Chapter 144. The Fanatical Old Man
Near the steep cliff face, on a protruding rock at the mouth of a wide, deep cave, stood several witches and wizards.
At the very front stood an elderly man with grey hair, thin and stooped, a mask on his face painted with a bishop chess piece.
The rest crowded behind him in a ring, wands crossed before their chests, eyes warily on the dragon circling high above.
From their stance and their movements, it was clear they greatly revered—or feared—the old man before them.
"Who is that brat?
Where did he come from?" the leader said in a low voice, anger tightly reined in.
A few of the wizards exchanged looks.
None dared step forward to answer.
Each tried to goad the others with their eyes into speaking up.
After much shuffling, one wizard failed to keep his footing and was shoved to the old man's side-rear.
He sighed inwardly, glaring in annoyance at the several behind him who were ogling the scenery to pretend they'd seen nothing.
"Bishop Charles…" the wizard said respectfully.
"It seems our list doesn't have any information on that person."
"Jack."
Bishop Charles's icy gaze shifted to the speaker.
"Do you think I require that answer from you?"
"Y-yes, Bishop Charles.
Please wait a moment, I'll immediately investigate his background."
Cold sweat seeped under Jack's mask.
The hand pressed to his thigh trembled without stopping; panic coloured his reply.
"Forget it.
No need," Bishop Charles said.
"The rest of you, split into two teams.
Team One executes Plan B as arranged beforehand.
Team Two will go and capture the brat on the Thunderbird's back—alive.
He appears to possess a marvellous magic that calms the emotions of magical creatures.
I must interrogate him personally.
Perhaps he can serve our future plans in a major way.
When the time comes, the credit will be counted to each of you, and the Master will commend you in person!"
At Bishop Charles's final words—especially "the Master"—excitement flared in the surrounding wizards.
Delight shone in their eyes.
They nodded at once in assent, as if they could not wait to rush into the sky and grab Duncan down that very instant.
Very satisfied with their display, Bishop Charles nodded, turned smartly toward the cave, and waved his hand.
"Move.
Though we've lost the aid of those magical creatures, you have numbers on your side.
See that you don't disappoint me again."
"Yes!" several wizards answered in unison.
One raised his wand; a ball of light shot into the sky and burst into brilliant fireworks.
Wizards suddenly appeared at both ends of the gorge.
As they ran, they ceaselessly fired spells—Dark magic filled the air.
And unlike the scattered rabble Duncan had encountered earlier, these wizards worked in perfect concert.
In an instant they suppressed Newt and the others' offensive, drove them toward the centre, and slowly tightened the encirclement.
Fortunately, Duncan had already calmed the maddened creatures, so they no longer attacked Newt and the others—otherwise their situation would have been far worse.
"Duncan, look, loads more are coming!
It looks like Newt and the others can't win!" Kray cried from above.
"I see…" Duncan murmured.
Watching the wizards' formation, he suddenly felt something was off.
It was as if those wizards were anglers with rods, the base in the gorge was the bait, and Newt and the rest were little fish tempted by the bait.
Now that the fish had bitten, the anglers would raise their rods and haul in the net to check their catch—lest any fish slip away.
"If I hadn't come, Granddad might really be in trouble this time.
He does still depend on me after all…"
Duncan muttered once, then raised his voice to transmit his order to the magical creatures in the gorge.
The creatures—confused a moment ago—instantly found a new target.
Every gaze swung to the black-robed wizards.
Howling in excitement, they charged, and they no longer relied only on bodily attacks—strange abilities blossomed across their ranks.
The Nundu was releasing deadly fumes.
The Thunderbirds were gathering a storm.
The dragon was drenching the sky in dragonfire.
The ordered assault of the black-robed wizards was thrown into chaos at once, and they were forced to divert most of their strength to dealing with the magical creatures.
The pressure on Newt and the others dropped sharply, and under Tina's lead they merged into the creatures' ranks, coordinating their attacks.
"How can this be?"
Just short of the cave, Bishop Charles halted abruptly, flashed to the cave's edge, and lifted his head to Duncan.
His eyes blazed with feverish light; his hands rose of their own accord, like a crazed fan.
"So that's it.
So that's it!
My belief was not wrong—there truly is someone who can command magical creatures!
Splendid!
As long as we seize him and wrench out his secret, I can solve that problem no one has ever cracked.
When I succeed, let's see who dares doubt me!
I must have you!"
Bishop Charles's voice grew louder and louder, until at the end he was raving, howling with harsh, piercing laughter.
"Duncan, that man seems to have gone mad…"
Kray, hearing the voice, glanced down by reflex and spoke in disgust.
"All right, ignore him.
Someone's coming for us as well—pull back!"
Seeing the broom-mounted wizards flying their way, Duncan hurriedly warned Kray to retreat to a safe area.
"Do not worry, my friend," said the Hungarian Horntail, hot white vapour snorting from its nostrils as it swept a claw with bold confidence.
"So long as I am here, you will come to no harm!"
But no sooner had the Horntail spoken than a dazzling spell smashed into its side, making the dragon yowl in pain.
"You people are utterly ill-mannered—attacking while a dragon is speaking!
All of you can die!"
Shame and fury twisting its face, the Hungarian Horntail spewed a jet of dragonfire, beat its huge wings, and hurtled at the wizards.
"My dear friend, go on—wipe them out!"
Duncan cheered the Horntail on, then turned and had Kray withdraw.
The Druid whistle's effect was about to end.
If they didn't leave now and the dragon wheeled on them next, that would be most unfortunate!
"A pack of useless trash!"
Seeing his sent wizards blocked by a dragon, Bishop Charles's face darkened like a thundercloud.
He cursed in a rage—and, without any flying tool, rose on the wind like smoke, arrowing toward Duncan at astonishing speed.
"Merlin's beard!"
Duncan gasped, staring in disbelief at the old man bearing down on him with murderous momentum.
From what he presently knew of this world, only You-Know-Who and, later, Severus Snape could fly relying on their own power.
He had not expected this unremarkable-looking old man to do the same—was he taught by You-Know-Who?
Whatever the answer, the old man racing toward him from afar was a tremendous headache!
Duncan had Kray shift quickly, hoping to pick ground favourable to them before tangling with the old man.
Just then, another Thunderbird sensed the old man's aura.
With an enraged cry, it streaked at him, savage and swift.
Bishop Charles wrinkled his brow in distaste, flicked his wand, and, as if swatting a mosquito, effortlessly blasted the Thunderbird from the sky.
"You damned old codger—you dare hurt it!"
Kray, just turning back, saw this scene.
He flew into a towering rage; hot blood dyed his eyes red.
He lost his reason completely and hurled himself at the detestable old man.
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