Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 552 Civilized Diplomacy and King Frieza

Geralt sat up, leaning against the rock wall, stretching his legs out on the stone surface of the platform.

Fabian and Gideon also retreated from the edge, one leaning on the left and the other on the right, neither of them leaning forward again.

The three people sat side by side, not saying a word, just staring blankly at the sky.

The sky was high; the Norwegian sky in August was a deep, rich blue, with thin clouds that were torn into streaks of white by the high-altitude winds, slowly drifting eastward.

The sun had begun to sink behind the ridge, and the light changed from pure white to golden gray. The shadows of the three people were cast long and thin on the rocky platform.

There was a moment of silence.

Fabian spoke first, his voice unusually quiet compared to his usual boisterous self: "What I just saw...was it real?"

Neither Gideon nor Geralt responded, and Fabian continued, "I used to think that giants were just big, stupid, bad-tempered, and would run away if they couldn't beat someone, and smash things if they could."

He pointed downwards: "Those houses down there...and those people in armor..."

Geralt's amber vertical pupils stared at a white cloud slowly dispersing in the sky.

The scene from just now is etched in my mind; it has a sense of order that has been cultivated, and to be honest, it's quite shocking.

This was the most respectable form of civilization he had ever seen outside the wizarding world and outside the Muggle world.

Fairies don't count.

The fairies have their own social structure, a forging tradition, and a financial system. They are the operators of Gringotts, and the financial lifeline of the entire wizarding world is in their hands.

They are shrewd, vengeful, and highly skilled, but they are too closely tied to the wizarding world and have long been integrated into the wizarding economy. After all, who doesn't have a treasury in Gringotts?

Rather than being independent civilizations, they are more accurately described as a unique component of the wizarding economic system, having chosen to coexist with wizards, though they do not admit it.

House-elves don't count either; they have magic, language, and emotions, but they don't have their own social system.

They are vassals, bound to the wizarding family, and their existence is solely for service.

Kreacher is the most typical example; loyalty is etched into his soul, and he is smart enough to manage an old house, but he never thought of leaving.

That's how the entire population of house-elves is: they have no independent political entity, no territory of their own, and no arbitration or laws.

Centaurs are social beings, intelligent, with their own worldview and a system of astrological knowledge. However, they do not communicate with wizards, are closed off, xenophobic, and stay in the Forbidden Forest, where they can see but not touch.

Mermaids also have their own culture and language, but their influence in the British magical world is too small. They have also chosen to remain isolated, and what happens above the water is none of their business.

Then there are the giants. Ordinary giants are different from the ones mentioned above. They have no civilization, no heritage, no architecture, no forging, no laws. They are a species that maintains their tribal order purely through strength. Whoever is the strongest becomes the leader, and when the leader dies, another one takes over. They leave nothing behind except their physique.

But this giant camp is different; it's alive, operational, accessible, and has diplomatic value.

Among intelligent species other than humans, only fairies can achieve this.

It took the fairies nearly a thousand years to get to where they are today. They fought countless fairy rebellions with the wizards and shed countless blood before finally finding their niche in Gringotts' vaults.

The sky darkened further as the sun slid behind the mountain ridge, leaving only a golden halo spilling out from above, turning the thin clouds on the horizon orange-red.

The shadows in the canyon deepened, the gray-white of the cliff walls turned bluish-gray, and the distant snow changed from bright white to dark blue.

The temperature is dropping noticeably, and the wind blowing up from the valley floor is stronger than before.

Regulus suddenly remembered what the old man had said during the day: gentle methods wouldn't work, and reasoning wouldn't work either.

But what I just saw is enough to show that this is not a group of giants who cannot be reasoned with. A race that can create that kind of order must be intelligent enough. The old man's two sentences were referring to the giant in front of him as an ordinary giant.

That's Dumbledore, after all. He couldn't possibly not know that this tribe was different from other giants. An old man of such advanced age who could even speak the language of merfolk couldn't possibly not know that such a group of intelligent giants were hiding deep within Jotunheim.

He has most likely been here before. He's over a hundred years old, and it's impossible that he hasn't been to such a representative tribe of giants.

He knew these giants were intelligent, knew they were orderly, and knew that offering them wine and meat was an insult. He then said that a gentle approach wouldn't work and that reasoning wouldn't work.

Regulus twitched the corner of his mouth.

So the old man said that on purpose, so that he would come with the expectation of going to fight. When he got there, he found that one fight was probably not enough, so he adjusted, judged, and figured out a solution on his own.

The old man is using this trick again, not telling you directly what's going on, but letting you discover it yourself, deal with it yourself, and then figure something out in the process.

Old men are happy to do this, but if they were that age, they wouldn't do it; it would be too tiring. They would just say what they want directly.

There's another layer to it; Dumbledore said that old Avery went there once, bringing gifts and wine, but was refused.

Wine, gifts, supplies—this is the standard practice in the wizarding world when dealing with giants. Giants are treated like animals that can be coaxed; you get good food and drink in return for their help.

It might work on ordinary Titans; beat them up first, then feed them, carrots and sticks.

But this approach is clearly not working for the tribe in front of them. They have no shortage of wine, meat, or supplies, and the ecosystem in the canyon is more than enough to support hundreds of giants.

A group capable of achieving this level of civilization must have acquired experience and methods from the outside world. This system of order is so well-organized that even a wise person could not achieve it by trying to do it alone.

They must have come into contact with the outside world in some way, seen it, learned about it, and brought it back to become their own.

A group that actively seeks wisdom from the outside world certainly doesn't value material things the most.

Regulus thought for a moment and then offered his knowledge.

Instead of sending supplies and promises, give them what they truly need, what they can use, what they can pass on, and what knowledge is compatible with their civilization.

But the medium is a problem. They don't have writing, so they can't send books. Sending books might be seen as an offense by them.

You can't use magic to directly inject information into someone's brain; that's no different from an attack.

The stone pillars of the central building are covered with carvings; their method of recording is through graphics and symbols, using images to preserve memories.

Then let's use the same method to make a metal plate, a metal alloy, a copper-silver alloy, the kind of thing he's been researching.

Etched gold loops are etched onto the surface of the board, the story is stored within the loop structure, magic is infused, the loop is activated, and images are projected.

The magic of ordinary giants is passive, concentrated in their skin, and used to withstand spells. They cannot actively use it because they lack the intelligence to do so.

But these giants are intelligent, and with intelligence comes the possibility of actively manipulating magic. If they can truly channel magic into the board, then the board is made just for them. If not, at least he can demonstrate it in person.

Then there's the content, the story, a story featuring giants as the main characters.

They talked about strategy, survival, the value of preserving strength, the benefits of neutrality, and when to fight and when not to fight, using their own language and style.

These principles were readily available in his mind, coming from a faraway place, from ancient wisdom, repeatedly verified in thousands of years of human warfare, and written in books that could not be found on the shelves of the wizarding world.

Preserve your strength, use time to create space; the most brilliant victory requires no bloodshed. Sit on high ground and watch others fight, drag others into the fight, use others' strength to fight for you, pretend to fight but don't actually fight, pretend not to fight but actually fight, you fight first and I'll watch you fight.

To bestow wisdom beyond that of wizards upon a non-wizard race, using alchemy as a medium and presenting it through the graphic record-keeping methods of giants.

Do not treat giants as animals that can be easily appeased; treat them as an independent civilization. The first step in diplomacy between civilizations is equality and respect.

Geralt pushed himself up from the rock face, brushing the dust and stone chips off his pants. "Let's go back."

Fabian blinked. "Not going in?"

"Let's go back and get things ready," Geralt said, tilting his head towards the canyon exit. "We can't go knocking on doors empty-handed."

Fabian and Gideon exchanged a glance. Geralt had been leaning against the rock wall in thought for a long time, and they hadn't disturbed him.

He thought about it for so long before saying this, so he must already have a plan.

Fabian stood up, and Gideon also pushed himself up from the ground.

With three soft sounds, the rock platform was lifted into the air, and the three people teleported back to Gudewangen.

The fjord town was bathed in the twilight of evening, the light dimming more slowly than in the deep mountains, with only a last sliver of golden light remaining on the horizon, outlining the mountain walls opposite.

The water surface turned dark gray, and the bottom could not be seen. In the distance, a thin layer of mist floated on the water.

The fishing boats were still tied to the dock, and seagulls perched on the masts, their heads buried in their wings, looking like several gray-white pom-poms.

There weren't many people in the town. The wooden houses had their lights on, scattered sparsely along the shore. The light shone through the windows, appearing particularly soft against the gray sky.

The town was so quiet that you could hear the fjord water gently lapping against the shore.

The three of them walked along the gravel path by the dock to the restaurant, pushed the door open, and the hinges creaked.

In the corner, the old man with a long, silver beard was still sitting at the table, with a new drink in front of him. The color was darker than the one from the morning, a deep reddish-purple, and so thick it looked sweet. It was just as strangely colored as the one from the morning.

Geralt glanced down at the old man's face; his boots were covered in mud completely different from that of Gudvangen—reddish in color, with finer particles, typical of mountain soil.

There was a small patch of dark green moss debris at the hem of the robe. Judging from its texture and color, it was not the same type of moss found in the mountains of Norway.

He went out during the day, went somewhere else, did something else, and then came back at the right time. Judging from the level of the drink in the cup, he had probably only been sitting down for a short while.

Regulus clicked his tongue inwardly.

That old man really did say those things on purpose during the day. He calculated that the old man would come back to him on the first day, and then sit in the corner drinking an absurdly sweet beverage, waiting for the old man to return.

Geralt strode over, sat down in front of Dumbledore, and grinned at the old man: "Old man, do you have a place to stay? I don't have any money or food."

Dumbledore's blue eyes peered over his half-moon spectacles, his mustache swaying upwards: "You're back sooner than I expected."

Geralt curled his lip. "Really?"

Dumbledore smiled, didn't reply, left the crimson drink on the table, and got up to walk towards the door: "Come with me."

He led three young men out of the restaurant and walked along the fjord shore deeper into the fjord. The gravel road turned into a dirt path, winding its way up the water's edge.

The sky darkened completely, the water turned into a deep, almost blackish blue, and the cliffs on the opposite bank were reduced to blurry silhouettes.

An old man in a brightly colored travel robe walked in front, followed by three young men, none of whom spoke.

The Norwegian-style summer ranch has thick wooden walls that have been weathered by decades of sea winds into a silvery-gray color, and a thick layer of moss that has turned it almost black on the stone roof.

The door faces the fjord, and once you open it, you are greeted by a view of the endless gray-blue water and the silent mountain walls on the opposite shore.

There was a small, flat area at the entrance, with a rough wooden table and a few chairs. There were shallow grooves on the table, washed away by rainwater.

Pushing open the door, the main hall was not large, the fireplace was already lit, and there were two small rooms next to it, each with two narrow beds covered with thick wool blankets, and the pillows looked newly changed.

The kitchen was in another corner of the main hall, with a stone stove on which sat a cast-iron pot, and several ceramic slabs and wooden spoons on a shelf.

Simple, clean, and enough space.

Fabian entered, looked around, chose the bed by the window, and tossed his robe onto it. Gideon had already placed his things in another room.

Geralt stood at the doorway and glanced towards the fjord. The wind blew across the water, cold and salty, and he took a deep breath.

Dumbledore made some food in the kitchen, seemingly out of nowhere: the bread was warm, the cheese was cut into thick slices, a pot of hot soup was steaming on the stove, and a few pieces of fried fish fillet were placed on a plate.

The four people sat around the fireplace eating.

With bread stuffed in his mouth, Fabian began to mumble his account of the day's trip into the mountains:

"The fish in that lake are so big, Geralt said they're called Glacier Salmon, giants love to eat them, they're really high in protein—"

"And that stone unicorn skeleton is bigger than the broom shed in front of my house!"

Gideon added from the side, "The hunting marks are fresh, probably two or three weeks old."

Then Fabian started making gestures, gesturing wildly with his hands, almost spitting out his bread: "And that Death Eater, with his foul mouth, Geralt's attacks..."

He raised his right index finger and pointed forward: "Whoosh, it flew out! So cool!"

Geralt, chewing on his fried fish, nodded in satisfaction upon hearing this.

Of course it looks cool. At that moment, he was thinking of Frieza. He casually raised a finger, and the light shone out. It was a subtle yet effective move.

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