At night, a secluded section of the Thames in London.
A half-old small boat was moored close to the river. Five or six strong men lifted a group of good-looking women from the cars on the shore and put them into the cabin of the small boat.
They were a criminal organization in London that specialized in making huge profits through human smuggling.
Just eight years after the end of the First World War, although the United States had started to emerge as a powerful force, Britain was still the world's largest colonial power and maintained a strong international standing.
Therefore, women from the British capital were especially valuable in some small countries.
Every country has poor people, and every country has rich people. The organization would find attractive women from the slums of London, trick them, kidnap them, and then smuggle them to rich buyers in small countries to satisfy their perverted desires.
When women from the slums went missing, the government typically turned a blind eye.
"Hurry up!"
A well-dressed young man in a suit and tie stood on the shore, smoking a cigarette and issuing orders to the strongmen.
He was one of the leaders of the organization and the person in charge of this transaction.
A fat man in his forties stood next to him and said with a nervous laugh:
"Don't worry, I've already made sure everything is in place. It's completely safe here."
However, just after finishing his sentence, the two nearby street lamps suddenly went out, leaving only the car's headlights shining dimly against the darkening water.
"What bad luck!"
The man in the suit sighed in frustration when he saw this, thinking it was just a faulty light.
The fat man beside him, however, remained vigilant. The moment the lamps went dark, he turned his head and scanned the surroundings.
"Someone's coming. Be careful!"
Suddenly, a silhouette darted toward them at a remarkable speed.
He tried to draw his gun and shoot, but the silhouette was faster. Before the man could raise his pistol, a powerful close-range punch struck him and he fell unconscious instantly.
The man in the suit and the strongmen were stunned for a moment. Before they could react, the silhouette darted forward and struck them down, one by one.
"I'm lucky. Not long after I came out, I found a perfect practice opportunity."
Looking at the people sprawled on the ground, Carl nodded in satisfaction.
He had moved from the bustling Diagon Alley to the remote Foley family estate in order to secretly capture a few ordinary people to use for his magic practice.
Practice makes perfect. Theoretical knowledge is not enough; without practice, progress will be slow.
Some of the most powerful black magic was created by dark wizards through cruel experiments on ordinary people.
Of course, this kind of behavior was prohibited by the Ministry of Magic. If the Aurors were to discover it, a warrant would immediately be issued for his arrest, turning him into a dark wizard on the run.
So he chose to withdraw to a more remote manor and rely on physical force instead of magic when capturing ordinary people, avoiding traces of magic that the Ministry could track.
Furthermore, the people he chose were all scum who deserved punishment, and when their use was finished, he could dispose of their bodies in the garden as fertilizer.
"It's your luck to meet me."
Carl put the human smugglers into a small bag temporarily. After thinking for a moment, he took a golden mask from his mission space and put it on. Then he walked toward the cabin by the river.
All the women in the cabin were bound, gagged, and blindfolded. There were visible bruises all over their bodies from abuse.
They were huddled together, trembling and afraid to make a sound.
Carl removed their blindfolds and untied their hands. Looking at their confused and terrified faces, he said softly:
"It's okay. You're safe now. I drove away the bad people. There's a car on the shore outside. Go home quickly!"
Before the women could react, he turned and hopped away into the night.
The main purpose of this trip was to capture people for experiments; saving them was a convenient side action. He couldn't be expected to send them home one by one, and their gratitude meant nothing to him.
However, the women who were rescued will remember the mysterious man wearing a golden mask for the rest of their lives — a guardian angel who fell from the heavens to save them.
Back at the manor — now cleaned and maintained by Barry's magic — Carl entered the basement. He opened the small bag and released the people he had captured, tying them to crosses that were already prepared during the day.
"Barry, come here!"
"Yes, Master. What do you want?"
The house-elf Barry instantly appeared in front of him.
Carl nodded toward the eight people bound to the crosses and said:
"These Muggles are all villains who have committed countless crimes. I'm going to use them for magic practice. Take care of them and make sure they stay alive — I want them well enough to be useful."
House-elves are the most loyal creatures. Even if their masters are pure evil, or abusive, or treat them badly, the elves will serve them without question.
Dobby, who wished for freedom and was frequently mistreated by the Malfoys, remained a rare anomaly.
So Carl wasn't worried that Barry would betray him or report him to the Ministry of Magic.
"Yes, my Lord. I will take care of these lowly Muggles."
Barry nodded respectfully, casting a disgusted look at the people tied up on the crosses.
House-elves typically come from pure-blood families, and many of them view Muggles as creatures less worthy than wizards. Barry was no exception.
Carl didn't care about these attitudes. Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle — these distinctions meant nothing to him. Everyone was the same in his eyes.
The next day, after breakfast, he started his routine magic practice in the basement.
"Fladivi!"
"Shatter into pieces!"
"Heal quickly!"
"The flow of blood will not stop!"
"Everyone is petrified!"
"The legs are freezing and dying!"
Spells flew from Carl's wand and struck the terrified gang members. Their bodies turned into animals, bled, healed, and then fell under petrification and freezing.
As the effects fell into place, Carl repeatedly adjusted his casting — the angle of his wrist, the pronunciation of the incantation — until the results were perfect.