Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 440 Special Talent Recruitment

Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched, his white beard trembled, his blue eyes blinked rapidly twice, and the corner of his mouth twitched before he looked away.

It had been a long time since anyone had said such a thing to him, especially someone so young.

I felt a little helpless, but I didn't mean to blame anyone. I was even amused, but with Crowe next to me, I couldn't really laugh.

He lowered his head, picked up the empty teacup, brought it to his lips, and took a sip even though there was nothing left in the cup.

Crow's eyes were fixed on Geralt's face, his jaw muscles clenched, the veins on his cheekbones straightened, and the skin under his stubble stretched taut.

After a long silence, he turned to Dumbledore, his voice hard: "Is this all the men you brought?"

Dumbledore's mouth had just opened.

Crowe had already stood up, the chair slammed backward, and his legs scraped the floor with a sharp sound.

His face was expressionless, his right hand resting on the handle of his wand at his waist, and he looked down at Geralt with a condescending gaze: "Let's talk outside."

As soon as he finished speaking, his figure twisted and disappeared from beside the chair.

Apparition.

The sound was very soft, just a muffled thud as air was compressed, and a trace of body heat remaining on the chair back.

Regulus grinned, his amber pupils lit up, and scorching magic surged from his body.

He glanced at Dumbledore.

The old man held an empty teacup, his blue eyes looking over the rim of the cup. He made no attempt to stop him, and the corners of his mouth curved under his white beard.

Regulus gave a slight smirk: "Don't worry."

He spread out his spatial perception; the spatial ripples left by Kro's Phantom Shift had not yet dissipated, and the traces were still very clear.

The direction of the ripples, the rate of decay, the location of their landing points, and the lines torn as they traverse space are all perceived as a clear trajectory.

To the northwest, about 700 or 800 meters away, is an open area on the back of a hill.

He didn't get up, nor did he touch his wand. The air around him swirled, and he vanished from his seat.

Dumbledore looked at the empty chair opposite him and blinked.

He put down his empty teacup, slowly stood up, straightened the front of his travel robe, and put his notebook and pocket watch back in.

He pulled a few copper coins from his pocket and threw them on the table, where they spun around.

Then he disappeared too.

wilderness.

The wind howled down from the hills, swirling sand and bits of dry grass.

The photinia stalks trembled close to the ground, their withered yellow stems turning red and hard, spreading from the foot of the slope to the top, with no trees in sight.

In the distance, rolling hills form a gray line, with exposed rocks that are sharply angular and riddled with holes from wind erosion.

The sky was low, the clouds were thick, there was no sun, and the light was grayish-white and spread out evenly.

Crowe was already standing there, his boots on a light gray rock slab, with a low slope behind him and scattered piles of rubble and large patches of withered grass on his left and right.

The wand was already in his hand, tip down, resting at his side. His grey-brown eyes were fixed ahead, and the wind blew his hood back, revealing his graying temples.

Regulus landed about ten meters away, his boots splashing up a few drops of dry soil as he stepped on the muddy ground.

The wind blew from the side, causing the long, silvery-white hair to flutter to one side, and Crowe's coat to flutter to the other side as well.

He certainly wasn't there to cause trouble, but the old man's method was too slow.

Present the facts, reason with them, offer choices, give them time, be patient and respectful, and then wait.

That's Dumbledore's way, not his. He doesn't have the old man's patience.

Geralt isn't one to patiently reason with people, but he is a fighter.

Since you've come here with this face, you should act in a way that reflects this attitude.

He actually had something to say, but decided to make the call first.

Although I've never worked in human resources, the principles of poaching talent are the same everywhere.

Only when you beat someone into submission will they listen to you.

Otherwise, if a young and handsome guy tries to reason with a middle-aged tough guy who has been living in the wilderness for more than ten years, the other guy will just think he's talking nonsense.

Regulus's wand slid into his hand, magic surged, and the heat of Betelgeuse emanated from within him, the heat waves on his body evaporating into a subtle distortion in the cold wind.

He stretched his neck and rotated his wrists, his amber pupils locking onto Crow, his voice low and deep: "Come on."

Further away, atop a hill amidst rolling hills, Dumbledore stood beside a protruding rock, the hem of his travel robe billowing in the wind. Dozens of meters away, his blue eyes watched the two people ahead.

Crow raised his wand, flicked it, and cast a silent spell.

A dark red light shot out from the tip of the staff. The light was not bright, and the trajectory was low and flat. It flew close to the ground and went straight for Regulus's knee.

At the same moment, the rock slab beneath his feet cracked.

The crack spread rapidly from the sole of Crowe's boot, with gravel and dirt churning up from it.

The ground collapsed where Regulus stood, the soil softened into mud, and it was sucked down, causing the soles of his boots to sink in.

A spell flew in from above, while his feet sank below. Two attacks arrived simultaneously, one forcing him to dodge, the other preventing him from dodging.

Regulus didn't dodge; instead, he kicked down hard.

The moment the mud gripped the tops of his feet, he exerted force, his leg muscles tensed and sprang open, and he burst free from the collapsed mud pit, launching himself diagonally upwards.

The dark red light brushed past his feet, then with a hum, it disappeared into the mud behind him, exploding into a cloud of black dust.

The wand was swung at the highest point of its bounce, and the explosive crimson light blasted straight towards where Crow stood.

The air was torn apart, a scorching trail followed the incantation, and withered grass curled and charred the moment the light swept past.

Crowe dodged to the side, his boots scraping against the rock as he shifted sideways.

The blasting spell struck the spot where they had just stood, shattering the rocks and sending fragments flying. The shockwave overturned the surrounding withered grass, exposing the bare earth.

Kro dodged and countered with a backhand.

Before Regulus even landed, another spell was already upon him, a dark green light whistling sharply as it shot in from the right.

Unable to turn around in mid-air, a protruding rock beneath his feet suddenly sprang up, and his boots landed on the rock, using the force to propel him sideways, sending him flying to the side.

The dark green spell grazed past his side, struck the ground behind him, and exploded, sending shards of stone flying.

As soon as it fell, withered branches sprouted from the soil, dry, brittle, and covered with barbs.

Three or four ropes wrapped around his ankles at the same time, making a creaking sound. Once wrapped, they pulled him back, trying to drag him down.

Meanwhile, on the other side, five or six thicker branches emerged from the cracks in the rubble and lashed towards the calves.

Regulus landed and continued forward without stopping. The first wave of branches struck his boots, breaking two of them, and the third got tangled in the boot.

The wand slashed downwards, a thin silver line sweeping past the calf, snapping the withered branch cleanly, its cut surface charred black, emitting a wisp of smoke from the scorching magic.

More branches whipped past his heels, his long, silvery hair stretched into a straight line behind him, and as he ran, the soles of his boots crushed the dry grass, sending the debris flying and being swept away by the wind.

As he ran, he swung his hand and unleashed a thunderous explosion, the orange-red light leaving a twisted trail in the air, straight towards Poker.

Kro didn't block, and dodged again.

He turned sideways, twisted his body, and the mud beneath his feet rose up where he had stepped, forming an earthen wall, which he then crashed into in the firelight.

The earthen wall shattered, and debris flew in all directions.

During this brief respite, Crowe moved to a new position, maintaining a distance from which he could launch a counterattack.

With a flick of his wand, the rubble in front of him exploded, scattering more than a dozen stones of varying sizes into the air.

Then they all hurtled towards Regulus, whistling through the air with a dense, sharp sound.

A silent incantation, dark purple in color, was hidden in the gaps between the pebbles. It waited for the stones to disperse before emerging from the cracks, taking advantage of the time difference.

Regulus swung his wand horizontally in front of him, unleashing a powerful explosive force that struck directly at the enemy.

boom.

A burst of crimson flames erupted, shattering rocks in mid-air. Stone chips and dust exploded like a gray rain curtain, along with the hidden incantation.

The match lasted for several rounds, but neither of them managed to touch the other.

Regulus stopped at a undulating high point, and the golden light in his amber vertical pupils shone even brighter.

He grinned.

Kro certainly has a knack for it; those ten-plus years in the wasteland were definitely not for nothing.

The spells are fast, accurate, and ruthless. The environmental transformations are closely integrated with the spells, and each move has a clear tactical purpose.

Kro stood still, his gray-brown eyes narrowing slightly.

The young man opposite him was faster, had the same amount of magical energy, and fought in an unreasonable and violent way.

He hadn't faced an opponent like that in a long time.

The wind swept by, dispersing the dust, and the photinia trembled for a moment.

Regulus accelerated, suddenly shifting gears, his long silver hair trailing behind him as a blurry afterimage, his boots leaving irregular shallow dents in the ground.

The dry grass clippings were swirled up and rolled in the wind behind them.

The air around him distorted violently, the withered grass beneath his feet began to curl and turn black, leaving a trail of scorched yellow in his wake.

The density and power of the spells are increased simultaneously.

A thunderous explosion shot out from the tip of the staff, and the orange-red ball of light, twice the size of the previous one, slammed into the stone shield that Crow had just erected.

It exploded the moment it hit the ground, sending fragments flying into the air and the impact spreading in all directions. You could feel the ground tremble even standing more than ten meters away.

Immediately afterwards, a dark red light cut through from another angle in an arc, flying close to the ground and scorching all the withered grass along the way.

Crow retreated swiftly, waving his wand repeatedly. Two protective spells were stacked together in front of him, their dark green light overlapping to form a thick barrier that blocked the attack.

But the third spell had already struck.

The surging orange-red fireball crashed head-on into the double barrier with a deafening boom, shattering the shields layer by layer, but the fireball's momentum remained undiminished.

Kro's figure flickered, moving small distances in succession, with low walls rising behind him to block his view and block the fireballs.

Regulus circled around from the side.

His movement trajectory involved rapid changes of direction; one moment he would charge forward head-on, the next he would suddenly change direction, his body almost touching the ground as he moved sideways.

The spell blasted directly at the location where Kro would teleport.

There was no time to dodge. Crow suddenly crouched down, plunged his wand into the ground, and pulled out a boulder taller than two people, blocking his way.

The flames struck the boulder, and the ground trembled violently at the moment of the explosion. Flames, along with rubble, exploded in all directions, and smoke and the smell of burning rose into the air.

Kro simultaneously erected a barrier, but the power of the explosion exceeded the barrier's tolerance limit. Fragments pierced through, leaving bloody scratches on his face and arms.

The thick, ash-red fog swallowed up Crowe's figure.

A gust of wind blew from the side, tearing a hole in the smoke, which closed again, only to be torn open once more.

Regulus stood a dozen meters away, his long silver hair blowing against his face in the wind, his amber pupils staring into the smoke.

The smoke cleared, and Crowe was in decent condition, managing to stand up from a half-squatting position.

Several bloody marks appeared on his face, his cheekbones were scraped, and the robe on his arm was torn, revealing the skin underneath that had been scraped by shards and was seeping blood.

They are all superficial injuries.

But Regulus noticed that Crow's magic was boiling.

It's completely different from before; it's rough, intense, and carries a fierce edge.

The tip of the staff lit up and vibrated, while the staff itself trembled slightly.

A gray-brown eye peered out from behind the smoke and dust, and its expression changed.

That was anger, the rage of wanting to teach someone a lesson after being offended.

Now that the anger has subsided, what remains is colder and more dangerous.

Regulus's lips slowly parted into a grin, and the light in his eyes flickered, burned, and gushed forth.

Okay, here it comes, that's more like it.

The magic began to churn in his bones and boil in his veins. The heat of Betelgeuse pushed outward from the depths of his spirit, onto his skin, into the air, onto the mud and withered grass beneath his feet.

The two people were standing about ten meters apart, staring at each other.

Crow's magic was cold, hard, and heavy, sinking inward and pressing down, causing the pebbles on the ground to tremble at his feet.

Regulus's magic surged and burned, rising upwards, the air buzzing around him, and the withered grass beneath his feet began to smoke.

The wind passed between the two people, the cold wind colliding with the heat wave, creating a swirling, distorted airflow in the middle.