Chapter 134: Come on, Mates
The Aurors' battle was tough.
As the most powerful combat force in British wizarding society, excluding true magical masters, even with specialized combat training and coordinated teamwork, they were still struggling against these attacking Dark Wizards.
The reason was simple: There were over a hundred enemies!
Not every one of them was a powerful Dark Wizard. A large portion were simply skilled at maneuvering various flying devices, including, but not limited to, illegally used magical flying carpets, old broomsticks, massive books with flapping pages, and various flying magical creatures.
These wizards, piloting their motley collection of flying contraptions, seemed to have no offensive capabilities themselves. They merely focused on controlling their flight direction, with the attacks being launched by the Dark Wizards they carried.
Furthermore, not every Dark Wizard possessed the combat prowess to contend with an Auror. They could only cast spells that obscured vision or interfered with broomstick operation. Yet, through their coordination, they created significant disruption for the Aurors.
Bang~
An Auror was hit by a strange black liquid. The immense impact nearly knocked him off his broomstick. Before he could regain his balance, he felt the sticky black liquid on him, as slippery as soap, making it impossible for him to grip his broom. He ultimately plummeted towards the ground in a panic.
Fortunately, Kingsley quickly cast a counter-curse to remove the magical effect from him and used an Accio charm to make the broomstick find its owner, averting danger.
"Who in the blazes are you?!!!"
Auror Head Scrimgeour roared in fury, no longer willing to adhere to Auror protocols, and unleashed the most malicious offensive spells at the Dark Wizards not far away.
He was absolutely certain that he couldn't possibly not recognize such a large organization of these Dark Wizards and their various flying "drivers" who had appeared out of nowhere.
Yes, Dark Wizards would seek refuge with ancient pure-blood families, but this kind of wizarding army's fighting style and organization could never have been trained right under the Ministry's nose.
He was clearly right. The influence of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families often extended across Europe, and even into Africa. Corban Yaxley had leveraged his family's power to cultivate this force in another poorly regulated corner of the world, and now he had deployed them all to Britain.
Various Ministries of Magic foolishly used Muggle nations' social divisions to define their own spheres of influence, which easily rendered the Ministries of Magic in some sparsely populated small countries virtually useless. Some small countries' Ministries of Magic even had only one or two Aurors. Training an army in such places was perfectly suited.
If he truly investigated, Scrimgeour would discover that these Dark Wizards attacking him were even receiving stipends from a certain country's Ministry of Magic, essentially acting as irregular personnel, making them colleagues, in a sense.
A group of colleagues who were extremely familiar with how Aurors fought, had various contingency plans, and were specifically trained to target the Auror organization.
They were too familiar with the Aurors, while the Aurors were even quite unfamiliar with some of the spells they cast.
"Head, something's wrong, they seem to be trying to tie us up!"
Kingsley keenly detected an issue with the enemy's tactics. His expression changed, and he shouted to Scrimgeour, who was flying not far away, "They might be going after Professor Lockhart!"
Scrimgeour's face changed. He deflected an incoming spell, then quickly stopped his broomstick and rapidly looked up at the sky, which had become somewhat disorienting, hoping to spot the Ministry's detention carriage.
Amidst the flashes of magic and the cloud-filled sky, his gaze was remarkably sharp, and he quickly located the carriage.
And the man standing on top of the carriage, facing the wind.
Lockhart, that fraud, actually managed to break free from the detention carriage?
What is he doing? Casting a spell?
Just then, a roar suddenly echoed across the sky. Before he could react, powerful bolts of lightning instantly tore through the air, rapidly spreading through the crowd.
Thunder boomed.
Countless electric bolts, like a heavenly punishment, descended, completely transforming everything within sight into an ocean of lightning.
"Protego!"
Scrimgeour quickly cast the Shield Charm on himself and his surrounding colleagues, guarding against being struck by these terrifying currents. Other Aurors also rapidly and skillfully cast the spell.
This immediately differentiated them from the Dark Wizards. Few of the Dark Wizards could successfully cast the Shield Charm. These Dark Wizards, who relied solely on the dangerously harmful nature of Dark Arts, had not mastered such common spells as well.
Several Dark Wizards were instantly struck by lightning, trembling all over as they plummeted towards the ground, like dumplings falling into a pot.
However, the attack of this spell did not end. They couldn't fall down at all. A powerful wind force blew them back up again, struggling in panic against the wind, only to be struck by lightning once more, completely neutralizing their combat ability.
But it seemed that was all there was to it.
The reason why weather spells were not widely used in combat scenarios was the result of generations of wizarding practice—this type of magic was extremely difficult to control.
It indiscriminately attacked both friend and foe, consuming immense energy yet proving highly inefficient because it couldn't be directed to attack true enemies. It was a wide-area, hit-or-miss attack method.
Scrimgeour cursed inwardly. He clearly realized that Lockhart might genuinely be a magical master, after all, casting such a large-scale spell was not something an ordinary wizard could do.
But that was the extent of it.
Lockhart expending so much effort and mental energy to cast such an uncontrollable weather spell was undoubtedly foolish in the current environment.
Sure enough, he was just like this; always wanting to create a spectacle. His magic and his personality were identical, always producing flashy, impractical things.
Scrimgeour quickly realized his mistake.
This was no weather spell at all!
He watched, utterly dumbfounded, as the scene unfolded before him. Numerous lightning strikes tore through the sky, and a strange, burnt smell permeated the air. Then, enormous serpents formed from converging flames emerged from within, wildly attacking the Dark Wizards.
Hm, he thought they were giant serpents, but they were actually Basilisks.
Lockhart, after all, was too familiar with Basilisks.
"Fiendfyre!" He and Kingsley exclaimed simultaneously, quickly calling all Auror colleagues to gather, ready to collectively defend against this terrifying magical attack at any moment.
At least he couldn't yet be certain that Lockhart's spell wasn't intended for them, the Aurors?
Amidst the sea of lightning, Fiendfyre Basilisks surged.
The power of this Dark Art, and the cruelty of the wizard who cast it, were so clearly displayed before all the Aurors.
Every Auror would likely never forget this sight for the rest of their lives—the Dark Wizards who had just been holding their own against them were utterly powerless. They were devoured by one Fiendfyre creature after another, and amid agonizing screams, they were all carbonized, eventually turning to ash and scattering with the wind.
Death, such large-scale death, was presented clearly before them.
At this moment, even knowing the opponents were enemies, a flicker of pity arose for the loss of life, along with the chilling fear of "the fox mourning the rabbit."
"Enough, enough..." Kingsley's dark face turned pale as he watched the figure high in the sky, wildly waving his wand and casting spells. He mumbled powerlessly, "Enough, stop killing..."
These Dark Wizards couldn't even escape. Terrifying lightning continuously tore through the sky. Besides passively dealing with these Fiendfyre creatures, they had no other options.
The youngest face in the Auror team, Nymphadora Tonks, was so frightened that her cool purple hair reverted to its original black. Her pupils dilated, and she finally had a clear understanding of "Dark Wizards."
Hm, this junior seemed to have misunderstood Lockhart.
Lockhart was a good person, after all.
The bad guy was Corban Yaxley.
A true Dark Wizard wouldn't waste time with such flashy displays. Wouldn't a direct Killing Curse be better?
"Avada Kedavra!"
Just then, a powerfully chilling green light pierced through from a corner, tearing through the clouds, and lunged directly at Lockhart.
The Killing Curse!
One of the three Unforgivable Curses!
See, this was the standard for a Dark Wizard!
"Look out!" Kingsley shrieked.
But a large mirror with many strange eyes, like a shield, blocked the Killing Curse. It exploded into a cloud of black smoke from the force of the spell, then instantly reformed into the large mirror.
"Corban!" Scrimgeour's face hardened as he sharply looked at the blurry figure in the clouds. The person had clearly used some shape-shifting magic, but he recognized Corban's voice.
This was thanks to Professor Lockhart's reminder in the detention carriage just now, which instinctively led him to identify the voice chanting the Killing Curse. As old colleagues for many years, he absolutely could not be mistaken!
Corban should currently be at the Ministry of Magic, submitting Vincent Crabbe's injury assessment report to the Wizengamot Court. Yet, he appeared here, disguised, which made Scrimgeour strongly suspect that Kingsley's analysis might be correct.
It was even possible that these Dark Wizards attacking the Aurors were sent by Corban!
"Ah-ha~~"
The Thestral-pulled carriage quickly plunged towards the direction from which the Killing Curse came. On the carriage roof, Lockhart waved his wand, laughing wildly. "I've got you!"
Countless Fiendfyre Basilisks lunged at Corban.
Moving even faster than the Fiendfyre Basilisks was the Swooping Evil, which had been hiding in the clouds.
The moment Corban cast the Killing Curse at Lockhart, it suddenly flew out of the clouds, charging at this fellow who dared to harm its master.
It desperately wanted to bite off Corban's head in retaliation.
But it couldn't. Its master had given it a more important task—to use its ability to perceive memories to find Vincent Crabbe's soul!
It felt it!
It was right within a Dark Mark on this fellow's arm!
So it instantly changed direction, pouncing sneakily from behind, and in an instant, bit off the opponent's arm.
It could even bite through dragonhide with dragon scales. A mere human body, even a wizard shielded by a Shield Charm, still couldn't withstand its bite.
"Ah..." Corban let out a shrill cry of pain. His figure suddenly collapsed into a rapid spin, disappearing instantly.
"!!!" The Swooping Evil, still holding the arm in its mouth, froze. It had been planning a combo attack, but the person was gone.
Just then, the Thestral carriage charged forward. Lockhart squinted at the spot where Corban had vanished, frowning deeply. "Not Apparition?"
Scrimgeour led the Aurors to quickly surround the area. He waved his wand, sensing, and finally exhaled deeply, his face grim. "Portkey!"
There was no more stable long-distance spatial travel in the world than this type of magic. If it had been Apparition, they could have tried to cast interference spells, but a Portkey offered absolutely no effective countermeasures.
"Well, there's nothing we can do then." Lockhart took the arm from the Swooping Evil, held it against his wand, sensed for a moment, and then nodded. "Vincent Crabbe's soul is imprisoned within it. You all figure out how to deal with it."
As he spoke, he drew some blood, stored it in a glass vial, and put it away. He then tossed the arm to Scrimgeour. "You Aurors should be able to confirm someone's identity from an arm, right?"
Scrimgeour's face turned dark as he stared at the Dark Mark on the arm, which signified one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Before he could say anything, he heard Lockhart again, "I must remind you, Corban is a Werewolf, which means this arm contains highly contagious lycanthropy."
"!!!"
Scrimgeour's face instantly changed. He no longer had any thoughts about the Dark Lord and hastily began casting protective spells on the arm.
"We need to get to the Ministry quickly and sort this out. My poor student Crabbe is waiting for your treatment, and I need to supervise."
Lockhart flipped back into the carriage, then poked his head out again.
"Come on, mates, hurry up!"
"!!!"
....
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