Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 451 Dumbledore: Don't Kill

The composure and gentleness in Dumbledore's eyes were replaced by a focus that Regulus had seen several times before.

He reached out and touched the light, his eyes flickered for a moment, and then he stood up abruptly.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, placed the mead on the table, and stood up.

I never knew Moody's patron saint was a bull, but it's a good match.

The fighting style of the old bull is robust, stubborn, brute force, fierce, head down, horns raised, charging forward single-mindedly, crashing into whatever is in front of it first.

Moody probably felt that the bull was quite like himself.

Dumbledore turned to him, his blue eyes peering through his half-moon spectacles: "Geralt, want to come along?"

Regulus's amber vertical pupils lit up, and he grinned: "Go."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes still fixed on the task at hand, and spoke a little faster: "I sent Fabian and Gideon to investigate the Ministry of Magic officials who were siding with Voldemort. It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, not a direct confrontation, but they ran into Dolohoff. They were unlucky."

The Pwitt brothers are good people, enthusiastic, but inexperienced.

They were rescued, but the conflict couldn't escalate into a full-blown confrontation. The Order of the Phoenix wasn't ready; now was not the time for a full-scale war. And...

He paused, and the light in his blue eyes became clear: "Don't kill anyone."

39

Regulus looked at the old man's eyes and heard the earnest plea in his tone. He didn't say anything, just nodded, his attitude neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Fabian and Gideon Prewitt, he knew the two brothers, House Prewitt, pure-blood, one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families, Molly Weasley's older brother.

A core member of the original Order of the Phoenix, he joined in 1970 when Dumbledore founded the organization, and is now in his mid-twenties, in the prime of his life.

According to their predetermined fate, they would die at the hands of Dolokhov six years later. Five Death Eaters besieged them and fought for a long time until they ran out of ammunition and food.

After that, Moody would say they died like heroes, and Hagrid later said they were among the best wizards of their time.

But they are not dead yet; they are trapped somewhere, waiting to be rescued.

Tracking and reconnaissance are already considered safe tasks for young people.

That's how it works in theory, but things just didn't go as planned. The old man said it was bad luck, so it was bad luck.

Regulus put the idea aside.

He had been following the old man for so many days, talking to each person one by one, drinking pot after pot of tea, and chewing piece after piece of gingerbread, all to accumulate experience.

The old man's personal involvement shows his sincerity.

But from another perspective, if an organization's leader needs to personally recruit from the grassroots level, it only shows that the Society of Phoenix really doesn't have many people and doesn't have enough middle-level personnel to do these things.

There are even fewer capable fighters; the team relies entirely on a few Aurors and a group of young players who haven't gelled yet.

Dumbledore is the commander-in-chief and also the most capable fighter. If he doesn't personally show up, many people won't even want to see him.

If a full-blown conflict is ignited now, Phoenix Society will be shattered, and even more people will die.

This was a situation where time was being used to buy space, and Dumbledore played it with great restraint.

He exercised restraint to the point of personally taking every step and carefully calculating whether or not a battle could be fought.

Regulus didn't like this strategy; it was conservative, passive, and protracted, giving the initiative to Voldemort.

But he understands and respects this choice.

Dumbledore's strategy of using strategic patience to buy time for preparation may not be the optimal solution, but at this juncture, the options were indeed limited.

There are not enough people, not enough resources, and even the core members are novices.

Either confront it head-on now and take a gamble, or endure it until you're ready.

The old man chose to endure it.

Patience isn't so easy to maintain; one must accumulate strength while controlling the pace, as any loss of control could trigger an explosion prematurely.

The Pewter brothers being surrounded is a classic example of a dangerous situation; a successful rescue would minimize the damage, while a poor one would escalate the situation.

Moreover, Dumbledore didn't just grab his arm and take him away; he first asked if he wanted to come along.

Regulus understood what the old man meant.

In an emergency, he could have directly requested it, or taken it for granted that he should be included, but he chose to ask, which gave him room to say no.

The Pwitt brothers' situation had nothing to do with him. He went because he wanted to go. He pretended to be cowardly and uninterested, but he was very interested in fighting.

But Dumbledore wanted him to know clearly that he didn't have to go, and he wouldn't have any opinion of him because of it.

The old man was protecting him.

To protect him from being forced into a position where he must openly choose sides, to maintain the balance of the Black family on Voldemort's side, and to protect a thirteen-year-old child from the consequences of betrayal.

Even though he is Geralt now and has nothing to do with Black, the old man still left the choice to him.

A tacit understanding doesn't need to be explained.

As for murder, he has already committed murder.

While facing the whispers of the abyss in Germany, the Disintegration Curse killed more than one.

But that was under a different identity, in a different context. Dumbledore didn't know, and Geralt had never killed anyone.

The old man's advice not to kill was probably also a way of protecting him.

In Dumbledore's mind, children should not kill, because killing would damage their souls.

Regulus wasn't so worried about his soul.

If you can't withstand killing several people in a row, it means your skills are insufficient, your soul framework is useless, your star track meditation is in vain, and your Betelgeuse is useless.

He had no intention of tearing his soul apart and stuffing it into any jar; killing a few people wouldn't cause any trouble.

But since the old man said so, we should just listen to him; after all, he's a good person.

Of course, whether or not to kill depends on the needs. It would be foolish to hold yourself back and get hurt just because the old man said not to kill.

You can kill slowly, kill gradually, or pick and choose when to kill.

Moreover, ten Death Eaters—that's quite a sight. Ten well-trained adult wizards, not just some random roadside mob.

Looking across the entire wizarding world, aside from exceptional figures like Dumbledore, no wizard facing a numerical disadvantage would choose to fight head-on as their first option.

Moody is an old Auror who fought alongside Dumbledore during the tail end of Grindelwald's era, and his combat strength is firmly among the top tier of British wizards.

But the Moody now is just the middle-aged Moody, not the peak Moody later on.

Without experiencing the Wizarding Wars, and without the extreme reactions and tactical intuition honed through twenty years of combat experience, they lack the necessary skills.

When faced with an attack by ten people, asking for help is the most rational choice, especially since the other side includes some well-known figures.

Dolokhov was not an unknown figure.

The Dolokhov family, an old, pure-blooded clan on the periphery, has produced numerous Death Eaters.

Antonin Dolohov was one of Voldemort's most trusted core fighters, known for his signature purple flame spell and extremely ruthless dark magic tactics.

Regulus cracked his wrist, and the golden light in his amber pupils flickered. "Dolokhov, good."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow: "You know them?"

"Reputation within the pureblood circle," Regulus replied casually, then grinned, revealing his teeth. "Don't kill anyone, got it."

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then he reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder.

With a snap, the two disappeared from the hotel.

Mr. Farnley peeked out from behind the bar and glanced at the empty sofa and the half-finished glass of gin.

His wife poked half her body out from the kitchen doorway: "Gone again?"

"They're gone," Mr. Farnley said, taking off his pince-nez and wiping his glasses. "Just like last year, they disappeared halfway through their meal."

Mrs. Farnley sighed and took the bubbling, freshly baked sticky toffee pudding back with her.

North of Yorkshire, north of Skipton.

Apparition landed on an open meadow, next to a shepherd's path enclosed by a stone wall.

It was just getting dark, and before the moon had even risen, several of the brightest stars were already hanging overhead.

The distant wilderness is flat and open, with a view that extends far into the distance. Stone walls of the pasture stretch out one after another, dividing the green-gray grass into squares of varying sizes.

It was very quiet. You could hear the wind howling through the cracks in the stone wall and the muffled moo of a cow in a distant pasture.

Two hundred meters away, the outline of a stone fortress appeared in the night.

Five stories high, built of stone walls, with a square main structure stacked on top of each other, topped with arrow emplacements and pheasant and butterfly decorations, and a corner tower protruding from each of the four corners.

The wall encircled the area, about one and a half people high, and there were traces of crenellations on it, but it had fallen into disrepair over the years, and several parts had collapsed.

These medieval structures were built by Yorkshire nobles hundreds of years ago to defend against the Scots' southward advance. Now, no one lives here anymore, and some of the stone window frames have weathered beyond recognition.

The windows were dark and empty; from the outside, it looked like an abandoned, deserted castle that no ordinary wizard would give a second glance.

The castle was protected by anti-Apparition and perception-disrupting spells, but they couldn't stop Regulus's magical perception.

The senses merged with the line of sight, following the gaze directly across the area, penetrating the layer of interference, and sweeping across more than a dozen magical fluctuations scattered across different floors.

There were the most on the first floor, seven or eight of them, gathered together.

The two on the second floor, crammed together in the corner tower, were the two trapped.

There were two or three scattered on the third floor, probably on guard.

He withdrew his senses and glanced at Dumbledore.

The old man's blue eyes gleamed faintly in the darkness as he finished scanning.

Moody emerged from the shadows behind a large rock.

He wore a dark battle robe, a leather belt around his waist, and held a wand in his hand.

A hideous scar ran across his face, diagonally from his right temple to his left jaw, twisted into his skin, and appeared grayish-white in the twilight. His eyes were intact, and his gaze was sharp.

He nodded to Dumbledore, his voice rough: "Albus."

Then the light fell on Regulus, his white hair and vertical pupils radiating scorching magic, as if he were ready to fight.

Moody frowned slightly, a hint of wariness flashing in his eyes, but given the urgency of the situation, he didn't ask.

"Fabian and Gideon are trapped in the second-floor corner tower. The Death Eaters have blocked the stairs, and there are anti-Apparition charms inside and outside the castle, so they can't get out. I haven't been exposed yet."

Dumbledore asked directly, "Where is Dolokhov?"

Moody's voice was low and quick: "The reception room is on the first floor. The other Death Eaters are distributed on the first and second floors, and a few are on guard on the third floor. There are ten in total."

Regulus suddenly spoke, his amber pupils half-closed, his voice low and deep: "How did the Prewitt brothers get involved?"

Moody glanced at him, then at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded slightly.

Moody's grey-blue eyes returned to Regulus's face: "They discovered Lukwood of the Department of Mysteries meeting with Dolohov, followed them here, and were discovered."

"Where is Lukwood himself?"

"He Apparated away after the connection was made. He works for the Ministry of Magic and won't stay out for long."

Regulus clicked his tongue: "What a pity."

Moody narrowed his eyes slightly.

This guy's got quite the nerve.

He ignored the white-haired wizard and turned to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked at Regulus, a hint of helplessness mixed with amusement in his eyes.

The polite, restrained, and model student Regulus at Hogwarts had changed completely. He was now radiating aggression, and even the way he spoke had changed.

Dumbledore briefly instructed: "The Death Eaters in the first-floor drawing room are yours. Force them away from the stairwell and open the passage for the Pewter brothers to come down."

"Don't chase us, don't go upstairs, I'll keep an eye on the third floor and the outer perimeter from outside."

Then, emphasizing his words, he added earnestly, "Remember, don't kill anyone."

Moody's gaze swept back and forth between Dumbledore and Regulus.

In the first-floor reception room, seven or eight Death Eaters were handed over to a young, white-haired wizard of unknown origin to deal with alone.

Dumbledore's judgment was always accurate. If he thought this young man could handle the situation on the first floor on his own, it meant that his combat strength was at least at the level of an elite Auror.

They even specifically instructed him not to kill anyone, but who exactly was this person?

Regulus grinned but didn't reply.

The wand slid into his hand, and scorching magic surged from his body, causing the air to distort violently around him, and his long, silvery-white hair to flutter in the heat.

He walked toward the main gate of the castle.