Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 466 A Show of Concern from the Old Man

Regulus raised his chin slightly, his lips twitched, and his face relaxed. He added, "Just show up. If you want to see, then see."

There's no need to hide this from the old man. Given the current situation, Voldemort is investigating him, and his father has already laid the groundwork. He just needs to show his face.

These are all valid points, and it should be said that having two identities and two sets of information can lead to misjudgments, and if that's wrong, it will cause trouble. Sharing information without involving stances shows that he and the old man have this tacit understanding.

Dumbledore looked closely at his face.

When asked how serious the situation was, the child nodded, but there was no sign of tension on his face. Now that he was told he would have to deal with Voldemort's investigation on his own, he appeared even more relaxed.

The old man didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly, his silver beard trembling as he said in a slightly helpless tone, "That's just the kind of person Tom is."

Regulus sighed deeply, a long, deliberate sigh filled with sorrow, and followed the old man's words, saying, "Yes, that's the kind of person Tom is."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling behind his glasses.

Standing on the sea cliffs of Durham, with the ruins left by Voldemort behind him, and having just received news that Voldemort was investigating him, this kid still has the mind to play this game.

After laughing, he remained silent for a while.

The sea breeze tore apart the clouds overhead, and the eastern sky had completely darkened. More stars appeared, and Orion hung low in the west, its dark red light flashing intermittently.

The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below the cliff was deep and rhythmic, and no animals interrupted it; for miles around, there were still no birds.

After walking a little further, Regulus turned his head, looked into the old man's eyes, and without any preamble, asked directly, "Professor, have you considered going directly to him?"

The old man seemed taken aback by the question, paused for a moment, then continued walking, a hint of surprise flashing in his blue eyes.

That's a very blunt question. What else would you want to do with Voldemort? Fight him, of course.

The child's question is like a tactical choice: the enemy leader's location is known, so why hasn't our strongest force made a move yet?

The way this question was phrased itself carried a certain bias; if it were someone else, Dumbledore would probably think it was taking sides.

But when Regulus asked the question, he was only momentarily surprised.

This child really wants to know the answer.

As Regulus had not been too surprised, Dumbledore was willing to speak, without much hesitation, and his voice was quite relaxed.

"I've been looking for him, but he hides himself very well, his whereabouts are unpredictable, and he's always surrounded by people. He won't give me a chance to face him alone."

Regulus listened in silence for a moment, then looked back.

The fishing village below the cliff was almost swallowed by the twilight, with only a few charred beams still standing there, their dark outlines barely visible.

He turned back and nodded.

I really couldn't find it. I went to four different places in two weeks, and every single one of them was just leftovers from Voldemort.

After he killed people and created the undead, he simply left without a trace.

He and the old man could only follow behind, looking at the ruins, the pits, the broken walls, and the evidence soaked by seawater.

Regulus already found the whole thing boring, and now he felt it even more so. The old man had been chasing after it all, but he was just chasing.

Voldemort hid too well, or rather, Voldemort had been avoiding the old man all along.

But he knew this wasn't a tactical evasion; he had a general idea of ​​what Voldemort was doing at this stage.

The transformation of his soul has left its mark on his physical body. His appearance is still unstable, and he is waiting for this new body to stabilize. That takes time and requires undisturbed access.

Before that, he would not easily show himself, much less face Dumbledore alone; the Dark Lord had his own timetable.

As for the Horcrux's ability to tear apart souls, Regulus had his own understanding of it.

Voldemort's mastery of dark magic was so profound that almost no one could comprehend it. Of course, he wouldn't simply sever the soul and hide it in a container; that would be too crude.

According to his understanding, Voldemort was undergoing fission, treating the soul as a material that could increase its value, and each split was creating a new magical structure.

The price was empathy, the ability to connect with people, and those things he considered weaknesses.

When this path comes to an end, the soul is no longer a complete piece, but it is not a fragment either. It may become some kind of unknown structure, where each piece can function independently.

But there's no need to tell the old man these things. What would you explain if you did? Did Voldemort tell him himself? Or did he figure it out on his own?

None of them are quite right.

When Dumbledore saw Regulus turn around to look, his blue eyes narrowed, suspecting that the boy might be thinking something offensive.

He didn't say anything, continuing his sentence in a relaxed tone: "And even if we find it—"

Tom is the most talented student I've ever seen. His magic has reached a level few can comprehend. I'm not sure if one strike will be enough to completely resolve the situation.

Regulus remained expressionless and nodded again.

The old man is being modest. Twenty years from now, Voldemort will be most afraid of you, and you will be the person he least wants to face in the entire wizarding world.

He recruited soldiers, infiltrated the Ministry of Magic, and won over werewolves, giants, and Dementors. All this fuss, in the end, is because he doesn't feel safe in front of you.

His power is already enough to crush any wizard except you, but as long as you are still alive, he will have to go around you.

However, Dumbledore's candor was indeed surprising.

Then Regulus glanced at him sideways, his amber vertical pupils exceptionally clear in the dim light, conveying no complex emotions, just one meaning.

You've seen the most talented students, so what about me?

He twitched the corner of his mouth to the side, saying nothing, yet it seemed as if he had said everything.

Dumbledore saw it, his eyelids twitched, the corners of his mouth turned up, his blue and amber eyes met in the twilight, his white beard twitched, and then he turned his head to the side, ignoring the conversation.

He decided not to praise him to his face.

Regulus shrugged and looked away.

If you don't want to say, then don't say. Anyway, whoever is more capable knows.

He noticed a word the old man had just used: "completely resolved," "thoroughly."

Simply defeating someone isn't the real end. Even if you defeat or kill Voldemort, it doesn't mean the problem is truly solved.

Regulus wasn't sure if the old man had realized what Voldemort was up to.

He knew another version: Dumbledore didn't truly confirm the existence of Horcruxes until he obtained the diary more than a decade later.

In that version, at this point in time, the old man probably only had a vague suspicion, or perhaps not even a suspicion at all; he just felt that some of Tom's behavior was a bit off.

The old man had more important things to do: gather clues, track down missing persons, investigate Voldemort's plans, work for the war, and unite forces.

But he wasn't in that version; no one in the moor tavern talked to the old man about Voldemort's changing appearance.

When a person torments their soul to this state and projects it onto their physical body, they have begun to deviate from the human form.

After hearing this, Dumbledore naturally made his own guesses. The old man was too clever; he just lacked clues.

This clue might have triggered nothing, or it might have triggered everything. Perhaps the old man's long silence after hearing his description was because he was piecing together all the information in his mind.

Of course, it's also possible that it's not true. Perhaps Dumbledore was just stating what he considered an objective fact: for wizards of their level, defeating and killing are two different things.

Regulus suppressed the thought.

The old man didn't continue, so he didn't ask any further questions and remained silent.

If Dumbledore knew about the existence of Horcruxes but chose not to speak of them, he had his reasons. If he didn't know, then asking would have been tantamount to a reminder, and keeping quiet would have been the right thing to do.

He'd said everything he could; the rest he'd leave for the old man to ask himself, and then he'd decide whether to say it, how to say it, and how much to say.

The sea breeze continued to blow, and there were even more stars in the sky. The two shadows on the cliff were stretched long and faint, almost merging into the darkness.

Dumbledore steered the conversation back on track, perhaps with a hidden meaning, or perhaps simply saying whatever came to mind.

He turned to look at Reguler: "Is there anything you need me to do?"

Regulus shook his head: "He sent people to investigate, so I let him see. My father has already arranged cover for my appearance in France."

Dumbledore nodded, asking neither for details nor offering any advice.

Since Regulus can handle it, there's no need to ask. It's not that I don't care, but rather that I trust him.

Trust is not based on stance, and stance is becoming increasingly unclear in the current situation.

He trusted Regulus; the boy wouldn't be stubborn, and if he felt he couldn't handle it, he would just say so.

Dumbledore's blue eyes met his again, his voice mingling with the sea breeze, his eyes shining with a gentle light: "If Geralt is needed here, you can come back anytime. No need for explanations, no need to report, just come."

Regulus smiled slightly, but didn't stop walking.

The old man was certainly not seeking help, and the Order of the Phoenix was obviously short of people.

A high-end combatant is a scarce resource no matter where you are. The old man personally went all over Britain to recruit people, but there were very few who were willing to come, and even fewer who could fight.

But no matter what, they weren't so desperate that they had to rely on a thirteen-year-old wizard.

But if one day I need to do something as Geralt, or if the name Geralt gets on Voldemort's radar...

Or worse, their identities might be exposed, or something might happen to the Black family that would require them to immediately escape from Voldemort's camp. In such cases, the old man's words would be a ticket that could be cashed in at any time.

The old man's care and support.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly: "Okay."

Dumbledore nodded and said nothing more.

He stretched out his arm, the sleeves of his travel robe billowing in the sea breeze, and Regulus reached out to touch them.

Snapped.

There was nothing left on the sea cliff except the sea breeze, which blew the withered grass close to the ground and then bounced back.

The distant sea had merged into the night, and the ruins of the fishing village were no longer visible in the twilight.

The entire coastline has returned to its original state, with no birds, no animals, only the movement of the wind and water.