Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 475 Little Black's Big Spider

Regulus changed into another robe; the dark black robe he had worn from Grimmauld Place was thick enough to be seen standing by the window.

You can still wear this in London in April, but if you wear it under the Provençal sun, you'll be sweating buckets after just one walk.

I also brought the Italian blend clothes that I had prepared in Walburg. They were well-made, but the style was still British: high collar, gathered cuffs, and wide hem. They were still stuffy here.

Felix took a new robe from the wardrobe. It was light beige, a linen blend, with a collar, sleeves that reached the elbows, and a hem that was shorter than an English robe.

The fabric was also a local selection, lightweight and breathable, not as fancy as in the UK, as long as it's comfortable to wear.

Regulus put it on, moved his arms, and felt much better.

Baruch huddled on his shoulder, and ever since he opened the blinds and saw the hillside, he had been in a restless state.

It darted from his left shoulder to his right shoulder, then from his right to the back of his neck, lingered there for a while, and then darted back. Its chelipeds opened and closed incessantly, and occasionally it would extend its front leg to touch his ear, urging him to hurry up and go out.

Stepping out of the main house and onto the gravel path, the sunlight beats down directly, and waves of heat rise from the ground.

Before nine o'clock in the morning, the shadows had already shrunk to the feet, so short that they were almost invisible. The air was dry from the sun, and the gravel road surface gleamed white.

In the distance, grapevines on the hillside are neatly arranged, and employees are working between the rows, occasionally straightening up to wipe their faces.

Felix followed half a step behind, his hands hanging at his sides, his steps in sync with Regulus.

The gravel road turned past a low wall of lavender, and someone was walking towards us.

A middle-aged wizard, tanned dark, with rolled-up sleeves, muddy hands, and a leather apron around his waist, grinned at Regulus and waved.

Felix's lips didn't move, but his voice came directly into Regulus's ears: "Jean-Pierre Morrel, from the pruning team, has been here for seventeen years, just call him Jean, he's friendly with everyone."

Regulus nodded to the other person: "Let me have it."

Jean-Pierre chuckled twice and said in heavily accented French English, "Good morning, Monsieur Black."

Seeing Felix following behind, she waved to him again: "Felix, you're back?"

Felix nodded.

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Jean-Pierre glanced at Baruch on Regulus's shoulder; the dark red spider on his light-colored robe stood out conspicuously.

He merely raised an eyebrow, probably assuming it was some new breed of magical pet, and without asking further questions, turned around and continued working, humming a French tune off-key.

Further on, a short witch squatted beside the vines, holding scissors in her hand. She would snip once, rest for a moment, and then snip again.

Felix's voice came again: "Madeline Bernard, from the brewery, in charge of fermentation, has a bad temper, call her Mrs. Bernard, don't call her by her name."

Last time someone called her Madeline, she hit that person's foot with a fermentation vat.

Regulus turned his head slightly as he passed by: "Mrs. Bernard."

The witch raised her face and glanced at him, her lips twitching slightly—it was hard to tell if it was a smile—before lowering her head to continue working; that was her attitude.

Turning past the brewery, a young witch wearing a straw hat squatted beside the irrigation canal, chanting a cleansing spell on the fallen leaves floating in the canal with her wand.

Felix explained, "Claire Frey, a new intern who joined last year, is responsible for the daily cleaning of the irrigation system."

As Regulus passed by, she looked up, revealing a young face with freckles beneath her straw hat.

She saw Baruch's eyes light up, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he saw Felix beside him, hesitated for a moment, and finally only said, "Bonjour, Monsieur."

As they walked further up the hillside, they encountered two or three more people. Felix introduced them to each of them, and Regulus greeted them in turn.

The French employees didn't react much to the visit of the Black family heirs; they went about their work, exchanging greetings and a few words about the weather when they bumped into each other.

It was neither disrespectful nor casual, completely different from the rules in the British pure-blood circle.

Walk to the middle section of the south slope, to the oldest vine area.

The vines were more than twice as thick as those elsewhere, the trunk twisted into the shape of an old man's arm, the bark was rough and gray, and the cracks were so deep that the underlying wood layer could be seen.

Tender shoots emerge from the top, and the new green leaves are translucent in the sunlight, with a silvery glint at the edges that is particularly noticeable in this area.

The entire row of old vines appears to be shining from afar, and the magic of the leaves shimmers with a cool luster as they move, rising and falling like breath.

Baruch peered down from his shoulder, his eight eyes barely enough to see, his chelicerae waving slowly and gently.

It sensed something different here; even the magic in the air felt fresh.

Continuing up the hillside, at the junction of an old vine and a stone wall, Regulus caught a vine moving out of the corner of his eye. It was curling very slowly, with such a small movement that you had to stare at it to notice.

He stopped, and a very thin snake poked its head out from between its curled whiskers.

Its entire body was grayish-green, and the pattern of its scales was almost the same as that of grapevine bark. It was about the length of a palm and the thickness of a magic wand. Its head was flat, and it stuck out its tongue once, then retracted it, and then stuck it out again.

Its black eyes shrank into two thin slits in the sunlight. Sensing that someone was watching it, it turned its head toward Regulus and stuck out its tongue again.

Then it slowly retracts into the gaps in the vines, continuing to disguise itself as a section of vine.

With no other employees around, Felix's voice returned to normal volume: "Vine snake, a native species, non-venomous, but it releases dizzying magic when startled."

Having coexisted with the old vines for over a century, it senses movement and acts as an early warning system, detecting anything that touches its tendrils. There are probably over a hundred of them in the manor, most hidden within the old vine area.

Regulus watched as the vine snake completely coiled itself within the vines, becoming one with the bark, until it was indistinguishable from the tree: "What does it eat?"

"Insects and small rodents, occasionally stealing the bugs that Moonfox cubs take out."

Further up, near the ridgeline, the slope becomes steeper, with more loose rocks, and the old vines begin to thin out.

The ground was scattered with shallow, circular pits, the openings of which were smooth and about an arm's length in diameter, with fine scratch marks on the walls.

Faint footprints connect the shallow pits, forming several fixed routes among the pebbles and withered grass.

Felix walked beside him, his gaze sweeping over the shallow pit: "The cave of the Moon-obsessed Beast, which comes out to roam on full moon nights."

The excrement is top-grade magical plant fertilizer, supplied to at least three high-end potion ingredient suppliers in Bordeaux.

The farm keeps a flock of about twenty birds. They are more numerous in winter and start to brood separately in spring. You can't see them during the day; they're all underground.

Looking at the shallow pits, Regulus suddenly thought of Angus Crowe, the stubborn man who tracked down poachers in the wasteland.

Looking back now, while Moonfox droppings were valuable, the buyers were probably only plantation owners like the Black family.

Kro chases poachers across the wasteland, protects the droppings of the Moonfoxes, and finally distributes them on his own estate, thus completing the supply chain loop.

After crossing the ridgeline and going around the stone wall towards the west slope, a short growl came from the bushes on the other side, and something the size of a large dog emerged from it.

It has thick, grayish-brown skin, four sturdy short legs, and a large horn about half an arm's length on its head, with a glossy liquid flowing from its tip.

It stood by the bushes, stared at Regulus with its small eyes for a while, exhaled a breath from its nostrils that condensed into a small cloud of hot mist, and then turned and burrowed back into the bushes.

Its short tail swayed among the foliage of the bushes and then disappeared.

Felix's voice rang out: "The horned beast, a Mediterranean subspecies of the poisonous horned beast, is much smaller than the original species. The liquid inside the horn explodes when it comes into contact with anything. The manor uses it to clean up the dead roots of old vines."

"Aim the special angle at the withered roots and poke it. After blasting, use it directly as fertilizer. Turn it into the soil. It's in a semi-domesticated state; it recognizes the people on the estate. Outsiders should be careful if they encounter it."

Regulus glanced back at Felix: "Have you ever blown up anyone?"

Felix thought for a moment: "I blew up a Niffler three years ago."

Walking to an open area on the west slope, in a newly planted vineyard, a few employees were scattered around, busy at a distance.

Baruch was practically exploding on Regulus's shoulder. Ever since they started going up the hill, it had been moving and clicking incessantly, constantly patting Regulus's ears with its front paws, the force increasing with each step.

Regulus glanced at it, a smile playing on his lips, and reached out to scoop it off his shoulder.

Baruch leaped out and landed on the ground, his palm-sized body bouncing on the dirt. He tilted his head back, his eight amber eyes staring at him.

It used its forelegs to pry at the toes of Regulus's boots, and then pried again.

Regulus pointed his finger, and the Transfiguration spell was lifted.

Baruch's body began to swell, its carapace expanded, its bristles changed from fine down to coarse bristles, its eight legs stretched outwards, and its joints cracked a series of sounds. Its dark red body grew larger and larger in the sunlight.

Felix's right hand rested on the wand handle, his index finger on the shaft, ready to strike at any moment.

Before long, the two-meter-long eight-eyed giant spider lay on the soil in the young vine area.

Felix slowly removed his hand from the wand.

The spider wasn't in an aggressive posture; it crouched on the ground with its eight legs tucked in, its head raised towards Regulus, and its rear end wiggling.

His expression carried that subtle quality typical of the French; the young master of the Black family, like the British, lacked aesthetic sense when it came to choosing pets.

But then he noticed features that shouldn't be on the eight-eyed giant spider.

The white spots around the eyes, the reddish-brown lines at the joints, the shimmering scales of the bristles in the sunlight, and the plant-like affinity in the magical perception that clearly didn't belong to a spider.

His expression changed again, he suppressed that subtle change, and re-examined the creature.

Regulus gestured with his chin toward the hillside: "Go ahead."

Upon receiving the signal, Baruch darted off, the two-meter-long behemoth running swiftly among the vines, its eight legs alternately pushing off the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

It rushed to the nearest row of old vines and stopped abruptly, plunging all eight of its legs into the soil at the same time. The spider's head pressed against the vines, and its entire body lay sprawled beside them.

The chelicerae gently touched the vine trunk, then withdrew. It touched it again, and the white spots around its eyes suddenly lit up. A pure white halo shone through the carapace, rippled outwards in concentric circles.

The vines did not reject it.

The old trees in the Forbidden Forest would retract their magic when it approached, shutting down all its sensory channels. Spiders were unwelcome, over and over again.

The vines here did not react this way; the magic flowed smoothly, the leaves did not curl up, and the roots did not tighten.

It planted trees in the forbidden forest for nearly a month, watering, loosening, and patting the soil every day, until the few seedlings stopped disliking it. The plants here never disliked it from the beginning.

As long as you don't dislike it, that's enough. The spider's logic is simple: if you don't dislike it, it's a place you can stay; if you can stay, it's a good place; and if it's a good place, you can start building your business.

Baruch's chelicerae opened to their maximum extent, making a series of clicking sounds, and his eight legs began to dart back and forth among the vines, growing faster and faster, his dark red figure weaving through the green trellis.

A crisp sound came from not far away; someone had teleported over.

Tall, wearing a dark work robe, in his fifties, with brown skin, a graying beard, and the high cheekbones and deep-set eyes typical of people from southern France.

Mathieu Dupont, estate manager.

He managed to control his facial expressions fairly well, his brows were slightly furrowed, and his eyes kept following the large, dark red object.

He strode over, his tone urgent, his "r" emphasizing, "Mr. Black, that—what is it?"

Regulus casually remarked, "A pet. It's mine."

After thinking for a moment, she added, "It was just delivered from home."

DuPont raised an eyebrow and turned back to look at the large spider.

Baruch was gently touching the tender leaves of a row of young vines with his chelicerae, moving on to the next vine after touching one, and carefully stepping across the irrigation ditch with his eight legs.

Several questions flashed through his mind.

An eight-eyed giant spider has appeared in his vineyard, which he has cultivated for thirty years. Will its web get caught on the trellis and block the sunlight? Will the Moon-obsessed Beast be so frightened by this thing that it stops defecating? Will the Triceratops blow it up?

But this is the young master's pet.

He was silent.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly: "Mr. DuPont, it likes plants and doesn't bite. I plan to set aside a space for it to take care of."

DuPont glanced back again.

The large spider was scurrying around on the third row of old vines, its web already spraying out from behind it.

He turned back to look at Regulus, opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and then closed it.

Thirty years have passed. Orion has gone from being the previous young master Black to the current old master Black, and now a new young master Black is standing in front of him.

Keeping an eight-eyed giant spider as a pet is not exactly a strange quirk.

He nodded: "It can be arranged. There's a patch of young vines on the west slope, with enough open space. The soil has just been turned over, and they haven't been planted yet. We can let them stay there for now."

He paused here, his face in the beard looking a little troubled, mentally comparing the concepts of the giant eight-eyed spider and caring for plants.

"If it can really help loosen the soil and get rid of pests, it will save the pruning team a lot of work."

Regulus gave a reserved smile: "Thank you, Mr. DuPont."

Then he called out in Baruch's direction, "Baruch."

Baruch sprang up from the vines, spun around in mid-air, landed, and ran over to Regulus, stopping in front of him.

Its eight legs were tucked in, its head held high, and a small section of a freshly plucked vine hung from its chelicerae.

Regulus reached out and removed the tendrils from its chelicerae, glanced at them between his fingers, and threw them to the ground.

"Hunting is prohibited; all the animals here belong to their owners."

Baruch's chelicerae snapped shut with a click, the sound dropping in pitch.

"And you're not allowed to make things up."

Another click, and it dropped even lower.

Regulus took a step forward, looking directly at the spider's head. Eight amber eyes were simultaneously staring at him, each reflecting one of his own image.

His voice softened a bit: "Here's a place for you, all of it is yours. Plant whatever you want, do whatever you want. You've noticed, the plants here won't mind you."

Baruch's eight eyes lit up simultaneously, and the halos of light around the white dots around his eyes spread outwards.

It doesn't dislike its plants, plus its own territory.

Its chelicerae snapped open, clicking and rattling in rapid succession, grinding out a few rough syllables from its mouthparts: "Regulus...good leader!"

Then he buried his head in Regulus's chest, nuzzled him a couple of times, and ran away.

Baruch's figure receded further and further into the sunlight, his dark red bristles rising and falling in the golden light.

The old vines on the distant hillside shimmered with silver light, the sky was a clear blue, and the Mistral wind felt like a fine layer of sand against the skin.

Regulus looked away, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.