The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 546: Who is the Dark Lord?

Faced with Voldemort's provocation,

Dumbledore's body jolted violently.

He raised his Elder Wand again, but was interrupted by Voldemort's seemingly casual movement—an invisible force struck the ground beneath Dumbledore's feet.

It blasted open a deep crater, sending debris flying everywhere.

"Professor, Professor..." Voldemort shook his head, his tone like that of someone lecturing a disobedient student, "I told you, your opponent is me. Focus, okay?"

He bowed again, his scarlet eyes filled with a maniacal laugh.

"Now, let's begin."

He raised his wand and gave a standard dueling salute.

In the distance, screams continued to echo, and the stench of blood began to fill the air.

Ian stood there silently, like a completely forgotten shadow. Voldemort's duel challenge was like poison thrown into stagnant water, spreading a suffocating atmosphere of madness in the air.

"Tom...you're crazier than ever!" Dumbledore gripped his Elder Wand tightly, his azure eyes burning with fury and rage, but he couldn't escape—Voldemort's crimson gaze was like an invisible chain, locked onto him, any attempt to rescue a Muggle would be met with immediate and merciless interception from this newly crowned legendary Dark Lord.

Grindelwald stood to the side, his heterochromatic eyes narrowing slightly as he quickly analyzed the situation. He held no staff, but his nearly century-long accumulation of magical skill allowed him to unleash powerful dark magic even bare-handed. However, the scene of Voldemort effortlessly blocking his Fiery Strike made him acutely aware that this mad and arrogant junior truly possessed some incomprehensible, extraordinary power.

And Ian

The black-haired young man, completely ignored by Voldemort, remained standing silently, like a bystander detached from the impending bloodshed. His face was unusually calm in the dim light of the night market, his deep, unfathomable eyes fixed on the Death Eaters who had begun their attack in the distance, watching the masked figures relentlessly close in on the helpless Muggles lying limp on the ground like harvesting straw. His right hand, hanging at his side, twitched almost imperceptibly.

There was no magical fluctuation, no flash of light, and even Dumbledore and Grindelwald, standing beside him, did not notice anything unusual. The movement was too subtle, too concealed, as if it were merely an unconscious nerve reflex.

However, at that very moment

An invisible ripple, imperceptible to any existing magical detection method, silently spread from Ian's center. Gentle as water, the ripple swiftly swept past the Death Eaters grinning and raising their wands, past the terrified Muggles, past the dark corners where the first London police had already clashed, and finally, merged into the darkness above the night market, disappearing without a trace. No one noticed.

No one knows what the effect will be.

Voldemort was still immersed in the ecstasy of being in control of the situation. His scarlet eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, enjoying the sight of his former mentor and greatest obstacle now caught in a dilemma before him.

Grindelwald was still pondering a solution, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming sharply in the darkness.

Dumbledore continued to struggle with anger and anxiety, trying to find an opportunity to rescue Muggles while dealing with Voldemort.

And those Death Eaters

The massacre has begun.

The first target was a middle-aged man huddled behind a barbecue stand. He was about forty years old and wearing an apron stained with oil; he was clearly the owner of the stand.

He had been skillfully flipping the skewers of meat on the grill, attending to a few scattered customers, when the next second, an overwhelming fear gripped his heart. He collapsed to the ground, watching helplessly as figures in black robes and eerie masks emerged from the darkness, like demons from a nightmare. "Please...please..."

The other person spoke haltingly, their voice barely audible.

His response was a ghastly green light.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The Death Eaters showed no mercy. The man's body stiffened abruptly, then collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, his face frozen in eternal terror. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the dim sky, never understanding what had happened until his death. The Death Eater who had struck let out a satisfied chuckle, his eyes behind the mask gleaming with cruel pleasure: "First one. Easy." "Stop talking nonsense. The master ordered that none be left alive," another Death Eater beside him coldly reminded him, but his tone also carried an barely suppressed excitement.

The prelude to the massacre had officially begun.

The ghastly green Killing Curse, the scarlet Cutting Curse, and the deep purple Cruciatus Curse, like fireworks of death, bloomed in every corner of the night market. The Muggles, powerless to resist, were like lambs to the slaughter, struck by beams of magical light. Some died on the spot, while others screamed in agony as their bones were torn apart.

Others were torn apart by the Slicing Charm, their blood splattering onto the collapsed stalls and scattered goods, quickly filling the air with a pungent, bloody stench. "No! No! My child! Please spare my child!" A young mother knelt on the ground, desperately pleading, clutching her infant. The Death Eater before her merely tilted his head, chuckled softly, and with a flick of his wand—a beam of red light sent the mother flying, the baby falling from her arms.

Then, the child was carelessly struck by a cutting curse from another Death Eater…blood stained the baby’s small, soft clothes. As a dark wizard…

The Death Eaters have long lost their humanity.

Laughter erupted from all sides.

"Hahaha! These Muggles are as fragile as insects!"

"Look at their terrified faces! How funny!"

"That one's still trying to run! I'll tear your bones out! Yes, that's it, yell louder!"

The Death Eaters, as if in a frenzy, freely vented their long-suppressed hatred and contempt for the non-magical world among the Muggles. They had waited far too long for this day, for the moment when they could slaughter these "ants" without restraint.

And at that moment...

A sharp siren blared in the distance, rapidly approaching. Red and blue police lights flashed in the darkness as several police cars screeched to a halt on the outskirts of the night market.

The car door suddenly opened, and London police officers wearing bulletproof vests and holding pistols filed out.

"Don't move! Everyone, put your hands on your heads!" a police officer shouted through a megaphone. His voice was particularly jarring in the noise, but when he saw the scene before him—the figures in black robes and masks, the slumped corpses, and the eerie light that was being swirled around—his voice caught in his throat.

"Fire! Fire!" Another policeman instinctively pulled the trigger.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Gunshots ripped through the night sky, bullets whistling as they hurtled toward the nearest Death Eater.

The Death Eater didn't even turn around; he simply waved his wand, and an invisible barrier unfolded before him. The bullets struck the barrier as if they were hitting sticky glue, their speed decreasing drastically before they fell limply to the ground with a few crisp clinking sounds.

"Muggle toys." The Death Eater chuckled dismissively, turning his wand toward the police. "Our turn."

"Extremely painful!"

A deep purple light struck the leading police officer, who jerked his head back, let out a horrific scream, and collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth, his eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets.

"Crushed to pieces!"

Another policeman was blown away and crashed into a police car behind him. The car door was dented, and blood flowed from his seven orifices. He was no longer moving.

The remaining police officers retreated in terror, firing wildly, but all the bullets bounced futilely off the invisible barrier in front of the Death Eaters. They were not facing criminals, not terrorists, but... beings they could not comprehend, could not contend with.

"Retreat! Retreat!" someone roared.

But it was too late.

Like cats toying with mice, the Death Eaters unleashed spell after spell to catch up with the fleeing police. Screams, explosions, and shattering glass mingled together as several police cars were overturned and burst into flames, the firelight illuminating the laughing shadows—a scene straight out of hell. The slaughter and revelry continued.

The stench of blood grew stronger in the night market, with corpses lying among collapsed stalls, overturned carts, and scattered goods. The Muggles who had narrowly escaped the first wave of attacks huddled in various corners, trembling and praying for a miracle, but no miracle came—only more masked shadows and more deadly curses.

The Death Eaters were no longer content with simple killing. They began to "play games": competing to see whose Killing Curse was more accurate, whose Crucifixion Curse could make its target scream the longest, and whose Severing Curse could create the most "artistic" effect. Laughter, screams, and incantations intertwined to form a dark symphony. And in the distance, an even heavier rumble resounded.

That's the army.

The British government finally realized the seriousness of the situation and mobilized the rapid reaction force stationed near London. Dark green armored vehicles roared in, heavy machine guns on their roofs pointed towards the night market, and fully armed soldiers filed out, quickly deploying into tactical formations.

"Surround them! Surround them!" the commander ordered over the radio. The soldiers checked their automatic rifles, and several squads even carried rocket launchers.

They set their sights on the area shrouded in darkness.

"Fire!"

The moment the order was given, gunfire erupted like a torrential downpour! The roar of heavy machine guns, the sweeping fire of automatic rifles, and even the whistling of rocket launchers intertwined to create a torrent of steel and fire that poured down on the Death Eaters!

This time, the firepower was many times greater than that of the police. The ordinary protective barriers began to crack under the continuous barrage of heavy machine gun fire. "Boom!"

Firepower coverage still has some deterrent effect.

A rocket landed next to a Death Eater, and the shockwave from the explosion knocked him to the ground. Although he immediately got up, his face under the mask was twisted with rage.

"Damn Muggles!"

But the anger was quickly suppressed by more firepower. Bullets rained down, forcing the Death Eaters to focus on maintaining their defensive barrier and leaving them no time to deal with the Muggles.

Seeing hope, the soldiers intensified their firepower. The commander excitedly called for reinforcements over the radio: "We're suppressing the enemy! Keep firing! Don't stop!"

However, their excitement lasted less than a minute. One of the Death Eaters—seemingly a minor leader—let out a sharp, cold laugh, raised his wand, and began chanting a lengthy incantation. The other Death Eaters quickly gathered around him, channeling their magic into him. As the last syllable faded...

The earth trembled!

The empty street in front of the night market suddenly cracked open with countless huge fissures!

The asphalt road surface was torn apart as if by an invisible giant hand, with gravel, soil, and even groundwater gushing out in a mixture! The cracks spread rapidly toward the army's position as if they were alive, and the soldiers retreated in terror, but before they could finish, the cracks swallowed up the armored vehicles in the front row. They tilted like toys and fell into the dark abyss, followed by muffled explosions!

"Retreat! Retreat!" the commander's voice roared over the radio, but it was too late.

Another Death Eater waved his wand, and the sky suddenly turned pitch black. Countless meteors burning with green flames rained down from the sky! They crashed into the army's positions, blasting open huge craters. The shockwaves sent soldiers flying, and the burning green flames clung to metal and flesh, impossible to extinguish. Screams echoed through the night sky.

The heavy machine gun went silent. The rocket launcher operator was blown away. The armored vehicle was reduced to burning scrap metal.

The soldiers, clad in camouflage and rigorously trained, now scattered like helpless children before the power of witchcraft. Their modern weapons—the pinnacle of human civilization's technological prowess—were utterly rendered meaningless by ancient and eerie magic. Bullets couldn't penetrate the protective barriers.

Rockets can be deflected by spells.

Flames can be extinguished by magic.

Even the earth, the sky, and the air itself became weapons for the enemy.

This was no longer a battle, but a one-sided massacre.

A soldier desperately pulled the trigger, but all the bullets missed. The Death Eater in front of him, wearing a skull mask, merely tilted his head and waved his wand—the soldier's gun barrel instantly twisted into a pretzel, and shrapnel from the exploding barrel pierced his arm and cheek. He screamed and fell to the ground, whereupon a green light ended his life.

Another soldier, trembling, called for help over the radio from behind an overturned armored vehicle. The next second, the armored vehicle was lifted up by an invisible force, flipped over, and pinned him underneath. Blood seeped from the gaps.

The commander was lifted into the air by a Death Eater using a Levitation Charm. He struggled and cursed, then was struck by a Cruciatus Curse. His piercing scream echoed through the night sky for a long time.

"Hahaha! This is the Muggle army? This is the 'power' they're so proud of?" A Death Eater laughed maniacally, pointing his wand at the last few soldiers trying to escape. "Die, all of you!"

A flash of green light, and the last few figures fell.

silence.

A terrifying, suffocating silence enveloped this once bustling night market area.

Corpses lay strewn about. Flames raged.

Black smoke billowed. The air was thick with the stench of blood, acridity, and death. Among the surviving Death Eaters, several had been wounded or even killed in the battle.

But what does that matter?

Sacrificing oneself for such a great cause is also full of glory.

Their mood was more of a post-celebration euphoria.

They stood amidst the ruins and corpses, laughing wildly to the sky.