The number of these people wasn't many. Even waiting until the very end, Link only saw a mere six figures.
But the robes and hoods on these people were extremely elegant and close-fitting, clearly designer-made, custom-tailored, not something just anyone could afford to wear.
Of course, the most important thing was their attitude toward Voldemort, which was extremely humble, even downright lowly.
After a long stretch of pacing, without exception they all fell to the ground on their knees, crawling to Voldemort's side, forming a circle around him, and kissing the hem of his robes.
"Master… Master…"
They called softly, and although they tried their best to suppress it, Link could still hear the trembling sound of fear in their voices.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said calmly.
"Thirteen years… it's been thirteen years since we last met. Yet you still responded to my summons as before… That means we are still united under the Dark Mike! Is that so?"
Voldemort raised his now twisted, hideous face, the slit-like nostrils flaring as he sniffed.
"I smell guilt," Voldemort suddenly raised his tone. "There's a stench in the air called guilt!"
At these words, the Death Eaters kneeling all around trembled even harder.
Link could tell that every one of them wanted to run, but not one dared to move even a little.
"When I see each of you standing here healthy and unharmed, your magic as strong as ever, I ask myself, why didn't these Death Eaters ever come to help their master? The one they once swore to serve forever?"
No one at all spoke. The only sound was Wormtail, clutching his bleeding arm, crying endlessly.
But Voldemort didn't seem to expect an answer. He merely paused a moment before continuing, "I answered myself, They must have thought I was finished, believed I was completely done for."
"They knelt at my enemies' feet, sobbing that they were innocent, that they had been used, that they had been placed under the Imperius Curse…"
"And then I asked myself, why didn't they believe I could rise again? They knew perfectly well I had long ago set up measures to prevent death."
"They knew I had proven to them countless times that my power was far greater than anyone else's in this world!"
"And the answer is simple, isn't it?" Voldemort suddenly laughed.
"Maybe they never truly believed in me. They thought there was a greater power in this world that could defeat Voldemort!"
"Maybe they've already pledged themselves to someone else… Perhaps that senile old man, that protector of Muggles and Mudbloods, Dumbledore!"
At the sound of Dumbledore's name, the Death Eaters at Voldemort's feet grew restless, shaking their heads and whispering explanations. But Voldemort ignored them completely.
"This disappoints me… I admit I am utterly disappointed. Especially, " Voldemort growled harshly, "especially when I summoned you ten days ago, and none of you came to me!"
His voice was like thunder, crashing down on each and every Death Eater present.
And indeed, the effect was real. For just as Voldemort's words fell, the clouds above them flared with a streak of thick, blood-red lightning.
Under such terrifying pressure, finally one Death Eater could bear it no longer.
He flung himself to the ground, clutching at Voldemort's leg, shrieking over and over, "Master! Forgive me, Master! Forgive us!"
A cold smile spread across Voldemort's face. He raised his wand.
"Cruciatus!"
The screams instantly became hysterical wails.
That Death Eater no longer begged for mercy. He began rolling and thrashing wildly, tearing his gorgeous robes into scraps. His exposed muscles writhed and spasmed.
He was being driven to the brink of collapse by the sheer intensity of pain, smashing his head again and again onto the half-crystallized, fire-baked ground. Even as blood poured down his face, he wouldn't stop, as if trying to bash himself to death.
Fortunately, Voldemort did not seem intent on killing him, and soon withdrew his wand.
The tortured Death Eater lay flat on the ground, gasping for air.
This sight allowed most of the surrounding Death Eaters to breathe easier, for at least it meant Voldemort wasn't planning to kill them, not yet.
But one person was different.
From his place watching in the distance, Link had already noticed there was an odd one among the Death Eaters.
When that man first saw Voldemort, he hadn't shown the slightest nervousness or fear, looking utterly relaxed.
When Voldemort tortured the poor man just now, he had been shaking all over with excitement.
And now, as Voldemort lowered his wand, he suddenly showed extreme anger. In a flash he jumped to his feet, tore off his hood, and revealed a pale, weak but crazed face, roaring,
"Master! You can't let him off so easily! They're not worthy! They should be buried alive in a pit with the mud!"
At those words, the Death Eaters around him froze.
But what shocked them even more was that Voldemort wasn't angry at this sudden interruption.
Instead, he reached out and gently grasped the man's trembling shoulder, saying, "Calm yourself, Barty. Of course I won't forgive them! I won't forget, thirteen long years! They will pay back those thirteen years of debt before I even consider forgiveness!"
Link's pupils widened slightly. He now knew that Death Eater's identity, Barty Crouch Jr..
Voldemort's expression softened. He patted Barty gently, like soothing a crying child.
"As for you, my most loyal servant! You deserve to be rewarded!"
Voldemort pulled up Barty's sleeve and drove his wand hard against the exposed Dark Mike.
Black-red magic flared at the tip, gradually spreading over the whole Mike, making the symbol look especially eerie in the darkness.
Even stranger, Barty's pale face immediately flushed with health, his entire aura becoming stronger.
"I feel stronger!" Barty wept with excitement, nearly unable to speak. "Thank you! Thank you, Master! Hhh!"
"No need to thank me, this is your due, child!" Voldemort withdrew his wand. "Of course, there's also Peter."
"Yes, Master," Wormtail, bleeding so badly he was on the verge of death, barely managed to reply. "I beg you, Master, please…"
"You helped me regain a body," Voldemort said coldly, with a trace of disdain on his face.
"Though you are a despicable traitor, and the reason you helped me wasn't loyalty but fear of your old friends. Still, you did help me… And Voldemort never mistreats anyone who helps him…"
Voldemort raised his wand again. This time, instead of the sinister black-red magic, silvery light like liquid mercury shimmered at the tip.
The stream of light writhed and twisted in the air, finally forming a glowing human hand, which floated down and fixed itself onto Wormtail's bleeding wrist.
At last, his tiresome sobbing stopped.
He lifted his head, staring in disbelief at the silver hand. It was so perfect, as if his hand had never been injured at all, as though he merely wore a shining glove.
He flexed his fingers, then picked up a chunk of hardened soil, torn up during the torture just now, and crushed it into powder.
"My Master!" Wormtail whispered. "Master, thank you, it's truly beautiful."
"I hope your loyalty will not waver again, Peter."
"Never, my Master… never."
Wormtail crawled forward on his knees and kissed Voldemort's robes like the others. Then he stood aside, kneeling like the rest, his tear-stained face seemingly serious as he awaited Voldemort's next words. But in truth, his eyes kept straying back to his new hand again and again.
Voldemort didn't care, and turned as if to continue.
But just then, a tall thin figure dragged himself up with great difficulty from a pit in the distance, stumbling all the way before falling before Voldemort, calling as he came, "Master! Don't forget me, your most… most loyal servant, Igor, Master…"
Voldemort's expression instantly chilled.
The newcomer was Karkaroff.
And Voldemort had not the slightest fondness for him.
Leaving aside his cowardly feigned death earlier, Karkaroff's return carried no true loyalty. His situation was worse than Wormtail's, he only rejoined because Voldemort came knocking and gave him no choice.
Most importantly, back then Karkaroff had been the happiest to betray Voldemort, spewing countless slanders and handing over Death Eaters who could have stayed hidden to await their moment, sending them all to Azkaban.
Facing such trash, it was already mercy that Voldemort hadn't killed him outright. And now, seeing Barty and Wormtail rewarded, he actually had the gall to step out and ask for a prize.
Yet Voldemort had to admit, the timing was sharp.
After all, he had just declared that anyone who helped him would be rewarded. If he punished Karkaroff now, wouldn't that make him contradict his own words?
Voldemort's expression soured, as if he'd swallowed a fly.
But then someone came to his rescue.
Barty, perhaps sensing Voldemort's mood, or maybe just because his mind had been broken by years under his father's Imperius, suddenly leapt at Karkaroff.
"You damned traitor, how dare you show your face!"
Barty roared, drawing his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
BOOM!
A flash of green light with a long tail struck Karkaroff square in the chest. The glow lit up his stunned expression, then blasted him away.
Karkaroff's voice died instantly.
But Barty wasn't satisfied. He leapt onto the body, tearing at Karkaroff's face with his teeth.
The Death Eaters watching all felt a chill in their hearts, but Voldemort wore a smile, thoroughly pleased.
Only when Karkaroff's corpse was nearly unrecognizable did Voldemort finally stop Barty, putting on a stern expression as he scolded, "Barty! How could you do that? Karkaroff was our comrade! Though, of course, he did make some… small mistakes."
"Yes, my Master! I know I was wrong! I just couldn't hold back my anger. Please punish me!"
Barty dropped to his knees, reverent.
But clearly, Voldemort had no intention of punishing him. He raised his hand high, then let it fall lightly, a casual gesture.
This play-acting made the Death Eaters tremble harder, especially as Voldemort glanced at them while speaking, as if in warning.
But what could they do?
They only lowered their heads further.
Savoring their fear, Voldemort strode forward, seizing one Death Eater and saying, "Macnair… Peter tells me you've been serving the Ministry by exterminating dangerous beasts? Looks like you enjoy that job so much you ignored my summons last time!"
"No, Master! No!" the man called Macnair protested. "The signal was too weak, I thought it was someone pretending! This time the call was clear, so I came! I'm still loyal to you, as loyal as Barty Crouch Jr., Aahhh!!"
His words quickly turned into screams.
Because Barty had cast Cruciatus on him.
"Don't! Don't call me by my surname! And don't you dare compare me to a worm like you!"
Barty snarled, teeth gritted. At last, he lifted his wand and ended the torture.
Through it all, Voldemort said nothing.
Only when Macnair was slowly catching his breath did Voldemort sneer, "Macnair, do you know why I didn't stop him?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Because you lied to me! You know perfectly well only I can summon you through the Dark Mike! And yet you dare tell me the signal was too weak?"
A flicker of despair passed through Macnair's eyes. He must have thought he was dead.
But just as he braced for death, Voldemort shifted tone, "Yes, I know, Macnair… You've truly disappointed me. But I trust you won't let me down again, will you?"
At these words, Macnair's eyes widened in disbelief. He struggled to rise but couldn't, tried to speak but only garbled nonsense came out in his excitement.
Voldemort no longer paid him any attention, moving on to the next Death Eater.
"Nott…"
"Goyle? Crabbe? And you…"
"Stand up, Avery…"
Voldemort went down the line, naming each of them in turn. His words weren't especially clever, just the usual mix of reward and threat.
But under the crushing weight of his power, every one of them appeared moved beyond words, weeping openly.
And most importantly, at this moment, their feelings were utterly sincere.
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