The tearing sound of the Avada lightning chain wasn't soft, yet it was almost swallowed by the roar of lightning and thunder from the heavy rain. The green light dissipated into the stormy sky, and Gryffindor was the first to speak.
"Is this the Killing Curse devised by the infamous Herpo? How could you possibly know it?"
Herpo, a despicable ancient Greek, had lived long before Merlin, yet no record of his magical achievements—whether the Killing Curse or the method to hatch Basilisks—had survived. Only the names remained, shrouded in legend, while their essence had been lost to history.
Dana chuckled lightly.
"Want to learn? I can teach you."
Gryffindor shook his head.
"There are countless ways to kill. The Killing Curse may be direct, but that doesn't mean it's the most efficient."
Slytherin's eyes gleamed at the mention of Avada. The curse had been whispered about for over a dozen centuries, regarded almost as myth. Yet now, seeing it in action, he understood its raw power. Unlike Gryffindor, Slytherin wanted to learn. But there was pride at stake—he had just intended to take Emrys as his student, and now he'd have to beg for magical knowledge, a blow to his ego. Perhaps it was precisely this need to preserve his dignity that would later sow seeds of division among the four founders.
Dana shook his head.
"If you don't want to learn, then forget it. Let's move."
The detection magic was still active, though the witch hunters monitoring it were already dead. The trio advanced toward the Tribunal. Gryffindor, eager to rush in, was restrained by Slytherin, who gripped the greatsword strapped to his back.
"Hey, hey, Salazar, what are you doing?" Gryffindor asked.
"You're not just going to walk in blindly, are you?"
Gryffindor glanced at Slytherin's green robe, then nodded.
"You're right. Red suits me better."
As he spoke, Godric Gryffindor's robe returned to red, though he forgot that his hair and beard remained green—a jarring mix of red and green.
Salazar Slytherin rolled his eyes. He hated admitting it, but his friend's recklessness was both frustrating and oddly admirable.
"Stop right there!" Slytherin barked. "You have no idea what you're walking into! Those weapons, made of mentores metal, can kill with a single strike!"
Gryffindor drew his sword casually.
"Don't worry about mentores metal. My longsword can handle it."
While mentores metal blocked magic, its physical hardness was nothing compared to Gryffindor's steel. Slytherin snorted and began drawing a magic circle on the ground.
"Stay put. Wait until I finish this magic circle."
Gryffindor pursed his lips, green beard twitching. Annoyed, yes—but he admired Slytherin's strategic mind.
Meanwhile, Dana silently flew to the nearest tower. Beyond confiscating the mentores metal weapons, he approached a dead witch hunter, placing one hand on the forehead of the corpse while activating the silver ring—transformed from Merlin's soul—with the other. This connected him to the Sea of the Dead.
Using the corpse as a conduit, Dana summoned the witch hunter's soul. The soul, freshly pulled from death, caught sight of its own lifeless body and recoiled in terror.
"Tell me everything you know about the Avar Coven," Dana commanded, his voice unyielding.
The witch hunter's soul had no choice but to obey.
"The Avar Coven isn't listed on the witch hunters' organizational cleanup roster," it said.
Dana frowned.
"Do you know Morgan le Fay?"
"No."
"Moron?"
"No."
"Glyton?"
"No."
"Mazo?"
"No…"
Dana recited the names of all nine original "fairies" of the Avar Coven. Still, the witch hunter remained ignorant.
"Then, who in this Tribunal might know something about them?" Dana asked.
After a moment's thought, the soul replied, "Father Lockhart. He's well-read and should know."
Dana stroked his chin thoughtfully. This Lockhart—could he be the same as the one he knew?
Having banished the soul back to the Sea of the Dead, Dana returned to Gryffindor and Slytherin.
"Emrys, what were you doing just now?" Slytherin asked.
While Slytherin finished his magic circle and Gryffindor cast Muggle Repelling Charms and Confundo around, they hadn't noticed Dana's actions.
"I was gathering information. There's a priest named Lockhart in this Tribunal who knows something I need. Don't kill him—we'll need to ask him questions later."
"Kill?" Gryffindor's eyes widened. "Who told you we need to eliminate everyone in this Tribunal to rescue people?"
Dana blinked in surprise.
Gryffindor explained patiently.
"The witch hunters we've seen so far are just small fry. The higher echelons—the Hunter Knight Order—are far more dangerous. They're technically all wizards, but many have joined the Church, forming this elite order."
Dana nodded, understanding now. The "traitors among wizards" he had considered referred to these Church-affiliated wizards.
"Important Church strongholds are garrisoned by members of the Knight Order," Gryffindor continued. "The London Heresy Tribunal sits atop the original St. Paul's Cathedral, so the Knight Order is stationed here. With only three of us, a direct assault would be disastrous. If we draw it out, reinforcements will arrive, and rescuing the children will be nearly impossible."
Dana asked curiously, "Then why did you charge in recklessly just now?"
Gryffindor laughed heartily.
"I wanted to draw their attention. That way, you and Salazar could sneak in quietly."
Slytherin, having finished the magic circle, rolled his eyes.
"Emrys, ignore him. He's just hot-headed! Last time he tried to 'draw attention,' he knocked out an entire garrison of witch hunters by accident."
Gryffindor grinned, unbothered that his secret was exposed. He then pointed to the magic circle Slytherin had drawn and asked Dana:
"Emrys, do you recognize this circle?"
Dana glanced at it.
"The Murdock Phantom Array. It generates continuous illusions. Its strength lies in creating magical attacks through the illusions themselves."
Gryffindor's eyes widened in awe. Dana's knowledge, despite his youth, was astounding.
Slytherin nodded in approval.
"As expected of the Emrys Family. A truly profound legacy."
The rain hammered down as the three made their way forward, the storm echoing the tension in their hearts. Each step closer to the Tribunal brought them closer to both danger and revelation. Gryffindor's reckless bravery, Slytherin's calculated cunning, and Dana's mysterious depth were a formidable combination, a balance of impulsive audacity and measured strategy.
The battlefield ahead was not just physical—it was a war of intellect, magic, and legacy. The Hunter Knight Order would not be defeated with raw power alone. They would need the synergy of the founders' strengths, tempered by wit and foresight.
Gryffindor laughed again, green beard glinting in flashes of lightning.
"Let's see who falls first."
Dana, calm and composed, simply followed, knowing that knowledge—and timing—would be their deadliest weapon.
Slytherin, ever the tactician, kept his eyes on the magic circle, calculating every possible scenario. He didn't need to rush; the storm, the illusions, and the fury of his companions were already a perfect trap.
As they neared the Tribunal, the tension thickened. Invisible to the untrained eye, the Murdock Phantom Array shimmered faintly, a ghostly net of potential death and illusion. Inside, Lockhart waited, unaware that the fates of secrets, children, and perhaps the entire wizarding order rested on these three figures.
The rain continued, thunder rolling like the heartbeat of destiny, as Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Dana prepared for what was to come—a battle that would test not only their power but their understanding of history, magic, and loyalty.
Dana's mind drifted briefly to the Avar Coven. Secrets lay hidden, but he would uncover them. He always did. The world of wizards, witches, and traitors was complicated—but he thrived in such complexity.
The storm raged on.
And in the shadows of the London Heresy Tribunal, the true game was just beginning.
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