, and he's thoughtful.

This suspension system not only made him comfortable, but it also benefited Baruch himself.

The landing is less impactful, making running and jumping less strenuous, and making less noise when hunting.

It's a win-win situation: I got myself a shock absorber, and at the same time, I made sure the person on my back sat comfortably.

"When did you come up with that idea?"

Baruch's chelicerae clicked twice, and the spider tried to turn its head back, but couldn't, so it stopped.

They ran with even more energy, their speed increasing dramatically, the fallen leaves beneath their legs being whipped up and scattered behind them.

It was extremely pleased with itself.

I've been thinking about this for a while now, just waiting for you to discover it.

It ran faster and faster, began to leap, bounced off the thick roots of an old tree, drew an arc in the air, and landed steadily.

Regulus, on his back armor, didn't even sway his waist.

After running for a while, they arrived at an open space, far from their nest. The surroundings were quiet, and a crack appeared in the tree canopy overhead, letting in a small patch of starless sky.

Regulus patted the ground beneath him, and Baruch stopped, curling up his eight legs and retracting his chelicerae, settling down steadily.

He sat cross-legged and raised his hand.

A ball of light rose from his palm, growing larger and brighter until it reached a height of two or three meters above his head. The light poured down, illuminating the clearing and the surrounding woods.

This forest was brighter than it had been in countless years. The chirping of insects and rustling sounds all stopped at the same moment, and something darted away from under the bushes.

With another wave of his hand, the water vapor in the air condensed and formed a smooth, oval-shaped water mirror half a meter in front of him, about half a person's height. The mirror surface rippled slightly before stabilizing, reflecting his own face.

Tonight we're here to get down to business.

He looked at himself in the water mirror.

Black hair slightly wavy, medium length, just covering the ears, gray eyes, soft features, the standard template of the Black family.

The people in their family all look like this: delicate features, smooth lines, slender frames, noble and elegant, with an innate sense of reserve. Just by standing there, you can tell that they have been carefully cultivated for more than ten generations.

It's good-looking, but so good that you can recognize it as Blake at a glance.

This face cannot be taken to Dumbledore; he is not alone.

The old man was busy outside with the Order of the Phoenix, recruiting people, setting up defenses, and investigating the movements of Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Various people will come and go around you: core members of the Order of the Phoenix, allies from all over the world, informants, and middlemen.

He appeared in his true form before this group of people, and the news would reach Voldemort's ears in less than two days.

The situation is escalating: Voldemort's influence is expanding, the number of Death Eaters is growing, the guards of Azkaban are beginning to waver, and the Ministry of Magic is reacting too slowly.

Dumbledore is intensifying his plans, and the confrontation between the two camps is moving from the shadows to the open.

Speaking of factions, there's something interesting.

The world is a giant makeshift stage, both for Muggles and for magic.

Dumbledore and Voldemort, the two most powerful Legilimency masters of their time, each had the other's people in their respective camps, and neither of them could control them.

Regulus didn't know much about the current situation on Dumbledore's side.

But as time goes on, it becomes clear that there will be traitors, wavering individuals, double agents, and allies who have been turned against them within the Order of the Phoenix.

The trusted person would personally hand over the most confidential information to Voldemort, and the whole process was seamless, with Dumbledore completely unaware of it.

The situation was similar on Voldemort's side. There were very few truly loyal Death Eaters; most were opportunists who would run away at the first sign of trouble.

Subsequent events proved that once he fell from power, his followers either scattered or betrayed him, and very few actually joined Azkaban for him.

Dumbledore has the ability to flip through anyone's mind, but he just doesn't.

He has principles; he doesn't pry into other people's thoughts, respects privacy, and believes that everyone has the right to choose.

This made him Dumbledore, and also created a loophole in the Order of the Phoenix that could never be plugged.

Voldemort didn't have such a thing. He couldn't have failed to examine the minds of the core Death Eaters. If he had, he would have known who was hiding something and who was just paying lip service to loyalty.

He knew all those opportunists, those with ulterior motives, who only knelt down to protect their families.

But he doesn't care.

In Voldemort's eyes, loyalty was unimportant; fear was.

What does it matter whether someone is loyal or not?

As long as they know the consequences of betrayal, no one dares to act.

Power subdues all, fear restrains all, and interests bind all; these three intertwined are far more solid than loyalty.

He had a very high opinion of himself, because he truly was high, high enough to look down on everything, high enough that he didn't need loyalty.

This kind of perception is itself a huge blind spot, and this blind spot is exactly what he created himself.

The two most powerful wizards should be able to see through anyone's heart, but they just can't control the people around them.

This has nothing to do with ability; it's purely a structural issue.

Any organization that relies on multiple layers of trust has vulnerabilities; the longer the chain, the more links will be broken or replaced.

No matter how powerful the Mind Control Technique is, it's impossible to keep an eye on everyone at the same time.

This kind of defense is destined to be breached at the structural level. Voldemort thought that fear could replace trust, but in the end, fear only made people outwardly submit while secretly looking for a way out.

Dumbledore chose to trust, but that trust gave a traitor an opportunity.

Two strategies, same result.

Therefore, concealing one's identity is necessary.

It's perfectly fine to interact with Dumbledore at school; he's the headmaster, and all the students can talk to him. Not interacting with him would be abnormal and seem deliberate.

But outside of school, the situation is completely different.

Everything Dumbledore is doing now points to Voldemort.

If someone gets close to him at this moment, no matter who sees them, the message will be the same: Regulus Black has chosen sides, and the Black family has betrayed him.

Therefore, they cannot be recognized.

Not only do we need to hide, but we need to hide more. Our appearance needs to change, the texture of our magic needs to change, and our fighting style needs to change as well.

The magic and style that have already been revealed to Bella cannot be used directly, but they cannot be completely abandoned either. Changing them all would be suspicious and seem overly deliberate.

What needs to be done is to adjust the proportions, using less of what you are used to and more of what you don't use often, so that the overall style shifts but doesn't break down.

He looked at himself in the water mirror and began to work.

Blake's distinctive features all had to be changed; he had to start from scratch.

His lips moved slightly, silently casting a spell.

The black color fades from the roots, becoming lighter strand by strand, from deep black to dark gray, from dark gray to silver gray, and from silver gray to silver white.

The color change started from the scalp and spread outwards to the ends of the hair, turning the entire head of black hair completely white and translucent within seconds.

The hair quality also changed; the Black family's hair is naturally smooth and manageable, with a pampered shine.

He rearranged and reorganized the hair cuticles, making the hair thicker, harder, and somewhat rough but not messy.

The length falls low, past the shoulders, with a slight curve, cascading down the shoulders.

The main branch of the Black family—he, Sirius, Bella—all had dark, black hair, the color of their family name.

White, long, thick hair—everything about her is going in the opposite direction.

Then there are the eyes.

The pigment in the gray iris begins to flow, shifting from a cool gray to a warm tone, fading from gray to pale blue, then from pale blue to light gold, finally settling on an amber-golden position.

The pupils elongate, contracting from a circle into a narrow vertical slit.

The color of the iris forms a fine radial pattern around the vertical pupil, like a few old cracks sealed in amber.

Amber is warm, but not in a friendly way; the vertical pupils carry a wild sharpness.

Next is the face shape.

He raised his hand and touched the original curve of his cheekbone. The lines were soft, and the transition from the cheekbone to the chin was smooth and flowing.

Press down on the cheekbone, and the bone will slowly expand outward under your fingertips, the curve will become more angular and create a more defined contour.

The jawline widens, and the pointed corners of the chin become rounded, making it more square.

Straighten and raise the bridge of the nose, push the brow bone outward, and make the shadow cast under the brow bone deeper.

The overall silhouette, from a noble boy raised in a manor to a young wizard who spends his years running in the wild, bears the marks of wind and sun, sturdy and rugged.

He looked at his increasingly unfamiliar face in the mirror and adjusted his jaw back half a millimeter.

Finally, there's height.

It was pulled up a few centimeters, from 175 to just over 180.

The main change was to the proportions, stretching the spine segment by segment, and the soreness and swelling sensation as the bones were lengthened traveled up and down the spine.

The shoulder line is a bit wider, the collarbone extends outward, and the shoulder frame is a size wider than before.

The limbs are longer, the chest cavity has increased in volume, and the ribs are slightly expanded.

If the skeletal structure changes, the muscles must follow suit.

He looked down at himself, casually unbuttoned the front of his robe, revealing the shirt underneath, and then unbuttoned a few buttons on the shirt.

He never goes shirtless in public, it's too indecent, but after nearly two years of star trail meditation, he has all the necessary qualities.

The muscles are evenly attached to the bones, without exaggeration or protrusion, and clearly outlined beneath the skin. The sense of power is restrained and understated, yet it is immediately recognizable.

He made some adjustments to this, making the lines more distinct.

The muscle contours of the shoulders, back, and forearms are more prominent, the chest is more undulating, and the abdominal muscles show more definition.

He transformed from a frail boy into a robust young man.

The person in the water mirror is completely different now.

His long, silvery-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his amber-colored vertical pupils gleamed golden under the light sphere. He had a strong, muscular build, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and clearly defined muscles on his forearms with rolled-up sleeves.

He looks like a young wizard who spends most of his time traveling and doesn't take care of himself much, but he's never short of fights; his outward aggression is quite obvious.

He doesn't look like someone from any pure-blooded British family.

Regulus looked at the person in the mirror and twitched his lips.

If you're going to sculpt someone, at least make them look good. To deliberately make yourself ugly just to hide your identity is such a disservice to your face and bloodline.

He adjusted the depth of his brow bone and refined the lines of his cheekbones, and was satisfied.

Not bad, handsome, a different kind of handsome than before.

Previously it was refined, aloof, and aristocratic; now it is rugged, wild, and no less powerful than the wind of the wilderness.