Grindelwald was furious.
Why didn't Blake want to call him father?
He couldn't blame the boy—but still, it stung.
If your child refuses to call you that, something must be wrong.
And after much thought, Grindelwald had found only one culprit.
That old fool!
It had to be him—Dumbledore must have threatened Blake into disowning him.
Yet, despite everything, Blake still thought about his little brothers. His new ones.
Now, Blake and Grindelwald stood before a group of aged wizards.
Their eyes gleamed with eagerness.
Blake could feel the blood boiling in his chest. He knew that look—the hunger for action.
Grindelwald, however, showed no reaction. He'd seen that look countless times before.
But this time, he misunderstood it. That wild gleam wasn't for him.
Blake faced the group, his tone calm and commanding.
"Everyone, it's time to go."
Without another word, he opened a large dimensional portal.
The group silently began filing through, no questions asked.
Grindelwald watched, growing anxious. If Blake didn't leave first, how would he have time to switch places with someone and join them?
Just as he was about to speak, Blake turned to him.
"Professor, want to come with us for a little fun?"
Grindelwald froze. "Huh? Ah—I—what would I do there?"
Blake's excitement made it sound like a joke, though Grindelwald's heart nearly dropped.
"I'm the headmaster of Nurmengard. If I leave, all the schoolwork falls on Vita," he said seriously. "Term is starting soon. She has enough on her plate already."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd become more diligent than Dumbledore!"
"Exactly!" Grindelwald jumped at the chance to boast. "That old fool just lounges around, while I handle real business!"
Blake chuckled. "Diligent! Amazing!" He gave him a thumbs-up.
Grindelwald grinned ear to ear. If it were anyone else mocking him, he'd stomp their face. But Blake? Blake had called him more diligent than Dumbledore. That made everything different.
Just as Grindelwald basked in the praise, Vita appeared.
"Professor. Blake and the others are already heading out."
Startled, Grindelwald looked around. The line had nearly disappeared—Blake was already gone.
He quickly grabbed the last wizard in the queue—an old man hoping to quietly slip away.
The wizard reluctantly stepped back.
Grindelwald grinned, transformed into the man's likeness, and slipped into the line unnoticed.
"Aha! Finally free of housekeeper duty at Nurmengard!"
He grabbed the shoulder of the man in front of him and mimicked the old wizard's tone.
The wizard turned and chuckled. "Yes, getting out is better than being cooped up in that school."
Grindelwald leaned in. "Any idea what Master Blake needs us for?"
The wizard frowned. "Bart, weren't you listening to Professor Grindelwald? Just follow Blake. We'll know soon enough."
Bart—that was the name of the man Grindelwald had impersonated. And the one in front of him? Bolton, an old subordinate.
Grindelwald forced a laugh. "Bolton! I've been trapped in Nurmengard for so long—I'm just excited!"
Bolton raised an eyebrow. "You were looking constipated a moment ago. Why so cheerful now?"
Grindelwald froze. "Um… maybe I really was constipated this morning?"
"And now?" Bolton narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't say you've got diarrhea, would you?"
Grindelwald's patience thinned. Why was this guy so nosy?
"I took a potion, of course. I feel better. But I'm still worried my health might slow us down."
Even Grindelwald knew how fake that sounded.
As he considered wiping Bolton's memory, the old wizard nodded solemnly.
"Right. We can't let personal issues delay Master Blake's work."
He suddenly sped up. "Wait here, I'll talk to Blake."
Grindelwald paled.
He's going to expose me!
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Maybe he should've stayed behind...
A moment later, Bolton returned.
"I'll stay here..." Grindelwald began, deflated.
"No need," Bolton said, handing him a potion. "Master Blake gave this to you. It'll help with constipation."
Grindelwald hesitated. "I don't really—"
"Take it! If Master Blake gave it to you, you better drink it!"
Grindelwald sighed and accepted the bottle.
He was back in!
Just as he stepped forward, Bolton blocked him again.
"Why aren't you drinking it?"
"Now?" Grindelwald blinked.
"Yes. When else?"
Face darkening, Grindelwald hesitated—then chugged the potion.
Bolton smiled. "That's the spirit. Can't let illness slow us down."
Grindelwald forced a smile, though he felt slightly betrayed. Bolton was never this loyal to him.
Did they already see Blake as his successor?
Well... maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
At least they respected Blake.
Eventually, the group emerged through the portal.
Ahead stood three slightly crooked buildings.
"This is your lodging. One room per person," Blake announced. "Wait here. Someone will assign your rooms."
The news caused a stir.
One room each?
For men used to sleeping six to a room, it felt like luxury.
"Haha! No more smelling your stinky feet!"
"My feet don't stink!"
"Actually, I've wanted to say—"
"What?"
"You snore, grind your teeth, fart in your sleep—it's unbearable!"
"What the hell?!"
On the roof of the middle building, Agatha watched them with bright eyes.
Old as they were, she didn't sense any weakness in them.
Just danger. Like staring down a dozen sharp knives.
Blake appeared beside her.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Perfect," she said. "Though only Old Lepp could control these guys."
"Speaking of—where is he?" Blake asked.
"No idea. Haven't seen him today."
"Alright. Go assign the rooms."
"Got it!"
As Agatha left with the group, Blake turned to look at a nearby house.
He could sense Old Lepp inside.
Just as he stepped toward the door, a gray blur appeared.
Old Lepp apparated in front of him, wearing a long gray robe, white hair flowing past his shoulders, and a pointed hat in hand.
Blake eyed the ensemble, then tugged on his own beard.
"Old Lepp... are you cosplaying Gandalf the Grey?"
Old Lepp blinked. "Who's that?"
"Character from a book I read."
"Oh." Lepp didn't question it. He smiled, brushing his robe. "This is my best outfit. Figured I'd better not look shabby around the others."
Blake rubbed the sleeve, noticing a strange shimmer.
"Nice clothes! Are these alchemical?"
Indeed, the robe was crafted through advanced alchemy—extremely costly.
"You should've gotten these from me. They cost a fortune, didn't they?"
Lepp shook his head. "Your alchemy is powerful, but subtle. Too practical. This outfit? It shouts, 'I'm rich because I follow Blake!'"
Blake laughed. He knew Old Lepp meant well.
Lepp didn't know about Blake's system-enhanced strength. His loyalty was real, and his flashiness had a purpose.
To command respect, one had to show both power and wealth.
And if the newcomers didn't submit?
Well... that's what fists were for.
Blake's eyes drifted toward Grindelwald, still trailing behind, blending in with the crowd.
He smirked.
Let's see how relaxed he feels later.
=============
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