Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 440 Don't be a pussy

Regulus met the attack head-on with his amber vertical pupils. Even though he could see that the other party was on guard, he relaxed his posture even more and put on a somewhat fierce smile.

Without the slightest suspicion, without being polite, but not exactly provocative.

Their eyes met briefly on the tabletop before they looked away.

Dumbledore looked at the two of them, his blue eyes darting behind his glasses, his lips twitching slightly, a headache creeping over him.

When two people with similar temperaments meet, they either hit it off immediately or can't stand each other.

It currently seems to be somewhere in between, leaning slightly towards the latter, which is quite interesting.

He glanced at the newcomer's cold, hard face, then at Regulus's nonchalant demeanor, and the corners of his mouth beneath his white beard curved into a smile.

Is this child truly extroverted, or has he simply changed his demeanor under a different skin?

Either way, they're both quite interesting.

Regulus at Hogwarts is polite, Geralt at the tavern is rude.

But perhaps both of them are him.

Some children will hide themselves inside the safe enclosure, only letting themselves out once they are outside the enclosure.

Dumbledore didn't see it as a disguise, but rather as different facets of the same person naturally revealing themselves in different environments.

He saw Geralt at Hogwarts as a serious, reserved man who concealed all his brilliance within his competitive spirit; now he sees Geralt with the covering loosened, his brilliance exposed.

They are all good children.

The newcomer greeted Dumbledore in a low, brief, and slightly hoarse voice: "Dumbledore."

Dumbledore nodded in response, his tone gentle: "Angus."

He pulled out a chair and sat down next to Dumbledore, his left hand on the table and his right hand on his knee, close to the wand at his waist.

He didn't look at Regulus again, but his shoulder was slightly tilted, indicating that he had calculated the straight-line distance between himself and the strange wizard very clearly, ready to cast a spell at any time.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and began the introduction.

"Angus Crowe," he said, looking first at Crowe, then glancing at Regulus, his tone relaxed, "is a wizard who operates in this area, specializing in tracking down illegal poachers of magical creatures."

I used to work as an enforcement officer in the Department of Magical Creatures Control at the Ministry of Magic.

The old man looked back at Crowe, who nodded slightly before continuing, "Later, he left the ministry and stayed in the north to work on his own."

Dumbledore didn't say exactly why he left, but you could tell from his tone that he knew the reason and thought Crow did the right thing.

Then he turned around, his blue eyes landing on Regulus, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement: "This is Geralt."

Regulus leaned back, his amber pupils half-open, his voice deep and slightly rough: "Adventurer."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, his smile widening, his white beard twitching, and added, "Geralt, adventurer."

Kro didn't reply, but Chong Regulus nodded, which was enough to acknowledge the greeting.

Regulus nodded as well.

The two looked at each other again.

Kro's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, sweeping over the vertical pupils and white hair, before returning to its original position without any further expression.

Regulus didn't look at him again. He pulled his arm back from the back of the chair, picked up the empty cup on the table, looked at it, and put it down again.

Dumbledore glanced at Crow on his left, then at Geralt opposite him.

The two people do have similar temperaments, but upon closer inspection, they are not quite the same.

A middle-aged man with a gray-brown stubble on his face, deep and reserved, not revealing anything outwardly, keeping everything bottled up inside.

A young man with long, silver-white hair and vertical pupils, exuding a fiery and imposing aura. He was unafraid of being seen and could respond to any provocation at any time.

Dumbledore's blue eyes crinkled into a smile as he decided not to make things difficult for himself and to get straight to the point.

"Angus," he said gently but seriously, leaning forward slightly, "I know you've heard, but the situation has become more serious than when we last met."

Crowe frowned, looked at Dumbledore, and listened quietly.

What Dumbledore said was pretty much the same as what he had just said.

The Death Eaters' activities are expanding, the frequency of attacks is increasing, and their targets are shifting from Muggle-born wizarding families to anyone who refuses to take sides.

The Ministry of Magic's response is becoming increasingly sluggish, some departments have been infiltrated, and the attitude from above is ambiguous.

We need capable people, especially those with practical experience.

Regulus looked around, his expression unchanged, observing the old man's recruitment scene.

Crowe occasionally chimed in, but his comments were always very brief.

Which area?

Nottingham, in South Wales, Yorkshire, has recently begun to expand southwest.

"What size?"

"Each operation involves three to five people, sometimes more, and is mainly conducted at night."

How many people do you have under your command?

Dumbledore paused, his blue eyes flickering slightly. "Enough, but not enough."

Crowe didn't ask about his ideology or stance, nor did he ask why the war was being fought or how things would be arranged after he joined; he only asked about what had happened.

After asking the question, he remained silent for a while before speaking, his voice hoarse, flat, and devoid of emotion.

"I know there's a commotion outside," he said, turning to look at Dumbledore. "The newspapers aren't delivered here, but we still get the news. People coming and going around here have all sorts of stories on their lips."

Dumbledore nodded.

"But I have my own things to do. Poaching in the wilderness is getting more and more rampant," he continued. "Last month, someone stole a nest of moon idiots, kept them in cages to collect their dung, and by the time they were found, they were all dried up and dead."

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Regulus glanced at the old man, then at Crow.

Crowe spoke of these things with little expression and his voice remained unchanged, but his eyes held a suppressed anger and sorrow.

Moonfox droppings are extremely valuable on the magical creatures black market, and are a key ingredient in making high-grade magical plant fertilizer and several potions.

Poachers don't breed them because it's too costly; they simply raid their nests, confine them in small cages, and continue harvesting until they die of thirst inside.

Moon-obsessed beasts only emerge from their dens on full moon nights, otherwise hiding deep underground. Experienced poachers can use magic to locate their nests and wipe them out one by one.

Fur also has a market; its silvery-blue luster is in demand on the black market and is used as an accessory for invisibility-type magical items.

Without buying and selling, there would be no killing; without killing, there would be no need for protection.

But not many people get angry about this.

The protection of magical creatures has never been a priority at the Ministry of Magic; the offices of just a few people are crammed into a corner, and funding is cut every year.

Those who travel outside are either for money or for fame.

It's rare to see someone dedicate most of their life to the survival of a species in a region.

Regulus withdrew his gaze.

He hadn't met many people like that; among the people he knew, even Professor Sprout only cared about plants.

It seems like nobody cares about animal welfare. Maybe someone has cared, but they just haven't encountered the situation.

He didn't intend to get involved; he didn't care whether the Moon-obsessed Beast lived or died.

But people like Crowe are capable, have a clear direction, and have been running in the wilderness for more than a decade.

It's a waste to leave such a person in the wild.

Crow's voice rang out again: "The ministry doesn't care, the Aurors don't care, and the local wizards are doing it themselves. If I leave, there will truly be no one to care here."

He looked at Dumbledore, his attitude clear in his eyes.

"If Voldemort's men come this far, I'll fight them back. If they don't, it's none of my business."

Dumbledore listened, nodded, and looked at Crowe with his blue eyes, offering neither advice nor disappointment.

He understands.

He nodded gently, a hint of regret visible at the corner of his mouth, but that was all.

Throughout the entire conversation, Regulus remained silent, simply sitting opposite him, watching and listening.

Crowe was certainly bold; someone who was tracking poachers alone in the wilderness couldn't be timid.

It's impossible that he was unaware of Voldemort's threat; the fact that he asked specific questions shows that he understood the seriousness of the matter.

His refusal was clean because he was doing something he believed he should do himself.

Poaching is indeed a serious problem in this area, and no one in the ministry is doing anything about it. Everything he said is true.

It was precisely because there was such a legitimate and worthwhile thing to invest in that he was able to say no so decisively.

This reason is irrefutable because it is true.

Crowe truly cares about what's happening in this wasteland, about the magical creatures being hunted, and about what he's been doing for over a decade.

He had a falling out with the Ministry of Magic, resigned, and stayed here, working alone with no pay, no official position, and no one to help him; he was just relying on sheer willpower.

He was naturally unwilling to swallow his anger and fight someone else's battle.

Regulus understood this.

A person may join a war for a variety of reasons, but ultimately it is a very personal matter.

For justice, for revenge, for profit, for protecting family, for a belief, for a word someone said, for having nowhere to retreat, for having no other choice.

Conversely, a person can have just as good reasons not to join a war.

There are more important things to do, families to support, responsibilities to uphold, fears to face, bottom lines to adhere to, or simply a feeling that it has nothing to do with oneself.

All of these reasons are valid.

But war is war, and it will indiscriminately involve everyone.

Some people think they can escape it, that they stand far enough away, that their own affairs are bigger than the sky, so big that war shouldn't bother them.

Some people did manage to avoid it.

During the First Wizarding War, the vast majority of wizards did nothing, neither taking sides nor participating in the war, keeping their heads down and living their lives until the storm passed.

Most of them really did just move on, neither joining Voldemort nor the Order of the Phoenix. After the war ended, they went about their business and work as if nothing had happened.

Some people think it's cowardly, while others think it's wise.

Regulus thought it wasn't anything special, just luck.

Those who escaped were simply because the war hadn't reached their area; those whose land had been affected were already on the battlefield, whether they wanted to or not.

Crowe felt that war was far removed from him; he was chasing poachers in the moors, while Voldemort was expanding his influence in southern England—the two things seemed unrelated.

But wars can escalate, shift course, accelerate, and spread to more and more places.

It burns from afar, and no matter where you stand on the wasteland, no matter what urgent things you have to do, it will burn to your feet.

The only difference is whether you still have the ability to stop it when it reaches your feet.

Most people think it's still early, but by the time they realize it's not, it's already too late.

Regulus Black might think about these things, but he wouldn't care.

Respecting someone's choice is one thing; judging whether someone's choice is wise is another.

Crowe's choice is respectable, but not wise.

Dumbledore's approach was to plant a seed, wait for it to sprout, and trust in humanity and in choice.

But Geralt didn't have that patience, and he wouldn't care about any of that.

Geralt is not the kind of person who will sit down and analyze the war situation and moral dilemmas with you.

Geralt will speak directly.

He raised his amber vertical pupils, leaned forward, and braced his arm on the table. The light, which had been half-closed, opened and locked onto Crowe's face.

He grinned, a rather fierce laugh, as scorching magical energy surged from his body, distorting the air around him.

His voice was deep and rough, direct: "Don't be apocalyptic."

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