Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 558 is full of vulgar insults, but it makes some sense.

The giant's gaze lingered on Geralt for a moment, looking down at him without hostility or curiosity, nor with any intention of scrutinizing him; he was simply observing.

Then he turned and walked deeper into the stone house. His footsteps sounded again, and the ground shook, the tremor even more clearly than before.

Geralt followed, with Fabian and Gideon stepping over a threshold about half a person's height.

In the very center, near the back, there was a circular fire pit surrounded by stones, with ashes and unburnt coarse charcoal piled up in the center.

The ground was compacted soil, softer to the touch than outside. There were several carvings at the base of the wall, much simpler than those on the pillars outside the door—a few vertical lines and rough outlines, indistinguishable as human or animal marks, perhaps left by successive leaders.

A stone chair, carved from a single block of granite, stood directly opposite the doorway, its seat wide enough for Geralt to use as a bed.

There was no other furniture—no tables, cabinets, shelves, nothing at all.

The giant walked to the stone bench, turned around and sat down, resting his arms on the armrests and leaning back. Even sitting, the giant was still more than two meters taller than Geralt, who was standing.

Fabian and Gideon stood slightly to the left behind Geralt, about a step away, and the three of them stood in front of the stone bench.

Herogane looked down at them, his gaze falling once more on Geralt's face. This time, he didn't pause long before speaking, his words as slow as before: "You, come, why?"

Geralt asked the same question again. After thinking for a moment, his expression relaxed and his tone casual: "Make friends."

Herogia's face remained unchanged. His grey-green eyes stared at Geralt without him even lifting his eyelids. His lips maintained their original curve, and his chin didn't shift. He just stared.

Silence itself is an answer, and Geralt understood.

The giant in front of him skipped the step of judging whether the statement about making friends was true or false. He didn't take it seriously at all, as if he had just heard a meaningless statement. There was no need to refute or question it; he could just let it go.

Heroga remained silent. He had lived for over a hundred years and seen far too much. Wizards and giants never made friends. Every wizard who came here had a purpose, without exception.

When a wizard talks about making friends, it's not even worth verifying.

Geralt frowned slightly, then relaxed his gaze, his magical perception remaining constantly focused on Heroga.

His magical perception can detect the magical fluctuations of a target and read the corresponding emotional changes from them. Excitement, tension, anger, and vigilance each have their own patterns, and wizards and most magical creatures cannot escape this system.

Giants' magic is deeply tied to their bodies, a structure completely different from that of wizards. However, fluctuations in emotions usually cause slight fluctuations in magic, and even the magic of giants should follow a similar pattern.

But there was nothing to be seen on Heroga. A sweep of senses revealed only a uniform base color, with no undulations, peaks, or changes. It was simply calm.

This path is blocked, Geralt stood in front of Herogane and started racking his brains.

Making friends seems a bit fake, and the giant doesn't believe it at all, so let's give him a real purpose.

He needs to appear credible, and the only way to do that is for what he says to actually be true.

If you want Heroga to believe that he's not here as a lobbyist, then he really can't be here as a lobbyist. So what exactly does he want to do here?

The moment the question popped into my head, the answer appeared almost immediately after the previous thought.

As he passed through the camp, he sensed that the giant's magic had no core; it was mixed with his flesh. He had never seen this form of magic in any of the magical creatures he had encountered. He really wanted to know what it was; he wanted to understand it. This thought was genuine.

He pushed the task Dumbledore had given him to a corner of his mind; yes, he was there to learn and exchange ideas.

He didn't even intend to persuade the giants to remain neutral; he could have easily done what he had to do in a different way.

Geralt's expression relaxed slightly, and his amber vertical pupils met Herogane's large gray-green eyes: "The magic within you is different from that of wizards, different from everything I know. I want to understand this."

Herogia remained silent for a while, then closed her eyes briefly before slowly opening them again.

He continued speaking, still in English, but with a few more words than before, and at the same pace, only the sentences were longer: "Long time ago, a wizard came, and I also wanted to see him."

"A long time ago, a wizard came and wanted to see it too."

Geralt's vertical pupils flashed with golden light; Heroga's words contained a lot of information.

In the past, wizards also came to learn about the giants' magic. Perhaps one wizard stayed for a while, observed, learned, and then left, never to return.

This record was remembered by the giants and preserved to this day, and now that Heroga is bringing up this precedent, it shows that he is comparing that precedent with himself.

Geralt didn't press for details about who the wizard was; that information could be added later. Right now, his position in front of Heroga had changed from another lobbyist trying to win him over to someone who resembled a wizard who had come before.

Fabian stood behind, his expression shifting from surprise to confusion.

His understanding of the mission objective is to keep the giants neutral, but now he's saying he wants to learn the giants' magic? What kind of approach is that?

He glanced at Gideon furtively; Gideon's brow was slightly furrowed.

Geralt looked at Horroga and said casually, "Didn't you have a group of people here a while ago? What were they like?"

After a long silence, Heroga slowly spoke: "Come, Wizard, bring a drink, go away."

The wizard came, brought drinks, and then chased him away.

Geralt put his hands back in his pockets, raised an eyebrow, and curled his lips into a mocking smile: "Those guys come here to bring you drinks?"

"These people—" He shook his head before Heroga could reply, and continued in an absurd tone, "The two groups of wizards outside are about to fight. The two biggest groups have been at it for years, and they're about to break down. Both groups are recruiting people everywhere."

He casually gestured in the air with his hand: "Werewolves, Dementors, all sorts of random things are being pulled in, and giants are on the list too. The group that came to deliver the drinks should be one of them."

His tone began to drop, filled with undisguised contempt: "Those guys want to use you as thugs, to help them crash and burn, then they'll treat you to drinks, and after that you can get out of here, go back to your mountains and don't come out and get in the way. It's been the same routine for hundreds of years."

He curled his lip and said, "Is that all the ambition you have?"

Fabian's mouth was agape as Geralt continued, blurting out, "The other group isn't any better. They're all talk about justice and light, saying things like protecting all wizards, protecting all magical creatures, protecting..."

They can't even protect their own people, why would they care about you? Give me a break!

They'll definitely send people over, saying they're afraid the other side will pull you away and cause them trouble, but do you think they don't have their own thoughts? Do you think they're any better than the guys who deliver the drinks?

They also want to recruit you. Once you're in, they'll put you at the front lines. Giants are tough and thick-skinned, perfect as meat shields.

After the fight, you'll be either dead or crippled. Once you're crippled, they'll pat you on the shoulder and say thank you for your sacrifice for justice, then carry you back to the mountains with a sign that says "No Giants Here." They won't even give you a broken bottle of wine then.

"If you agree to this, just wait and see, the good days are yet to come!"

At that moment, he resonated with the giant, feeling that he was standing particularly upright, and that justice was everywhere from his hair to the soles of his feet: "Do you know what the most despicable thing about wizards is? It's not hitting you, scolding you, or bullying you, but erasing you from the history books after they've used you."

If you flip through their history books, what does it say? Nothing!

All they write about is some great wizard leading the forces of justice to a glorious victory. If you help him charge into battle, he writes about his bravery; if you take a blow for him, he writes about his strength; if you die, he won't even mention your name, just say there were some sacrifices in the battle!

Geralt didn't stop: "There's something even more disgusting. After the battle, after winning, you sit down to divide the spoils, and when it comes to you, oh, you're a giant, so what do you need so many for? You don't use Galleons, you don't go shopping, you'd be happy with just a few barrels of wine, right?"

"You say you're unhappy? Then what do you want? You want to reason with me? A wizard reasoning with a giant? Learn to speak human language first before you try to reason with me!"

Fabian's eyes were starting to glaze over; his mind was racing.

Geralt is cursing the Death Eaters, okay, I can understand that. Geralt then starts cursing the Order of the Phoenix, okay, that's understandable too, after all, Geralt said he's not working for Dumbledore.

But Geralt included the entire wizarding community in his insults, which Geralt didn't quite understand.

"Those wizards outside, they talk a good game, but they're all filthy inside. They come in all smiles, but they're all the same after they leave. They treat people like fools and then deny everything after they've done their job."

If you try to reason with him, he'll act like a thug. If you act like a thug, he'll bring up the law. His version of the law is specifically for dealing with disobedient people. When you're obedient, the law doesn't apply to you; when you're disobedient, every law is against you.

Geralt's voice rose higher and higher in the stone house without pausing: "Those guys in black robes are always talking about conquering the world and conquering you, while those guys in white robes are always talking about saving the world and saving you. In the end, they just want you to listen to them, to stand still and not move as they say. It's just a change of clothes. What's the difference?"

Fabian's back was facing the doorway, and the morning light shone in from behind him, illuminating his expression clearly.

He glanced at Gideon, whose expression was no more composed than his.

Geralt was still cursing: "--The guys who deliver the drinks are alright, but they're clearly evil. They come here just to make you fight for them. You know what kind of people they are, and you know how to treat them."

Those guys in white robes are even more disgusting. Just you wait, you'll see when they get here!

"They greet you with a handshake, telling you we're family, that you're also residents of this world and deserve the same rights and respect. Then they turn around and draw lines on the Ministry of Magic's map, declaring this area yours and that area theirs. After the lines are drawn, your territory shrinks by half. When you question them, they tell you it's for your own good."

English slang and profanity started pouring out:

A bunch of narrow-minded bastards, fighting with goblins for territory. They'll pull you in today, kick you tomorrow, and pretend they don't know you the day after. Merde, even goblins have more discipline in a fight! Filsdepute!

Neither of these two groups is any good. One group says, "I want to rule the world, so you kneel down before me." The other group says, "I want to save the world, so you fight for me." Whether it's ruling or saving, you're the one putting in the effort, while they reap the benefits.

"After we've finished, go back to your mountains and stay there. We'll come looking for you again when we need you. It's been like this for hundreds of years, just the same old story, with different people coming and different excuses. The wine changes from red to white, the bottle changes from round to square, but it all tastes the same!"

Fabian was stunned, his gaze becoming somewhat fixed.

Listening closely, Geralt said some of his things that Geralt wanted to refute, but he couldn't find a point to refute them. Some of his words were quite accurate, which made him feel uncomfortable.

He glanced at Gideon to the side, whose brows were furrowed deeply and whose gaze was fixed on the back of Geralt's head.

Regardless of where Geralt came from, one question made him think.

From an outsider's perspective, or from the perspective of someone who has no connection to either side, is there any difference between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters?

They themselves felt the difference was as big as it could possibly be, but standing in this stone house, listening to an outsider curse both sides from beginning to end, with the content of the curses on the two sides even interchangeable, what was the difference?

Geralt finished his tirade, slightly out of breath, but he had to admit it was quite satisfying.

Heroga sat on the stone chair, his grey-green eyes looking down at the silver-haired wizard in front of him as he launched into a tirade.

His English vocabulary was limited. Geralt spoke quickly, and there were some words he hadn't heard before, and he couldn't fully process the connected speech of some phrases while hearing them.

But he could understand the gist of it: the wizard in front of him was cursing the wizards outside, cursing two groups, cursing very filthyly, and it seemed like he was including the entire wizarding community.

In his more than one hundred years of life, Heroga had met quite a few wizards, and they had all sorts of opinions.

Some came to talk, some to threaten, some to offer gifts, some to ask for passage, some to test us, all to tell us what we should do. But all the wizards combined didn't say as much as this wizard had said just now, nor were they as foul as he had said just now.

Heroga's eye twitched; it was hard to tell if he was smiling or just twitching.

He looked down at Geralt, remained silent for a moment, and then, still in that incredibly slow pace, said, "Your people, You..."

I don't like it.

Your people, you don't like them.

>