Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

After the smoke and dust cleared, a brief vacuum appeared on the battlefield.

Old Raoul stood in the center of the ruins, his body charred black, the tip of his wand pressed against his chest.

Regulus stood forty or fifty meters away, his wand hanging at his side, silver light seeping from his body.

The wind blew from the direction of the North Sea, close to the ground, carrying the last bit of smoke eastward.

The embers were still burning in the distance, and several broken beams were stuck diagonally in the pile of rubble. Flames peeked out from the cracks in the wood, flickering in the wind, occasionally popping into a spark before going dark again.

The gap in the clouds was still open, and moonlight poured down, shining on the open space between the two people, turning the ruins into a cold gray.

Old Luo's shadow was stretched long by the moonlight, trailing behind him on the cratered ground.

Regulus had no shadow; silver light emanated from him, illuminating a small area around him.

Between the two lay the fissure created by the Disintegration Curse, more than a meter wide, so dark that its bottom could not be seen.

Some distance away, a section of hollowed-out wooden beam collapsed, sending up a few sparks that were carried two or three meters away by the wind before being extinguished.

Regulus stared at the wand pressed against the other's chest. At this distance, in this posture, all the information pointed in the same direction: what was about to happen would be significant.

His senses remained focused on the other person, but his body made no preemptive movements.

The wind picked up a bit more, blowing a piece of charred skin off Old Rohr and sending it tumbling into the crack in the ground.

......

On the hill, nearly a thousand wizards were processing what they had just seen.

On a high slope to the north, the Death Eaters' commotion first broke out.

The hooded group huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, trying to keep their voices down, but no one could suppress the buzzing and whispering that came from the small groups at the same time.

A man wearing a silver mask licked his lips and whispered, "Old Rohr is going to fight to the death."

The tall, thin man next to him didn't reply, but instead craned his neck toward the ruins and swallowed hard.

They were all wearing masks, so no one could recognize everyone. This was always the case when Death Eaters got together; the masks separated them by identity, but they couldn't stop people from recognizing each other.

Those standing close together could roughly guess which families each person belonged to based on their height, build, and position, but no one dared to reveal it.

On occasions like tonight, masks seem more like a rule; those wearing them don't want to be recognized by outsiders, and it saves them the trouble of greeting each other.

"Did you count?" Another voice squeezed in from behind, with a slight northern accent, speaking very quickly: "How many spells did that kid cast from beginning to end? I counted more than twenty. The waves that exploded from all directions after that, I couldn't even count them."

"The amount of magic is also wrong," the silver-masked man chimed in, his eyes peeking out from the mask's hole as he stared at the ruins. "They're still standing after being beaten like this. Look at old Rohr, he barely has any good skin left on his body."

"Did you see that spell that shot down from the sky just now?" another person asked, their voice filled with terror. "The Roel family's manor, three days of preparation, centuries-old defenses, all wiped out in an instant!"

And then there was that fireball at the end, over fifty meters in diameter, which illuminated the entire wasteland like daytime, its impact rolling all the way up the hills and nearly knocking over the people in the front row.

The group fell silent, their gazes shifting back and forth between the ruins and between themselves.

Dag Roll is a Death Eater, one of their companions, the same mark branded on the same arm, the same master sitting on different heads.

How much dirty work Old Roll did for his master, how many dissidents he eliminated over the years, how many lives the Roll family's vassals added for the Death Eaters—all of it will be burned tonight.

Such people, such a family, were beaten into such a state by a thirteen-year-old child.

The Black family are not Death Eaters. Orion Black refused to be branded, refused to kneel, refused to go on missions, and refused to wear a black robe and mask.

The Black family were allies of their master, separated from the Death Eaters by a line that usually didn't cause any trouble, as everyone was on the same side and they saw each other all the time.

But at moments like these, the presence of this line becomes apparent.

The fact that one of their own people died in the Roll family is unsettling, and the fact that the Black kid is too strong is even more unsettling.

A family of the Holy Twenty-Eight Races was turning to smoke in the ruins, and none of the Death Eaters present could laugh.

But nobody really wanted to rush in to save them. The Luo family was gone, and someone had to take over the vacant positions, resources, and connections.

In other words, if the Luo family really falls tonight, many people's positions will be moved up.

The order of things around the master needs to be rearranged. Whoever fills the void left by the Roll family, and whoever gets closer to the Black family, will be able to climb the ranks in the new order.

Another voice came, its tone unreadable: "If he dies here tonight, even the master will have to come and see for himself."

No one responded to that sentence. Several pairs of eyes pierced through the night and landed on the backs of the two people at the front.

Dolokhov stood there motionless, the tender new skin on his left cheek particularly striking in the moonlight.

Bella stood beside him, like a black thorn nailed to the darkness, without moving.

One of the two was looking at the ruins, while the other seemed to be looking somewhere else entirely.

The masked figures behind them exchanged glances.

Those two were the people closest to the master, and their attitudes were the weathervane. Since neither of them spoke, the people below could only murmur among themselves.

On the western hills, the Phoenix Society members were more scattered, with a dozen or so people lying on the slope, some standing and some squatting. The light from the Ironclad Curse illuminated this small patch of slope.

Moody stood at the highest point, his perfect grey-blue eyes peering out from beneath his disheveled hair as he stared toward the ruins. His wand rested against the side of his right leg, his fingers lightly touching the staff, his gaze intensely focused.

The Prwitt brothers stood a few steps below him, with Fabian on his left and Gideon on his right.

Fabian couldn't take it anymore. He let out a sigh and crossed his arms. "Merlin's underwear! How old is that kid again? Thirteen? What was I doing when I was thirteen? Betting with Gideon on who would kiss Eileen Vance first?"

Gideon, standing to the side, didn't respond to his comment. Actually, the bet back then was about who would kiss Cass Meadows first.

He stared at the ruins, his brows furrowed deeply. After a long while, he spoke in a low voice, "He hasn't graduated yet."

Fabian tilted his head to look at him.

"Graduation in four years, adulthood in five," Gideon's gaze was still on the ruins: "If he's standing on the other side then—"

Fabian's lips and eyes twitched simultaneously.

The two brothers fell silent.

If you were to encounter Regulus Black on the battlefield one day, would you fight or run? Could you even win?

He's only thirteen and he can already play like this. In a few years, he'll still be growing, and so will they, but they'll never be as old as him.

Is it possible for them to escape?

That method of exploding around people simultaneously means that running in any direction will likely result in being killed.

Moody's voice came down from above, cold and hard: "He could kill most of the wizards here."

Fabian and Gideon looked at each other, then turned to look at Moody together.

Moody ignored what the two brothers were thinking, his gaze never leaving Regulus, but his thoughts traveled back in time to a long time ago.

He met Tom Riddle during his time at Hogwarts.

When he first enrolled, Riddle was the prefect of the upperclassmen and later became the student council president. He was an impeccable student with straight A grades, and professors would praise him without batting an eye.

Later, that person became Voldemort, and now another one has emerged in the pureblood faction.

At thirteen, the heir to the Black family, he has already displayed magical talent and combat abilities that surpass those of the vast majority of adult wizards.

His family had clearly sided with Voldemort. Although the Black family did not brand themselves with the Death Eater mark, everyone knew Orion Black's political stance.

A gifted but extremely dangerous young wizard raised in a family of dark magic.

Moody wouldn't lay a hand on children; he was an Auror, specializing in capturing dark wizards, and he wouldn't hit children, but he couldn't just stand by and watch.

If this child continues to grow up on the pureblood side, and continues to be molded by Orion Black and Voldemort, when he stands on the opposite side of the battlefield a few years later, the number of people in the Order of the Phoenix who can stop him will be two fingers more than you can count on one hand.

We need to talk to Albus. That old man always has a way with people; he can strike up a conversation with anyone. He's been the principal for so many years, and this kid has been at the school for two years. There's no way Albus wouldn't have noticed him.

We need to get Albus to take this seriously and see if we can make a connection with the boy and guide him onto the right path.

The sooner the better; it will be too late to approach him once he graduates from Hogwarts.

Moody's lips twitched slightly. He wasn't very confident about the success rate of his idea, but he couldn't afford not to try.

On the high ground to the east, Lucius Malfoy stood between Crabbe and Goyle, the two massive heads like two walls of flesh blocking his way on either side, while the Ironclad Charm protected him from behind.

Lucius also erected a shield, but only for show, his attention entirely focused on Regulus.

His platinum-blonde hair was disheveled by the blast from the explosion, falling across his face and over his shoulders, and he didn't bother to style it at all.

Normally, he would use his wand to press down even a single hair that sticks up, but now he couldn't care less.

He always knew Regulus was powerful.

Regulus had already graduated the year he enrolled, but he had been listening to stories about the Black family heir at Hogwarts.

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Narcissa would mention it, and news of purebloods would spread, and that's when he knew that no one among his peers could compare to Regulus.

At the Christmas dinner, he watched as Regulus beat Bella so badly that she was lying on the ground, unable to get up, her wand flying away, her spirits going from high to low.

That image was more direct than any rumor; from that night on, comparing Regulus to his peers was considered bullying.

In the werewolf camp, he witnessed Regulus use a method he couldn't understand to fool Greyback like a dog, and then there was the final fire.

From then on, he placed Regulus in a very high position, so high that he didn't think there was another wizard of his generation who could compare to Regulus.

Now, looking at the silvery-white light in the distance, he felt that calling him a peer was still too low.

Dag Roll is a dark wizard of the same generation as his father, Abraxas, who has served that man for over a decade. Regulus is currently beating such a man.

Lucius was very satisfied. Things had gone smoothly from the first time he took the initiative to shake hands with Regulus, and the same was true afterward.

He glanced at the two burly men in front of him out of the corner of his eye, raised his chin slightly, and said in a familiar tone, "He's different from how he was a few months ago."

Crabbe and Gore didn't respond. They didn't quite understand the intricacies of this war, only knowing that Regulus had turned the Rolle family's manor into a crater.

Lucius didn't expect them to respond. After a moment, he said softly, "When we have children in the future, Regulus promised to teach them a few tricks."

Crabbe and Gore both turned to look at him, the two big guys winking at each other slowly and awkwardly.

Goyle winked at Crabbe, who then flashed a genuine smile across his broad face, his voice deep and resonant: "Lucius, when are you planning to have children?"

Lucius paused for a moment, then turned his gaze from the ruins to Crabbe's face.

His platinum-blonde hair was blown to the corner of his mouth by the wind, and this time he reached up and tucked it behind his ear: "We'll talk about it when we get back."

......

In the center of the ruins, old Luo Er made a move.

Regulus saw him turn the tip of his staff inward, and the charred shell on his chest made a very soft cracking sound.

Old Luo's right hand began to exert force, and the cane pierced his chest. No blood spurted out, only black fragments fell down as the charred shell was shattered.

The wand was inserted inch by inch, piercing through the charred skin and the hardened muscles, and old Raoul's body straightened up with each thrust of the wand.

The wand continued to be inserted.