Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 563 What exactly does the old man want to do?

Gideon sat silently to the side, swirling his glass of malt liquor in his hand, his gaze fixed on the liquid. After a moment of quiet, he looked up and asked, "From the outside, do they really look the same?"

His tone sounded quite casual, but Geralt noticed his brief silence just now.

Have you seen it outside?

Gideon put down his glass, looked at Geralt, and shook his head.

"You'll see for yourselves when you go out there," Geralt continued. "The British have this problem: they think the whole world knows what's happening on their island, that the whole world is watching."

Once you cross the English Channel, ask any French wizard if they know what the Order of the Phoenix is, and nine out of ten will be completely clueless.

Ask them again if they know what Death Eaters are. Hey, actually two or three of them do know.

Gideon frowned, looking at Geralt with a puzzled expression: "So, there's no opinion from the outside regarding either side?"

Geralt looked at him for a moment, then glanced at Fabian, and sneered: "A bunch of men in black robes want you to kneel down, while a bunch of men in white robes want you to stand still. Both sides think they are right, and both sides think you should listen to them."

As for your island, it's just two opposing sides fighting, and even after years of fighting, they'll still be the same two sides. What does that have to do with outsiders?

After listening, Gideon's gaze remained fixed on the table, and he didn't look up for a long time.

Fabian's expression changed slightly, probably thinking that this was too exaggerated.

Britain has only recently split into factions, with wizards becoming increasingly divided. From Geralt's perspective, it seems as if the British magical world has never been unified.

But then he thought about what Geralt had just said, and after thinking carefully about what he had learned in the history of magic, it seemed that this was not wrong.

He was silent for a moment, then sighed. He decided to stop thinking about this kind of brain-taxing topic since he couldn't figure it out: "How did you survive that attack today?"

Geralt raised an eyebrow: "Which time?"

"That swing that sent you flying!" Fabian raised his hand and gestured, drawing from one side of the table to the other, then pointed at Geralt: "Such a huge axe came crashing down! You flew so far through the air! You tumbled so many times! And lay there for so long!"

"Is everything alright?"

Geralt shrugged. "He didn't intend to kill me."

Fabian was taken aback: "What do you mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Geralt picked up his glass, took a sip, and hissed, "just like I didn't intend to kill him."

Fabian's lips twitched.

What he saw was Geralt constantly getting beaten up, flying around, being knocked into ditches, and being slammed into the ground; he didn't seem like the one who was getting the better end of the deal.

He knew Geralt was powerful; back at Skipton Castle, Geralt had punched Dolokhov several meters away, shattering his face.

Later, during a sparring match on the hillside of Hogsmeade, Geralt used close-quarters combat techniques and quickly knocked him to the ground with a few punches and kicks, as did Gideon.

Back then, he already thought Geralt was ridiculously powerful, but today's scene is even more outrageous.

There's not much to say about that giant; he's incredibly strong and fast, wears armor, and can create a crater with every swing of his axe.

He felt that if he were to be hit even once, he would be finished.

Geralt, on the other hand, despite taking so many blows and slaps, is now sitting here perfectly fine, eating and drinking, his clothes are back to normal, and his back and legs are intact.

Geralt seems to be bragging, but he can't give any evidence.

Then he started asking other questions: "Then what kind of magic is that sword of yours, the one that suddenly appeared when you were walking around?"

We could see it glowing from a distance, with blue and red light flashing back and forth; we'd never seen anything like it before.

Geralt tilted his head: "You don't have any on your island?"

Fabian pursed his lips, refusing to answer the question: "You didn't use that sword when you fought us on the hillside."

Geralt stared at him for a long time, and Fabian looked away because of his gaze.

Geralt looked at it for a while before slowly speaking, his voice light and airy: "I'm afraid I'll beat you to death."

Fabian opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the words caught in his throat and he closed his mouth.

A thought suddenly popped into my head: Geralt is being unusually aggressive today.

During the day, he would curse the Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix, and the entire wizarding community in the giant camp, using both fierce and vulgar language.

Right now, as Geralt was eating and drinking in the tavern, even a casual remark could be hurtful. He felt like Geralt had been bitten by a vixen, both painful and itchy, and he wanted to scratch her with anyone he could reach.

Is it because you got beaten up during the day and haven't recovered yet?

Don't be fooled by his cheerful demeanor, his ability to eat and drink well, and his spouting of platitudes; he's probably extremely unhappy inside.

Fabian picked up his glass, took a sip of his ale, and decided not to provoke him tonight.

Gideon seemed to snap out of his daze, glanced at the sky outside the window, then turned back and slowly said, "The giants described in the book are completely different from those."

Geralt changed his tone, leaning back with his cup in hand, chin slightly raised, eyebrows arched: "The world is too big. You've been on that island for too long, and you think giants are those small-headed, big-bodied things that swing sticks around like in the books."

He put on an air of experience: "Go out and see for yourself. The things outside are so different from what you write in your books."

The two brothers glanced at each other but remained silent.

Geralt scrutinized Fabian with his amber vertical pupils, then glanced at Gideon from left to right and back again, as if examining two ornaments. He then curled his lip slightly and said, "I heard that in such a small place as England, you have some kind of 'Twenty-Eight Tribes'? And they're sacred?"

Fabian blinked.

"Let me see," Geralt said, scanning them again. "Which one is sacred?"

After reading it, he curled his lip and said, "It's not sacred at all."

Fabian blinked again, couldn't hold back, and burst out laughing. He slammed his hand on the table, making it wobble and almost causing the empty plate to fall.

Gideon shook his head, his lips twitched slightly, and he picked up his glass and took a sip.

Geralt reclined his chair, rested his elbows on the edge of the table, picked up the last piece of bread, broke it in half, and handed one half to Fabian: "Britain only has a few islands. Two groups of people fight each other over territory, but in the end, it's still just the same few islands. There's no difference."

Then he handed the other half to Gideon: "The world is so big, why not go out and see it?"

After saying that, she stopped looking at the two of them. The golden light in her amber vertical pupils quieted down a bit. She turned her head and glanced at the sky in the direction of the fjord outside the window, and at the distant mountain ridge.

This isn't just Geralt's character saying it; Regulus himself thinks so too.

Go out and see the world; the world is so big.

Fabian leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared at Geralt's profile for a while. His gaze swept from Geralt's silver hair to his amber pupils to the outline of his jaw, and then back to Gideon's face.

The two brothers exchanged a glance.

They knew almost all the pure-blood families in Britain, as well as those outside the Twenty-Eight Clans. They had seen or heard about the fighting styles and magical traditions of each family to some extent.

Geralt's attributes—his close-quarters combat style, the crimson heat emanating from his body when unleashing magic, and that sword—none of them matched the characteristics of any pure-blooded British family.

Fabian then turned his gaze back to Geralt's face.

The Prewitt family neither rejects mixed-race individuals nor looks down on Muggle-born people, and they have never taken the so-called Holy Twenty-Eight races seriously.

But in any case, Geralt wouldn't appear among half-bloods or Muggle-borns; you can't raise someone as powerful as him without a wealthy family background.

Geralt finished the last sip of ale and placed the glass upside down on the table. "Alright, let's go."

Fabian snapped out of his daze, pursed his lips, and stood up to pay the bill.

Regardless of where this guy came from, he's a penniless wretch.

I teleported back to the cabin. It wasn't dark yet; in Norway in August, it doesn't get dark until almost 10 pm. A layer of pale golden light covered the horizon in the direction of the fjord, and the clouds high up were torn into fine wisps by the wind.

Dumbledore left a note during the day, but he hasn't returned yet; he's probably still out there busy with the Order of the Phoenix.

The two brothers went inside. Gideon glanced back at Geralt from the doorway, Geralt waved to him, and the door closed behind him.

Geralt sat down alone on the stone bench by the door.

The water surface had turned a dark gray, there was no wind, and there were very few ripples. The air had cooled down, and the breath I exhaled turned into white mist around my mouth.

He sat there for a while, his back against the edge of the table, the spot on his side where he had been whipped still throbbing slightly.

He ignored it, thinking he'd be fine after a good night's sleep, his mind preoccupied with the events of the day.

Ordinary giants are tough enough without armor, and spells from less skilled wizards are barely enough to tickle them.

With its passive magic resistance and naturally thick skin, an ordinary adult wizard would have to hit a regular giant many times to defeat it with conventional spells.

The armored warriors I saw today were different.

The logic is very simple: if the giants are only hunting, they don't need armor. They can just wear a loincloth and go for it. Their skin is thick and their strength is great enough to walk sideways through piles of food and crush a herd of reindeer with a single step.

But if the giant is willing to spend time forging and imbuing the metal with magic, then this armor provides more than just physical defense.

Who are we guarding against? A wizard's spell? Or some other giant?

The close-range explosive spell that hit Hilde's breastplate today caused him to sway back slightly, but only slightly. Once the sway was over, he immediately used the momentum to adjust his posture and strike him.

If that blow had hit an ordinary giant, it would have at least blown them to pieces, if not killed. If it had hit a wizard, without the Ironclad Charm to protect him, he would probably be dead already.

Among the tribes of hundreds of giants, a dozen or twenty wearing armor and carrying weapons were warriors capable of actively summoning magic.

Even those who don't wear armor, who walk around the living area daily, those in charge of forging, and those in charge of the hunting grounds, may still be able to use magic, they just don't need to show it in their daily lives in the camp.

Hilde is already this strong. Even if he is the head of the warriors, what about Heroga?

Even the wisest giant is still a giant; there's no reason why the leader shouldn't be the most powerful one.

This tribe was so powerful that Voldemort sent people to negotiate instead of sending people to fight.

We could definitely fight them, but it's not worth it. If we really wanted to wipe out these giants, we'd either need a large army to besiege them or Voldemort to come in person.

But in Voldemort's eyes, they weren't worth it.

His perspective is too high; aside from pure-blood wizards, all other creatures should sit at the same table as Muggles.

His focus was on the power structure of wizarding society, the ideology of pure-blood supremacy, expanding his territory, winning over pure-blood families, and infiltrating the Ministry of Magic—these were his concerns.

So they sent old Avery to negotiate, and he even brought wine with him.

As dusk fell, the golden hue of the distant peak faded, and all the mountain ridges became dark silhouettes.

Geralt's gaze fell into the distance.

Another question is, why did Dumbledore call him here?

When he came out of Grimmauld Place, he thought the old man was concerned about him. He had just killed someone and wanted to change his environment, brag a bit, run errands, fight a few times, and relax.

Now I realize it's more than that.

Dumbledore's approach to him has always been guidance, from a very early age. He doesn't teach specific spells or give ready-made answers, but only provides a direction and lets him find his own way.

This model made him feel quite comfortable, and the old man was always a positive figure towards him, never forcing or indoctrinating him; he could leave or stay as he pleased, listen or not.

But after getting a beating today, he began to wonder if Dumbledore had seen something in him.

His body and mind had been tempered by Star Orbit Meditation, making him far more physically gifted than his peers, and even surpassing most adult wizards.

This level of enhancement couldn't be normal. He wasn't sure what level Dumbledore's perception was at, but the old man would definitely notice it if he wanted to.

If Dumbledore really noticed

He thought of Arcturus I, the ancestor of the Black family who lived to be 137 years old, who went mad, died, and whose body was strengthened to the limit, his soul trapped in the over-strengthened body and unable to escape.

Did Dumbledore know Arcturus I?

It is extremely rare in the history of wizarding that a patriarch of the Black family, a pure-blood wizard, would have his soul trapped and killed due to excessive physical enhancement.

Dumbledore may or may not have known.

If Dumbledore had seen the signs of physical enhancement in him and knew of the fate of Arcturus I, perhaps that would have been the reason he was brought before the giants.

Arcturus I's approach was clearly a dead end, but Regulus didn't know exactly how he did it or what methods he used.

Orion said he had a notebook, but he thought Orion was too young and not capable enough, so he wouldn't let him see it.

However, judging from the outcome, if the physical body becomes so strong that the soul cannot leave, the balance between the two must have been broken. One side becomes too heavy, and the other side is crushed.

Perhaps he was piling magic power into his body from the outside, piling it thicker and thicker until the strength of his body exceeded the limit that his soul could bear, and his soul was crushed to death.

He already knew that the giant's magic was bound to his body, diffused throughout his entire being, without a core; his magic had been intertwined with his physical form from the very beginning.

Their bodies grow and expand together, neither overpowering the other.

Perhaps this is the difference Dumbledore wanted him to see: the body can be strengthened, but it cannot be forced.

Giants put magic and the body on the same level. For human wizards, magic comes from the soul and is carried by the body. Perhaps the three should be bound together.

The old man wanted him to see the road; whether he took it or not was up to him.

Of course, it's also possible that the old man didn't know anything about Arcturus I and just wanted him to get out and about to relax.

Even if you guess the old man's thoughts correctly, you might not be entirely right; even if you guess wrong, you might not be entirely wrong.

But whatever the truth is, he's not young anymore, and he's capable enough. Once he returns to England, he can ask to see Arcturus I's notes.

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