Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 459 Prewitt's Duel Invitation

Gideon sized Geralt up with a strange look in his eyes.

The story itself has no obvious flaws. When faced with danger and triggering a perilous situation, the protagonist relies on his intelligence or exceptional skills, along with the help of several local companions, to successfully escape.

It's a standard adventure narrative; if you were to elaborate further, it could easily be published as a book.

These stories might be true for other people, but they're false for Geralt.

A person who can single-handedly blow up a castle and smash half of Dolokhov's face with a single punch, needs two months to track down an injured she-wolf? Does dealing with a giant require setting fire to a cave? Does fighting a siren require two nights of crouching on a cliff?

He'll probably just go straight in, blow up the giant along with the cave, drag the siren ashore and dry it into fish jerky—the whole thing will only take a few minutes.

The accomplices, the stakeouts, the bait—it was all made up.

But Gideon didn't expose him; as long as the story was good, whether it was true or not didn't matter.

And my younger brother seemed so happy listening to it—

Fabi believed it wholeheartedly, his eyes shining brightly and his mouth practically agape. He was probably already planning his own adventure to Northern Europe someday.

Dumbledore was wiping his half-moon spectacles at the bar, the lenses already gleaming, and he kept wiping them, a smile playing on his lips.

The old man didn't interrupt at all, but he was clearly listening. He knew, of course, that all these adventures were made up on the spot.

The part about the Frostwolf and the troll was somewhat imaginative, and the part about the siren was decent even in terms of the bait, but the details were well done. If someone who didn't know the background listened to it, they would probably believe about 70-80% of it.

The writing is decent, and the speaking skills are good.

If a wizard truly had such an experience—traveling to various places, hunting dangerous magical creatures, and accumulating firsthand practical knowledge—he would be a rare candidate to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Several professors have come and gone in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and only a handful have real combat experience.

A second-grade wizard can fool a seasoned member of the Order of the Phoenix by making up stories; such a skill could probably keep a group of energetic young wizards in check in a classroom.

interesting.

He put his glasses back on his nose, his blue eyes looking over the lenses at the three young men in the corner.

A story in progress, complete in detail and logically consistent, with fingers still gesturing on the table.

One of them listened intently, his body slumped on the table, a wide smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes.

One of them saw through it all but said nothing, sitting quietly with his cup in hand, occasionally offering a comment or nodding.

Aberforth was cursing behind the bar, while the goat was crunching hay in the corner.

The old man's smile deepened; this was exactly what he wanted to see.

As the night deepened, the fire in the fireplace dimmed, casting flickering shadows on the crooked tables and chairs.

Aberforth sat on a high stool behind the bar, his head drooping little by little, while the goat curled up in the corner, its belly rising and falling rhythmically.

Fabian suddenly put down his cup, leaned back, a smile playing on his lips, and changed his tone: "Seriously, Geralt."

He pointed to his chest with his thumb, then pointed to Gideon: "We both saw you blowing up the castle from the second floor."

Professor Dumbledore's Patronus had given prior notice; both the Ironclad Charm and the Bubble Charm were activated. We waited in the corner tower, and then... boom.

He clicked his tongue and pointed to his eyes: "That white light, the fireball rising, the mushroom-shaped cloud, the castle was completely torn apart. I thought to myself, 'Won't it blow us up too?'"

Then you were all on top of Dolokhov, and that last punch..."

He took a deep breath and turned to look at Gideon.

Gideon nodded, and spoke more proactively than before: "Your strength far surpasses ours."

He glanced at Fabian, then at Geralt: "To be honest, I'd like to try it with you, both of us together."

""

He added earnestly, "May I ask for your guidance?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow and looked at the two of them.

The brothers' faces still showed signs of fatigue, but their complexion improved considerably after drinking the medicine, though the wrinkles that Aberforth had pulled out of their robes were still there.

Their eyes were bright, and their posture changed from relaxed during their casual conversation to eager and ready to try.

It's perfectly natural for young people to get together, witness impressive things, and want to try them out; this attitude isn't offensive.

Fabian and Gideon are undoubtedly excellent.

A founding member of the Order of the Phoenix, capable of facing Death Eaters head-on, and personally trained by Moody, his magical abilities are among the best of his peers.

But he's only considered averagely good; he's not really in that particular field.

His gaze passed over the two brothers and landed on Dumbledore by the bar.

The old man's white beard gleamed slightly in the firelight, his crescent-shaped glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his blue eyes seemed to be looking somewhere absentmindedly, but in reality, he was probably listening to everything.

Such figures have only appeared a few times in two centuries; Grindelwald is one, and Voldemort is the third.

If we insist on ranking him, then including himself, there are four.

This is only in Europe. The world is so big, who knows what kind of people are hiding in some corner of the world.

He didn't know how Dumbledore perceived him.

Perhaps the old man sees him as being about the same as he sees the two brothers – talented, but still a long way off.

Perhaps even higher.

Grindelwald may have seen further. His trip to Germany made him realize that the old wizard imprisoned in Nurmengard had foreseen something through prophecy decades ago and had arranged for Freya and the Sleeping Abyss to fall into place.

To someone who can foresee the future, his current position is probably just the starting point.

In the fifties, Moody and Dolokhov are undoubtedly at the highest level.

He felt that his current level was on par with theirs, or even surpassed them. If they really went all out, he might get injured, but he was sure he wouldn't be the one to die.

But it can't compare to Dumbledore's generation. I haven't fought against the older generation, so I don't know what that level is like.

However, there was nothing to be proud of, so he put his thoughts aside.

"Tomorrow," Regulus looked at the two brothers, a smirk playing on his lips, "you two take it easy for now, so you don't end up saying you're not in good form when you lose."

Fabian grinned and nudged Gideon's shoulder with his elbow: "Alright! I'll be in top form tomorrow morning!"

Gideon laughed and nodded.

On the second floor of Pig Head Bar, in the same room as last time, the window faces the back alley, and you can see the roof of Honey Duke in the distance.

The door opened, and a few small gray shadows darted from the corner of the wall to under the bed, the rustling sound of claws scratching at the wood echoing in the darkness.

There are new residents.

Regulus pointed his finger, and the second form of the Disintegration Curse appeared.

Silent, lightless ripples spread from his fingertips, breaking down all the rats, insects, and spiderwebs that had accumulated in the room into extremely fine powder. The powder sank to the ground and was swept away by a cleansing spell.

Another transformation spell was added to fill in the depressions in the mattress, the springs conformed to the spine, a temperature-regulating spell was used to adjust the temperature, and a barrier spell was used to seal the cracks in the window frame to block the night wind.

He leaned against the headboard, his long, silvery-white hair spread out on the pillow, his amber pupils gleaming faintly in the darkness.

The room was quiet, but the snoring of the goats downstairs came through the floor, muffled and muffled.

Saving the Pwitt brothers was his goal, but he could choose the method.

They could totally change their tactics. Moody could lead the way, he could play forward, and Dumbledore could cover from behind. It would be so easy to get the players out of the way.

So what if there are traps in the castle? Just keep pushing forward.

With three people working together, clearing the room, finding the person, and bringing them out, even Voldemort wouldn't be able to handle this setup.

Dumbledore also had the ability to remain undetected by anyone; if he didn't want to show himself, he could simply follow them quietly.

Quieter, more secure, and more discreet.

It would indeed be foolish to venture alone into a castle full of traps. His earlier analysis was correct: home advantage, unknown variables, and uncontrollable risks.

But there were two options: three people working together to go in or one person standing outside and blowing up the castle. He chose the latter.

Saving lives is just a pretext; what we're really doing today is showing our capabilities.

In front of Dumbledore and Moody, he created an explosion of that magnitude using three basic spells, allowing them to see it from beginning to end, understand every step, yet still be shocked by the result.

Dolohoff would go back and report to Voldemort, who would then know that a young wizard with white hair and vertical pupils had used some kind of explosive magic that he couldn't name.

Moreover, this wizard was wicked; he smashed a person's face a second before retreating and then performed a noble salute.

Moody remembered the texture of his magic and his fighting style. The two brothers witnessed the whole thing: the castle was blown up, and Dolokhov was humiliated in the face during his retreat.

Just now downstairs, he demonstrated the principle of this magic to the two brothers step by step.

The Ironclad Spell reverses to form a sphere, the Flow Spell infuses air, compresses, and releases it; each step is laid out on the table, each step being a basic incantation.

Knowing the steps and being able to reproduce them are two different things; even if you understand them, you can't practice them.

They lack sufficient total magic power, precise control, and mental skills; they lack Betelgeuse and Rigel.

The most transparent disclosure, the most insurmountable gap.

This is Rigel, bringing the results down and making its brilliance visible.

Make sure everyone can see clearly how each step is done, and after seeing it clearly, they'll realize they can't do it themselves.

The Death Eaters were too far away to see the whole thing. Even if they had stood by, the barrier to this combination spell wasn't the incantation itself, and they couldn't have imagined that air could be used in this way.

Regulus would not overestimate their physical thinking.

Moody probably understood most of it, but he didn't understand why the last blow was so powerful.

Dumbledore certainly understood everything, including the part about the willpower enhancement, but his thought process was completely different; he wouldn't have thought of such a combination.

The two brothers went through several levels of understanding, from knowing the castle had been bombed to knowing how it was done, but no matter which level they reached, the conclusion was the same: they couldn't do it.

Everyone saw it, everyone knew it, but no one could do it.

This is enough.

Today, I've been showcasing myself from beginning to end. To say there was no boasting wouldn't be accurate; there was a bit of it, but it was mostly to make that star shine.

He gathered his thoughts and closed his eyes.

Deep within my mind, the Star Orbit Meditation operates automatically, and magic circulates within my body, replenishing what I've consumed today.

The six stars each have their place, with Aldebaran burning fiercely in the upper left corner, Aldebaran in the middle standing steadily, and the three stars in the belt lined up in a row.

In the bottom right corner, the position of Betelgeuse was still dark, but the feeling of heaviness and pressure was more obvious than during the werewolf camp incident.

A faint, bluish-white light flickered in the depths of my consciousness; it was so weak that it needed time to develop.

In the distance, the clock tower in Hogsmeade struck three times; it was three in the morning.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

go to bed.