Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 441 Old man, your method is too slow

Regulus flicked his wand, and a thunderous explosion shot out from the tip of the wand, sending an orange-red orb straight at Regulus's face.

Crow swung his wand downwards, and a thick stone slab rose from the ground to block his path.

The ball of light collided with it and exploded, shattering the stone slab into powder. The impact spread in all directions, and the shockwave flipped Crow's robes backward.

He emerged from the dust and powder, a dark red light gleaming from the tip of his staff, and a shattering spell struck Regulus straight in the chest.

Regulus dodged to the side, and the Shattering Curse grazed his shoulder, blasting a crater in the ground behind him.

He retaliated by unleashing a devastating shockwave at Kro, the crimson light tearing through the air with a sharp whistling sound.

Crow swung his wand horizontally, and an Ironclad Charm blocked his way.

Despite the impact, Crow stepped forward, waving his wand repeatedly. Two black and purple light blades slashed through the air in a fan shape, sharp and piercing.

Regulus leaned back, tightening his waist and abdomen, and the first light blade swept past the tip of his nose.

The second blade followed closely at throat height. As he leaned back, he twisted his body, and the light blade grazed his Adam's apple as it flew past.

The third attack had already been launched, and Kro gave him no chance to catch his breath before another dark green light pierced his abdomen.

Regulus pushed off with his feet and bounced to the side.

The incantation was cast where the person had just been standing, and a hissing sound was heard as a pungent plume of blue smoke rose from the ground.

Upon landing, the soles of my boots slid half a foot across the muddy ground. Before I could even regain my footing, another spell arrived, a black and red light flying close to the ground.

The wand pressed down, and the Shattering Charm struck the black and red beam of light, deflecting its trajectory. The spell grazed past the calf, leaving another scorch mark on the trouser leg.

Crow pressed forward, waving his wand repeatedly and unleashing spell after spell.

Blood Blade Curse, Rot Curse, Bone Corrosion Curse—all are dark magic spells, and their attacks are ruthless.

Dark purple, dark green, and dark red light intertwined, accompanied by a dense sound of tearing through the air.

The ground beneath his feet kept deforming, with loose stones collapsing to serve as cover, and mud rising up to form low walls to block movement, while withered grass grew into thorny vines that wrapped around Regulus's legs.

The golden light in Regulus's amber pupils was astonishing, and the magic on his body was fully unleashed.

The withered grass was baked to ashes underfoot, the air was violently distorted, and the light was bent as it passed through.

The sound of surging magic was deep, the air was heated to the point of humming, the ground began to crack, and fine lines extended from the feet outwards.

He charged straight ahead, advancing in a straight line, his boots slamming into the ground, clods of mud exploding behind him, his whole body stretching into a silvery-white line.

A thunderous explosion cleared the way, and orange-red orbs of light blasted out in succession, shattering the earthen wall that Crook had just erected into fragments.

The explosive shock followed closely behind, the pure shockwave passing through the smoke and dust, shattering the rubble bunker in front of Crowe.

The Shattering Curse was thrown from the side, blocking the angle of Kro's lateral movement.

The density and power of the spells both increased simultaneously.

Crimson, orange, and silvery-white lights blasted out alternately, explosions echoed one after another, the ground was cratered, and smoke and the smell of burning rose up together.

Crow gritted his teeth and endured the onslaught, weaving through the dense explosions, his wand never stopping, each counter-spell more ferocious than the last.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, the blood vessels on his face had dried into dark red marks, and his robe was tattered and torn.

Two magical forces collided on the wasteland.

Regulus charged forward, even faster than before. Before the silver afterimage of his dash had even faded, he was already at the next position.

The wand unleashed a final blast spell, slamming it into the earthen wall in front of Crow. As the wall shattered, he released the wand.

The moment the wand left his hand, it was pulled by magic and suspended to his side, causing him to crash into an even closer distance.

With his left hand gripping the handle of Crowe's staff, his right hand clenched into a fist. The red light of Betelgeuse burst out from between his fingers, wrapped around his fist, and swung upwards, smashing into Crowe's abdomen.

Kro's Ironclad Curse activated at the last moment.

The fist slammed into the barrier, creating a ring of orange-red shockwave. The barrier trembled violently, cracking from the center outwards until it shattered completely, with fragments flying to both sides.

Crow's eyes widened instantly. He had never seen a wizard smash the Ironclad Curse with his fist before in his forty-plus years of life.

His body reacted faster than his brain. He didn't try to take the wand away when it was held, but instead pressed the tip of the wand down, casting a Bone Corruption Curse along Regulus's side.

The distance was too close, and Hengding Iron Armor Curse took the hit head-on. A flash of silver light appeared, and another scorch mark appeared on his clothes.

Regulus grinned, loosened his grip on the staff, slid back half a step, and summoned the staff back with his right hand.

The whip kick swept across, enveloped in a scorching red magical light, and struck directly at the forearm that Kro had just raised to block.

A layer of yellowish-brown light shone on my forearm, as if infused with magic, hardening the local skin.

The impact pushed Crowe two steps to the side, his boots carving two furrows in the ground.

Crow regained his balance, swung his wand back, and used the Bloodblade Curse to slash at Regulus's throat at close range.

Regulus turned his head to the side, the light blade grazing his neck. He took a step forward and swung his left fist toward Crow's right ribs.

With a flick of his staff, a dark green light exploded from his side, deflecting the fist, and his knee followed up by a blow to Regulus's knee.

Close combat, alternating between spells and melee.

The shattering spell cast by the wand was brighter and hotter at close range, exploding into blinding sparks when it hit Crow's shield, and sending shivers down people's spines when it hit the ground.

The fist, enveloped in scorching red light, struck the shield like a muffled thunderclap, while the kick, imbued with magical energy, tore rips through Crow's robes.

Kro's Iron Armor Curse shattered and then reassembled, only to shatter again each time, with each reassembly taking longer than the last.

The two were locked in combat, their lights clashing, and the sparks and shockwaves from their colliding spells spread across the wasteland.

The ground was riddled with craters, the withered grass was burned to ashes, gravel flew everywhere, and the air was filled with the smell of burning and the embers of magic.

The silvery afterimage and the black and red light intertwined, making it impossible to tell which was retreating and which was advancing.

Kro gritted his teeth and fought back, parrying, blocking, and counterattacking every single move.

Sweat streamed down his forehead and temples, new wounds appeared on his body, blood flowed down his chin, and his breathing became heavy.

Regulus grew more and more excited as the fight progressed, his amber vertical pupils gleaming with golden light, and the heat of Betelgeuse still surging upwards.

The heatwave in the air had already blurred his figure, and the magic emanating from his body was causing the surrounding temperature to rise further, extending the cracks in the ground even further.

Every punch and kick that landed on Crowe's shield was like a muffled thunderclap. He pressed inward, pushed inward, giving him no distance and no chance to catch his breath.

On a high slope of a distant hill, Dumbledore stood by a rock.

The wind rustled his travel robe, his white beard billowed behind his shoulders, and his blue eyes, peering through his half-moon-shaped glasses, followed the two figures locked in combat.

One was silver-white, the other gray-brown. The silver-white one pressed forward, each strike accompanied by scorching flames and a booming sound. Fists and incantations alternated as it pounded forward, relentlessly advancing.

This kid's playing style isn't the British way.

Pure-blood families don't teach this. There are rules about how to hold a wand, the angle of the wrist, and the rhythm of casting spells. Elegance and precision are the proper way to be respectable.

Hogwarts would never teach magic to be poured into one's fists as weapons; this is something rarely seen in Britain.

But he had seen this method before.

An image flashed through my mind, but it was already somewhat blurry.

Decades have passed in Germany, roughly thirty years ago, perhaps forty.

Gellert had introduced him to some people who practiced an older form of combat, where magic was imbued into the limbs for direct attacks, bypassing the wand as an intermediary—primitive, direct, and ferocious.

Whispers from the abyss.

The name surfaced from the depths of my memory, carrying the scent of sea breeze and dampness.

When he and Gellert were young, they traveled to many places and met many different people.

It had been so long that he couldn't remember the faces, but he remembered the image of his fist smashing the barrier.

A faint glint flashed in his blue eyes, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

He continued watching.

......

Crowe's escape route was cut off.

Behind them was a low slope that had been blasted down by a spell, with mud and rubble piled up to form a sloping wall.

On the left is a wasteland reduced to scorched earth, and on the right is a deep crater blasted out by an explosive spell, the ground so shattered that it's hard to stand.

He leaned against the pile of rubble, his wand held in front of him, the light at the tip of the wand trembling, and the output of magic power visibly decreasing.

His chest heaved violently, and sweat mixed with blood flowed from his forehead to his chin, dripping down his stubble.

There were a few more bloodstains on his face than before, a bruise on the bridge of his nose, his coat was torn and scorched, and the right leg of his trousers was completely ripped off.

Regulus was breathing lightly, his clothes were covered in scorch marks and dirt stains, and there were gray marks left in several places where he had been scratched by gravel.

The fabric fibers are slowly repairing themselves, the scorched edges are shrinking, and the tears are closing.

Her long, silvery-white hair was covered in mud and grass clippings, tousled by the wind, and her amber pupils shone brightly.

That's about it. Kro has reached his limit. If he continues fighting, someone will die, and that person definitely won't be him.

He was momentarily distracted and glanced up at the hilltop.

Crow seized the moment, swung his wand sharply to the side, and countless branches sprouted from the ground, wrapping around Regulus's legs.

At the same time, the tip of the staff pointed back, and a shattering spell was fired at his right hand holding the staff, causing the staff to fly out of his hand.

Regulus snapped back to his senses and, ignoring his wand, charged forward.

The branches were torn to shreds on his legs, offering no resistance whatsoever. With a twist of his foot, he crashed into Crowe's arms, completely unarmed.

With his left arm hooked around Crowe's shoulder and his right hand gripping Crowe's left forearm, the force was as strong as two iron clamps.

Crow struggled fiercely, his expression contorted, but unable to break free, he managed to turn his wand directly at Regulus's face.

Regulus grinned, his smile radiating a fierce aura.

He suddenly ducked, his right hand forming a chop with the five fingers together, covered in a dazzling, scorching red light, and slashed straight at Crowe's wrist holding the staff.

The hand chopped down on the shield with a dull thud.

The Ironclad Curse of Crow rippled violently, cracks spreading outwards from the point of impact before shattering.

Before the wand left his hand, Crow switched hands the instant he was struck, catching the handle with his other hand.

Regulus's fist stopped less than two inches from Crowe's face.

The scorching red light was still burning on his fist, and the heat wave hit Crowe's face, blowing the few strands of hair on his forehead that were damp with sweat backward.

The air distorted around the fist and didn't move forward any further.

Crow's staff tip rested against Regulus's waist, magic filling the staff and making the tip glow white.

The wind blew, swirling up scorched earth and ashes, passing between the two people.

The wasteland beneath our feet had been ravaged beyond recognition. Within a radius of fifty meters, there was not a single intact patch of ground; everywhere were pits, scorched earth, and rubble. The withered grass had been burned to ash, and the soil had been turned up to reveal the underlying rock layers.

Regulus withdrew his fist and took a step back. The red light in his palm had not completely dissipated and rustled in the cold wind of the wasteland.

A smile played on his lips, the light in his amber pupils still burned brightly, and there was no sign of fatigue on his face. With a flick of his right hand, his wand flew back in an instant.

Crow lowered his wand, the light at the tip went out, and his arm hung down at his side.

Standing on the ruins, panting heavily, his chest heaving, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

His magic was depleted, and his body was nearing its limit, but he was still standing, his knees unbent, his grey-brown eyes still fixed on Regulus.

His lips were pressed tightly together, and the muscles in his jaw clenched and relaxed repeatedly.

Regulus caught his breath, and the light in his amber vertical pupils dimmed somewhat.

He looked at Crowe, his voice still rough and hot from the battle: "How many years have you been guarding this wasteland?"

Crowe stared at him without saying a word.

"Ten or twenty years?" Regulus pointed his wand at the shattered ground beneath his feet, then at the distant rolling hills. "Has poaching improved or worsened?"

Kro's eyes flickered.

"You said it yourself, those who raid nests and collect manure are getting more and more rampant. If you stay here for another ten years, will things get better or worse?"

“The problem isn’t in the wasteland,” Regulus said, taking a step forward, his boots crunching on the scorched earth. “It’s in the Ministry of Magic, in the policy, in nobody caring.”

He tilted his head slightly, his amber pupils narrowing slightly.

"That guy to the south has wrecked everything. Do you think the wasteland won't burn here just because it's far away?"

Crowe frowned slightly.

Regulus gave a thumbs-up towards Dumbledore behind him.

"Whether you fight the battle he fought or not, the consequences will befall you."

He withdrew his hand and looked into Crowe's eyes.

"If you can't win, things will only get worse here. If you win, the ministry will be reshuffled, the magic world will be reshuffled, and you'll be back with plenty of manpower, staffing, and funding."

Leading a team is better than you lying here all by yourself, isn't it?

Crowe stared at him, his lips still tightly pressed together, and the rise and fall of his chest slowed down a little.

Regulus grinned: "Go with him, win the big one, and the small ones will be taken care of."

After saying that, he turned around and walked in the direction Dumbledore was going.

Behind him, Crouch stood still.

The wind blew down from the hills, blowing against his tattered coat and the bloodstains on his face.

He stared at Geralt's departing figure, his grey-brown eyes following the long, silver-haired silhouette as it walked further and further away.

A hoarse voice, carried by the wind to Regulus's ear: "...I'll consider it."

Regulus raised one hand and waved it in the air without turning around.

After taking a few steps, the air twisted the moment he landed, and he disappeared completely.

When he reappeared, he was standing on a high hill, next to Dumbledore.

In the distance, on the barren plains, Crowe's figure walked in another direction, crossing the ridge of a hill and disappearing into the undulations.

Dumbledore's blue eyes looked in the direction where Crow had disappeared, then turned back and landed on Regulus's face.

Her blue eyes crinkled into a smile, and her tone was light and cheerful: "It seems your recruitment methods are more effective than mine."

Regulus grinned, his long, silvery hair still covered in dirt, and a dirt mark on his face: "Your method is too slow."

Dumbledore smiled and didn't refute. He stretched out his arm, and Regulus raised his hand to touch it.

Snapped.

The sky above the wasteland.

The wind whipped up sand and dust across the shattered ground, and fragments of withered grass swirled in the potholes.

Broken branches of photinia were scattered all over the ground, some still emitting wisps of smoke.