Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

North Yorkshire, Steinmore Moor, July 4th, midnight.

The sky was a pure, dark black, and the moon was covered by thick clouds, with only a very thin layer of light seeping down to outline a blurry gray silhouette on the barren hills.

There were few stars, and the clouds completely covered most of the sky.

The wind came from the direction of the North Sea, blowing close to the ground, sweeping over the withered photinia bushes and sparse shrubs, making a low, mournful sound.

For miles there were no villages, no lights, not even a decent road; the wasteland stretched northward, disappearing into even deeper darkness.

But this place is not empty at all tonight.

The first group arrived before nightfall. On the hilltop, black figures emerged from different directions, a few, then dozens, and more and more. Each found a spot to stand, their black robes blending seamlessly with the night. Standing on the hilltop, they appeared as a shadow darker than black to those below.

The Death Eaters occupied the northern hillside, where a dozen or so figures in dark robes were gathered together, some wearing silver masks that occasionally flashed in the dim moonlight.

Dolokhov stood at the front, without a mask. His rugged face was only outlined in the darkness, with a wide chin, thick brow bones, and a fresh, pink left cheek. His dark hair was gathered behind his head, and his gaze was fixed on the direction of the Rohr Manor in the distance, across the wasteland.

Bella stood beside him, not wearing a mask, her body wrapped in a black robe, her long hair hanging down to her waist, blending into the night. Her dark eyes stared straight down into the darkness, her eyelashes motionless in the wind, her whole face looking as if it had been cut from a black cloth. No one listened to her speak, and she didn't look at anyone around her.

The Order of the Phoenix were on a higher slope to the west, two hills away from the Death Eaters. Moody stood beside a protruding gray rock, wearing a dark battle robe, his wand held horizontally at his waist, his blue eyes scanning the direction of the Death Eaters and the Roll Manor in turn.

The Prvid brothers stood on either side of him; Fabian's reddish-brown hair was disheveled in the night wind, while Gideon remained quiet, one hand resting on the handle of his cane, observing the movements in the distance.

Behind them were a dozen or so members of the Order of the Phoenix, scattered across the slope and behind the rocks, their robes varying in shade, their wands hanging limply.

Both sides knew the other was present and tacitly agreed not to make a move. The Contract Battlefield was a neutral zone, and any third party that intervened would be harmed by the Contract Magic. Neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort were present, so no one was qualified to represent either side and cause trouble.

They were just looking at it; separated by two hills, a vast, empty wasteland stretched out in the middle, and the wind passing through it made their robes fly in one direction.

There was no one in the open space in the middle. No one wanted to stand between the two camps. Even physical proximity could be misinterpreted.

The pure-blood family members were scattered on the outermost edge, numbering quite a few, each occupying their own area and not getting close to each other.

Lucius Malfoy stood on a high ground to the east, his platinum hair occasionally fluttering in the night wind. Crabbe and Goyle were beside him. Abraxas was not there; he stayed behind to guard the house.

Abros Murseb, alone in the northern wasteland of the west, wearing a black cloak, stared through the night toward the direction of the Rolle Manor. He wanted to see with his own eyes how the Rolle family would be dealt with.

Further away were the observers from the magic ministries of various countries, gathered in small groups, standing more spread out. Their robes were also dark, but they were the furthest from the battlefield, so inconspicuous that they were almost invisible.

The rest were just people who came to watch the spectacle. There were mixed-race people, Muggle-born people, Hogsmeade residents, Diagon Alley shopkeepers, daring young people, and people who were forbidden from leaving the house by their families but still sneaked out.

The darkness stretched out on the outer slopes; no one spoke, no one held up a lamp, and even coughs were suppressed.

The Rohr Manor was right in the center of this encirclement, its gray-brown stone buildings crouching in a low-lying area between two hills, appearing as only a vague outline in the darkness.

The manor's defensive magic was activated, a dark magical barrier enveloping the entire building. Occasionally, the light of incantations would flash from the inside of the barrier, only to be extinguished in an instant.

The entire wasteland was eerily quiet, with hundreds of wizards scattered across the hills for miles around, and no one spoke.

Everyone is waiting.

The first muffled thud of phantom teleportation came from the open field to the southeast of the manor, followed by a second and a third.

The sounds grew increasingly dense, coming from different directions—southeast, south, and southwest—one muffled thud after another, carrying far across the quiet wasteland. The audience on the hills all turned their heads.

On the open field several hundred meters outside the Luoer Manor, figures in black robes appeared one after another.

They landed, stood firm, and stood there motionless, facing the direction of the manor.

The muffled thud lasted for two or three minutes, then stopped.

Twenty or thirty black-robed wizards stood on the wasteland, scattered along an arc-shaped line around the manor, evenly spaced. They wore dark robes and hoods, the hems of their robes fluttering gently in the night breeze.

The styles of clothing varied, some were long, some were short, some were new, and some were old, but the overall style was consistent: all were dark-colored and all were combat attire.

Standing somewhere on the front line was a figure taller than everyone else, with an unusually large frame and short, gray-white hair that was barely recognizable in the darkness: Silas Croft.

The Black family's vassal forces had assembled, and nearly a thousand eyes on the distant hills stared at this wasteland, remaining silent for a moment.

With a final phantom teleportation, Regulus appeared at the very front of the line.

The dark black battle robe with silver patterns, the Black family crest embroidered in silver thread gleaming coldly in the night, its outline faintly visible in the darkness.

At thirteen years old, nearly 1.75 meters tall, he stood in front of a row of adult wizards.

The moment he landed, his magical perception spread out, covering the entire battlefield, the vassals behind him, the spectators on the distant hills, and the enemies in the manor.

Three days of preparation transformed the Rohr Manor into a fortress, with at least five layers of defensive magic of various types.

It has a thick shield that can withstand physical impacts, a magical screen that filters spells, a counterattack defense that is triggered upon contact, and a sensory network that serves as an alarm.

Dozens of trap nodes were set up within a 200-300 meter radius, which were trigger-activated and would explode if stepped on. Some of them were buried half a meter underground.

The sentries were scattered among the heather bushes and behind the rocks, at least seven or eight on the ground and several more underground, hidden very well, their magic tightly controlled.

There are at least forty magical signals in the manor, densely packed in the main building and the surrounding fortifications. Most of them are from ordinary wizards, but a few signals are significantly stronger than those around them.

The one in the very center forms a distinct indentation in the magic perception, and it is very dark.

It feels very old, like metal that has been repeatedly baked, with layers of old wounds and charcoal ash from extinguished sparks on the surface, not exposed, but pressed at the bottom. Looking inside, it's all black, but you can feel the warmth at the center.

They're not easy to deal with.

Nearly a thousand people's eyes were focused on him.

Wizards, Death Eaters, representatives of the Order of the Phoenix, pure-blood families, observers from various countries, and passersby who came to watch the spectacle all had their eyes converge on the same point in the center of the wasteland, scattered across the hills for miles around.

When Regulus looked at the courtyard full of people at the Malfoy wedding, he thought that the next time he would see such a scene would be during a war.

He was right, and it was something he had brought about himself.

Unfortunately, I didn't come to beat him up.

The magic senses detected a signal during the scan.

Half a mile away in the direction of the hills, a familiar magical texture, so familiar that his senses lingered on that signal for a moment longer.

Some images flashed through my mind.

On the rocks of Beihai, a platinum blonde braid blows in the wind, the sun sets on the cliffs by the sea, and the blue light shines from the seabed.

On the path along the cliff edge, a tall figure turned around and glanced this way.

He didn't turn around to look, but a slight smile appeared on his lips.

A wizard's emotions are part of his magic; fear can cause wandless magic to go out of control, anger can cause spells to go astray, and extreme focus can sharpen his senses.

One wizard's gaze is nothing, ten wizard's gazes can send chills down your spine, and a hundred wizard's gazes will create a perceptible magical disturbance in the air.

There were nearly a thousand wizards present.

Well-intentioned, malicious, wary, calculating, curious, adoring, jealous, fearful, gloating, waiting to see the show, wishing him dead, and some who have no idea what they are watching.

All these emotions come together to create a magical disturbance that transcends the realm of perception, transforming into a kind of semi-physical pressure.

The air density was changing, the atmospheric pressure was rising locally, and the breath was becoming viscous. These changes were completely imperceptible to the audience on the hill, but standing in the center of all eyes, Regulus's body was responding, and the Constant Armor Charm was activated.

Betelgeuse's defensive instincts determined the current situation: the magic power formed by the combined emotions of nearly a thousand wizards had reached a level requiring protection.

A silvery-white light emerged from his body. The light was not strong, but in the utterly dark wasteland, it was the only source of light.

In the pitch-black night, there was not a single light or star in the surrounding wilderness for miles, except for one person shining.

From the day he decided to light up Betelgeuse, he began performing a ritual magic of his own design.

Every time an influence is exerted outward, it is like fuel being injected into this ritual.

Bella was crippled at the Christmas dinner, Fiend was unleashed in the werewolf camp, a blue and white curtain of fire hung over the French manor, and Diagon Alley publicly declared that everything was fuel.

Now, nearly a thousand wizards' eyes are focused on him. The entire British magical community knows his name. The European pure-blood circle and the magic minions of various countries have remembered the surname Black. The ancient contract, activated for the first time in hundreds of years, was initiated by a thirteen-year-old boy.

The ceremony reached its climax, nearing its conclusion, with only one final step remaining.

The final step is right under your feet.

Regulus's lips curved into a slight smile.

The entire wasteland was watching him, the distant hills, the nearby vassals, and the enemies in the manor.

He took a step forward, then a second, then a third, his feet not touching the ground—a flight spell.

He rose from the ground, the hem of his dark battle robe billowing in the air currents, his body enveloped in the silvery light of the Constant Iron Armor Spell, leaving an upward trail of light in the dark sky.

From below, a glowing figure rises in the dark night sky.

He rose to an altitude of about 100 meters directly above the Rohr Manor. The clouds were low, with gray cloud bases churning dozens of meters above his head.

He remained there, suspended between the clouds and the earth. The night wind was strong at this altitude, causing his robe to billow horizontally.

Below, the wasteland stretched out at his feet, black hills, black figures, and the black Rohr Manor.

Regulus raised his wand and unleashed all his magical power. The star trails deep within his mind lit up, and the six stars of Orion began to revolve simultaneously.

He stopped controlling his breathing and stopped caring which way the wind was coming from. He mobilized his magic from the deepest part of his being, faster and faster, more and more, until finally his entire mental space was shrinking inward and releasing outward at the same instant.

The magical model he learned from the Willow Tree unfolded completely in his mind, branching out like a tree, with each node's oscillating structure lighting up. He locked the entire Rohr Manor into a coherent whole in his mind.

The ground, stone walls, defenses, buildings, underground chambers, and the people above were all framed within it.

Magic surged from the core, filling every magical channel and rushing along the arm to the tip of the staff.

A yellowish-brown light shone from the tip of the staff. The Disintegration Spell was unleashed, and the clouds were torn apart the instant the beam of light shot out.

A yellowish-brown pulsed beam, nearly a foot in diameter, crashed down from a height of 100 meters. Its core was extremely bright, approaching white-hot, and its edges were swirling with deeper, darker concentric vibrations that spread outwards from the surface of the beam in concentric rings.

The beam sliced ​​through the air, leaving a scorching vacuum tube in its path. The air was expelled and then violently refilled after the beam passed, producing a muffled boom.

The 100-meter distance was breached in an instant, and the beam of light hit the defensive dome above the manor, lasting for less than half a second.

The dark magic barrier shattered from the point of contact, and the cracks exploded outwards from the point of contact. As the entire dome shattered, it emitted a series of piercing high-frequency vibrations, low enough to make one's chest resonate.

The fragments of defensive magic flashed a few times in the air before disappearing. The beam of light pierced through the shattered dome and struck the core building of the Rohr Manor, creating a massive concentric shockwave.

The shockwave spread outwards, and everything in its path began to disintegrate.

The gray-brown stone wall began to disintegrate from the point of contact. The binding force between the stones was stripped away the instant the shock wave passed, and the centuries-old structure collapsed in a fraction of a second.

The manor's defensive magic gradually lost its effectiveness as the physical structure collapsed; the stone walls to which it was attached were no longer stone walls.

The shockwave reached the ground, causing the earth beneath the manor to bulge. The surface of the earth deformed under the influence of the concentric shockwaves, undulating like a liquid, with ripples spreading outwards and moving across the ground at extremely high speeds.

Waves surged outward from the central manor, rising and falling in concentric circles, until finally, at the peak of the ripples, the earth shattered.

Under the shock of the Disintegration Curse, the ground physical structure underwent violent shear deformation. After exceeding the bearing limits of the rock and soil, the entire surface fractured from the inside.

The ground within a radius of several hundred meters shattered simultaneously, with cracks extending in all directions from the location of the manor. Ground fragments rose up, flipped, and sank.

The whole process, viewed from the hills several miles away, looked like a vast expanse of land first surging like water, and then shattering in the same instant.

The light illuminated the entire Yorkshire plain.

Miles away on the hills, nearly a thousand wizards saw the dark sky split in two by a beam of tawny light, which illuminated the bottom of the clouds and revealed the entire ruins of the Roll Manor.

The earth was cracking, stones were flying, and soil was churning. The centuries-old manor buildings were reduced to a churning ruin in seconds.

The force of the shock continued to propagate, rolling outwards along the ground, pushing the soil aside, and reaching the feet of the audience miles away, carrying a force that could knock people backwards.

On the hills, dozens of ironclad spells shone brightly.

People peeked out from behind the cover, squinting from the light.

The manor was gone, leaving only a huge, collapsing wound, with uprooted turf and rubble for miles around.

The light lasted for a few seconds, then dimmed.

The wasteland was plunged into darkness once more.

In the distant ruins, things were still collapsing, and the muffled thuds of stones hitting the ground could be heard intermittently, growing fainter and fainter.

The tear in the clouds by the beam of light hadn't closed yet, and a sliver of moonlight peeked through the gap, shining on the ruins.

In the night sky, a black figure hovered a hundred meters above the ground. The hem of his silver-patterned battle robe fluttered in the wind, and the silver-white light of the Constant Iron Armor Spell enveloped his entire body. In the darkness after the catastrophe, he was still the only source of light.

(End of this chapter)