Grindelwald's request to let them go had nearly made Tom faint from frustration.
The title of Saints had long since faded into the depths of history, but in the memories of many older witches and wizards, it was still something that sent a chill down their spines.
Compared to them, the name Death Eaters sounded almost childish.
The history of the Saints went back centuries. The Deathly Hallows were not merely a fairy tale — they were a legend many witches and wizards fervently believed in. Those who devoted their lives to pursuing the three Hallows gave themselves the name Saints, and they even adopted a symbol.
A triangle on the outside — representing the Invisibility Cloak. Inside, a circle — the Resurrection Stone. And a vertical line piercing through both — the Elder Wand.
But in this century, the meaning of Saints had been completely reshaped.
Grindelwald had adopted the Deathly Hallows symbol as his rallying banner, calling his followers Saints. From then on, the name belonged to Grindelwald's adherents, though the public preferred another name for them… the Pure-Blood Alliance.
And with that, Newt's reason for being attacked was self-explanatory.
Grindelwald's defeat had two chief culprits. Number one: Albus Dumbledore. Number two: Newt Scamander. Everyone else didn't even make the top ten.
Newt sighed.
"Judging from your age, you weren't even in that war. So why the grudge against me? … Who was your father?"
The moment this man revealed himself as a Saint, Tom quietly opened the Learning Space.
Inside that mental space, both the middle-aged wizard and the silent Grindelwald answered at almost the same time:
"Simon Macduff."
Newt thought for a long while before the name finally clicked. He remembered Simon as one of Grindelwald's competent aides — though not in the highest ranks, more like the second tier.
"I recall your father didn't die in the war."
"He passed away last year in Bastille Prison," Macduff said darkly. "Thirty years ago, you destroyed Lord Grindelwald's great cause. My father wasted away in despair because of it. Why is it that you, the culprit, still get to live freely?"
"So I will kill you — for Lord Grindelwald, and for my father!"
"The companions who came with me today are all descendants of Saints. Newt Scamander, our hatred will never end."
"Today I may have failed, but I still have a son, a daughter — and they'll have children of their own. Unless you die right here and now, the rest of your days will be filled with our endless vengeance!"
Macduff's voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot, as though he wanted to devour Newt with his gaze alone.
Newt let out a quiet sigh.
This was hardly his first assassination attempt from the Saints. Only after publicly retiring in Britain had they gradually stopped appearing — which had lulled him into thinking the feud had ended.
He had been too naïve.
"Tom," Grindelwald's voice came from within the space, unusually weak, almost pleading.
"It's my fault for what happened to them. Help me this time — let them go. Remember this hand sign, show it to them, and they'll know not to trouble Scamander again."
Tom didn't reply immediately. Instead, he turned to Newt. "What do you intend to do?"
Newt was silent for a moment before waving a hand. "Macduff, you may leave."
Macduff stared at him in disbelief. "You… you're not going to kill me?"
Newt shook his head. "I've never killed anyone in my life. And you — you have no quarrel with me personally. What existed was only between me and your father."
"As long as you don't threaten my family, do whatever you please."
The Saints, at least, had a better reputation than the Death Eaters. In Europe, the wizarding families were so interlinked that their grudges were usually kept personal — they wouldn't target relatives.
That was why Newt's sons and grandsons could travel the world without ever being harassed by Saints.
Just moments ago, Macduff himself had said only Newt's death would end the feud — never once mentioning Tina.
And then something even more shocking happened. Tom stepped back, raised one hand, and made a strange gesture. Before Macduff could even speak, an immense mental pressure slammed into his mind.
He understood the silent warning in Tom's eyes.
Only when Tom was sure Macduff would keep his mouth shut did he say, "This is your matter. We'll leave him here — the rest isn't our concern."
Newt agreed. He whistled softly, pulled a small snuffbox from his pocket, and sucked the Thunderbird inside. Macduff just stood there like a fool — even after his restraints were removed, he didn't move.
Newt tucked the rest of his magical creatures back into the case.
"Tom, let's go."
"Coming."
Tom brushed past Macduff and, without even bothering with a broomstick, flew straight to Newt's side.
Only after the two vanished did Macduff finally lift his scorched arm.
It was as though fire had burned a scar into the back of his hand — a scar that formed a short phrase in German:
"August 20, Paris."
…
"You saw it for yourself," Tom said to Grindelwald in the Learning Space as they flew toward the Thunderbird's nesting grounds. "That's Newt's character."
"Truth is, I didn't need to say a word. He wouldn't have killed them anyway."
Grindelwald let out a long breath. "Even as my enemy, I have to admit… Scamander is a good man. A good man I cannot get along with."
People like Newt and Dumbledore had their own kind of charisma. Even among the opposing side, there were those who admired them.
Tom glanced at his system panel — Grindelwald's favorability had risen to 75. Clearly, the Macduff affair had struck a deep chord with him.
Tom even began to suspect that, for the sake of these old comrades' descendants, Grindelwald might already be considering a return to the stage.
The journey back was quiet. It wasn't until they reached the tent, just as Tom was about to step inside, that Newt stopped him.
"Don't you have anything you want to ask?"
Tom shook his head. "Uh… honestly, Newt, I do have quite a few questions. But I figured you might not answer them anyway — so I didn't bother asking."
A lie.
The truth was, Tom thought the grudge was pretty straightforward — and besides, he had another key witness in his head. Asking Newt or not didn't really matter.
But he could see Newt seemed to be in a rare, talkative mood, wanting to confide something. So Tom played along.
They walked together to the cliffside. Newt looked up at the stars and said quietly, "You didn't seem surprised when you heard about Grindelwald and the Saints. That means you already know a fair bit about them."