Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 556 The Armored Giant

In Norway, the morning comes earlier than in England. Before dawn, the cliffs on the opposite shore are only outlined in a blurry shape in the dim light, while the snow on the mountaintops shines first, tinged with a pale pink by the first rays of sunlight from above.

Febian emerged barefoot from his room, walking along the wall. He paused at Gideon's door and glanced back.

His brother was already awake. Fabian made a shushing gesture through the crack in the door. Gideon was inside, leaning against the headboard, looking at him with his arms crossed.

Fabian's gaze was resolute. He was determined to get revenge for being woken up from his bed by Geralt's reveille yesterday morning. He put his wand in his mouth, pushed open Geralt's door with both hands, and squeezed in sideways.

The blanket on the bed was bulging, and silvery-white hair peeked out from the edge of the blanket. His breathing was steady.

Fabian took the wand out of his mouth, weighed it in his hand, and began to reach towards the bedside.

As my right foot stepped over the threshold for the second time, it landed on a spot on the floor, and I was suddenly pulled off the ground.

Extremely fast, heading upwards, its two feet pushed off the ground, its body spun horizontally in mid-air, back up and face down, limbs outstretched, suspended more than two meters in the center of the room, like a starfish nailed to the air.

The wand flew out of his hand and rolled to the foot of the bed.

66

""

Fabian opened his mouth to shout, and found that he could make a sound, but his body did not move at all, and he could not even bend his fingers.

He tried to turn his head to look down, and his neck could move a little. He could see his wand lying on the floor three meters below, out of his reach.

Gideon.

No one cares about him.

"Giddyon!"

Gideon walked out of the next room, glanced at Fabian as he passed the door, then continued walking toward the kitchen without looking back, leaving Fabian with only the back of his head.

Fabian hung in the doorway, watching him walk away, then turned his head back and remained motionless.

Geralt rolled over on the bed, the blanket slipped off his shoulders, revealing half of his face. His amber pupils were closed, and his breathing remained steady.

From the other end of the wooden house came the sounds of Gideon preparing breakfast: pot lids clattering against the rims, wooden spoons scraping against earthenware bowls. After a while, the smell of firewood and the aroma of toasted bread wafted from the kitchen, spreading along the corridor into the house.

Fabian hung in mid-air for about ten minutes, blood rushing to his head, his face turning red and swollen, his ears ringing, but he just held back and refused to beg Geralt for mercy.

After a while, Gideon called out, "Dinner."

Geralt opened his eyes on the bed, sat up, yawned, and his long, silvery-white hair was draped messily over his shoulders.

Amber's vertical pupils swept over Fabian, who was suspended in mid-air, and then she waved her hand.

Fabian crashed to the floor, his knees and elbows landing simultaneously with a thud.

"Hold!"

"morning."

Upon arriving at the main hall, Gidion had already laid out the food: toast, cheese, sliced ​​dried meat, and a pot of hot tea on the table.

Dumbledore was gone again early in the morning. There was a note on the table that didn't say where he was going, but that we didn't need to wait for him today.

Fabian rubbed his sore head, sat down, grabbed a piece of bacon and stuffed it into his mouth, mumbling, "Your trap was despicable."

Gideon broke off a piece of bread and handed it to Geralt: "Old Avery and his men were turned away at the door. How are we supposed to get in?"

Geralt dipped a piece of hard bread in the black tea before putting it in his mouth: "I have a way."

Fabian looked up: "What method?"

Geralt shrugged. "Go inside."

Fabian glared, thinking Geralt was fooling him, while Gideon, standing to the side, seemed thoughtful, believing that Geralt must have something in mind.

Geralt ignored them, stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth, patted the bread crumbs off his hands, drank a cup of tea, and stood up.

Fabian and Gideon also got up, and the three of them walked out of the cabin.

The morning light in the fjord had fully illuminated the water, turning it from grayish-blue to bright blue. Wisps of mist clung to the surface, torn into threads by the wind. The sun hadn't even risen yet, but the sky was already bright.

Geralt stood in the open space in front of the house for a moment, stretched his shoulders a couple of times, glanced at the two men, and put his hands on their shoulders.

"Walk."

The three of them vanished simultaneously, the oppressive feeling of Apparition flashing by, and their boots landed on the rocky platform they had been lying on the day before yesterday, hundreds of meters above the giant camp.

The wind was stronger than the day before yesterday. The airflow blowing up from the valley floor turned into a crosswind at the height of the rock platform, whipping up fine ice crystals on our faces.

The temperature was several degrees lower than in the fjords, the air was thin, and it was piercingly cold when you breathed it in; when you exhaled it, it condensed into white vapor and dissipated very quickly.

At this wind speed, it wouldn't be surprising if a less skilled wizard standing on this unobstructed granite platform were to be thrown off.

The sun had just peeked over the eastern mountain peaks, its low angle casting a golden-gray glow on the opposite cliff face, while most of the campsite below remained shrouded in the mountain's shadow.

The day before yesterday, three people were peeking from the edge of the rock platform, but they're not doing that today.

Geralt walked to the side, legs apart, hands in his vest pockets, his long silver hair blowing back in the wind, the ends of his hair forming a line behind his shoulders, his center of gravity firmly between his feet, the vertical drop of several hundred meters just in front of his boots.

Fabian moved to a spot half a step to his right and looked down. The sense of depth was completely different when looking down from a standing position versus from a prone position. His line of sight went straight down without any reference points to block his view.

Wizards aren't particularly afraid of heights; those who have fallen from brooms a few times have a basic immunity to vertical drops.

Gideon stood to Geralt's left, his gaze fixed on the distant camp.

Geralt was spotted by the sentries below the day before yesterday. Now he stands here with his silver-white head shining brightly, and his meaning is quite clear.

Three young people stood side by side on the edge of a rocky platform hundreds of meters high. The morning light shone down from the side, and the wind blew their hair and the corners of their clothes in the same direction.

The camp below was quieter than the evening before. The giant camp was just waking up in the early morning. The chimneys in the forging area were not yet smoking. Several giants were walking slowly between the stone houses.

There was a man squatting by the roadside, head down, gnawing on a large piece of something, his jaw moving slowly but powerfully.

As the three of them looked down, a giant in armor suddenly raised his head.

The giant I saw in the direction of the rock platform the day before yesterday evening was standing on a high platform near the central stone house.

Looking down from a height of several hundred meters, one cannot distinguish the difference in height between the giants and those around them; all that can be seen is the outline of dark gray-blue armor and a long-handled weapon protruding diagonally from the back.

With his helmet and visor closed, his entire figure appeared silent and sharp in the morning mountain shadows.

The giant raised its head. It had looked at the other side and then retreated. Today, the other side hadn't run away. Three figures stood on the rock wall hundreds of meters high, one of whom had silver-white hair that was very eye-catching in the wind.

They faced each other from a vertical distance of several hundred meters. Geralt's lips curled up slightly, and he tilted his head. The next moment, his figure disappeared from the rock platform.

The landing point was on an open area outside the camp, near the boundary of the territory's marked area. The ground beneath my feet was clean and sparsely covered, with nothing growing on it, and it was hard and shiny.

The scent of minerals and fragrance from the Giant's Mark rose from the ground, several times stronger than the one I had smelled from the outside the day before yesterday.

With two muffled thuds, Fabian and Gideon landed slightly behind him on either side. The two brothers exchanged a glance, said nothing, and stood at attention.

The three men faced the direction of the camp and waited.

Not long after, the ground began to vibrate, coming from the direction of the camp. The vibrations were even and low enough to travel from the soles of the feet all the way to the roof of the head and then up to the hip joint.

The armored giant emerged from the direction of the camp gate. Geralt estimated him to be about five and a half meters tall, or even taller.

The full armor is a dark gray with a bluish tinge, a mix of plate and chainmail. The breastplate is a single piece, with forging patterns visible on the surface, one piece on top of another, reflecting the strength of the giant and the record of tools striking the metal surface hundreds of times.

The morning light shone from the side, and the texture of the granite surface shimmered with a very faint, cool luster, its color and texture resembling the granite cross-section of Jotunheim.

The armor surface has scratches from combat, the deepest one running down from the left side of the breastplate, almost across the entire breastplate, stopping at the edge of the waist armor, with a deep indentation, but not penetrating.

The arm armor covered the shoulders and backs of the hands, revealing a few fingertips. The leg armor and skirt armor were connected together, and the metal plates collided with each other when walking, making a low sound.

The entire suit of armor had no superfluous decorations. The curves of the shoulder armor followed the contours of the shoulders, and the breastplate was engraved with tribal totem patterns with rough, hard lines and dark minerals embedded in the grooves.

The mask covered the entire face, leaving only the eyes visible.

The two-handed battle axe on his back had a handle longer than his height and so thick that Geralt could barely encircle it with both hands when they were clasped together. It had a single-edged blade with a curved surface nearly a meter wide, and the blunt back of the axe was so thick that it could be used as a hammer.

The giant stopped about fifteen or sixteen meters away from the three people, which was about five steps away.

Geralt was a little over 1.8 meters tall. Standing at this distance, when he looked up, his line of sight was just at the giant's thigh, his knees were a little above his chest, and his head was more than four meters above him.

He smacked his lips.

The giant opposite them remained silent, his eyes behind his mask looking down at the three of them.

The Pewter brothers didn't make any moves. Fabian stood upright with his shoulders level and his hands hanging at his sides. He didn't touch his wand and remained calm and still, completely different from the usually talkative, loud, and boisterous Fabian.

He could feel the pressure. The five-and-a-half-meter-tall, fully armored giant stood before him, carrying a battle axe taller than the giant himself, which ironically made him show his true colors.

Gideon was positioned to Geralt's left rear, in a posture almost identical to Fabian's. The two of them flanked Geralt slightly forward, forming a half-fan shape.

Golden light danced in Geralt's amber pupils as he unleashed all the magic within him, the image of Betelgeuse spreading from its core throughout his body.

Geralt's identity is tied to Betelgeuse, scorching, explosive, his magic is constantly burning, and heat is constantly emanating from his body, distorting the air around him, but that was suppressed, controlling the output, but now he is letting go completely.

The magic began to expand, and a scorching heat surged from within the body, flowing through every magical channel into the limbs, past the shoulders, burning the arms, rushing down the spine, filling the legs, and then seeping outward from the skin's surface, all the magic evaporating outward tinged with crimson.

The distortion of the air pushed outwards from his entire body in an instant, and the heat wave visibly surged from his body in all directions. Layer upon layer of ripples rolled into a transparent wall in the sub-zero cold air, pushing the cold air outwards.

The hardened ground beneath my feet hissed, and heat spread rapidly from the soles of my boots outwards.

Within seconds, the thin frost covering the ground within a radius of five meters, twenty meters, thirty meters, and tens of meters melted completely, and the moisture on the surface of the frozen soil was also evaporated. A large cloud of white vapor rose from the ground, and the whole land seemed to be boiling.

The crimson magic emanating from him spread outwards with heat, causing the air at the bottom of the valley to heat up. Standing in the middle and looking out through that surging heat, the distant mountain walls and sky were shaking, and everything in sight was distorted.

He left a gap behind him, consciously avoiding the positions of Fabian and Gideon when releasing his magic. The heat wave rushed out from in front of him and to his sides, and only the residual heat from the edges of the area behind him could reach him without burning him.

But the air was open in the positive direction, and the scorching magical heat rushed towards the giant, hitting his armor, but nothing happened.

The dark gray-blue armor showed no signs of temperature change, and the patterns and metallic luster remained unchanged.

Geralt's released magic carried enough heat to scorch the ground within a radius of tens of meters, and when it hit the armor, it had the same effect as the morning mountain breeze hitting it.

The pair of eyes behind the mask moved down a little, landing on the seemingly boiling ground at Geralt's feet, then swept over it before returning to his face, without any change in expression.

Geralt's senses remained focused on the giant; he didn't mix any hostility into the magic he released, it was simply a display, a pure outward projection.

The release of magic power is completely different in texture from a simple release of magic power. An individual with such keen perception that they can detect it from hundreds of meters away can distinguish between the two.

The purpose is simple: to tell the other party that not all wizards are the same.

Giants have a bad attitude towards wizards because wizards have a bad attitude towards giants, but in the world of giants, there is a distinction between big and small. The big ones have more influence, and the small ones stand at the back.

Geralt may not be able to compare to giants in height, but he can match their magical power. He's not weak; he's quite a big guy.

Moreover, he was polite and greeted us.

The giant's eye behind the visor blinked, looking down at Geralt. Its light remained unchanged, showing no sign of preparing for battle.

Geralt had a plan in mind, and after his demonstration, he put it away.

The scorching heat of Betelgeuse was instantly suppressed back into the body, and all the surging crimson magic power was completely retracted within a fraction of a second.

The surrounding air changed from scorching hot to icy cold. The temperature difference caused a new layer of white frost to quickly form on the previously melted ground. Water vapor condensed into fine ice crystals in mid-air, which flashed briefly in the morning light before dissipating.

The distortion in the field of vision disappeared, and the distant mountain walls became clear again.

From burning to silence, in the blink of an eye.

Geralt lowered his eyes and waited for the last wisp of white vapor to dissipate from his feet. He then raised his right hand, placed his palm across his chest, and pressed it down slightly at his chest with his five fingers together.

He spoke a sentence in Norwegian, pronounced perfectly, fluently, and grammatically correctly: "Hei, Jegvilsnakkemed"

høvdingen deres.

"6

Hello, I would like to speak with your leader.

That's all there is to it; this is all the Norwegian I've accumulated.

The eyes behind the mask lingered on his face for a while, then fell silent, remaining silent, still revealing nothing.

After a moment, the giant turned and walked back towards the camp, without making any attempt to drive it away or offering any verbal response.

The sound of footsteps resumed, each step slamming into the ground, and the sound gradually faded into the distance.

Geralt's gaze followed the retreating figure, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He didn't say no, he didn't say it was impossible, he didn't chase them away, and he didn't close the door, so that meant it was okay.

He glanced back at Fabian and Gideon, and the two brothers nodded at him.

Geralt adjusted his vest and followed behind the giant, with Fabian and Gideon following behind.