Corvus and Arcturus turned their sights on the Hunt and Clerkenwell Crime Syndicates next. The same method was employed, mapping out their networks, carefully capturing lieutenants, and slowly climbing the ladder until both groups were controlled from the top. When they moved to Liverpool, Tommy "Tacker" Comerford and Curtis "Cocky" Warren fell to the same strategy. After that, the Blacks decided to pause. More manpower was needed, and Arcturus was already working discreetly to expand their ranks. Squibs, long ignored or cast aside were being recruited into their operations. With magical contracts binding them so tight, not even thinking about betrayal was possible in any form or way. The Squibs found new purpose, and Corvus saw to it that they were equipped with Mokeskin Pouches. These allowed them to function with not so surprising efficiency, turning them into reliable cogs in the machine that was steadily enriching House Black.
Within weeks, gold bars quite literally flowed into their vaults. Even the old patriarch found himself astonished at how simple wealth could come when wizarding cunning met muggle vice. Yet for all their success, another event loomed large on their horizon: the Under Eighteen Continental Dueling Tournament. Corvus had registered months earlier, and now the time had come to test his mettle.
Arcturus accompanied his heir to Spain, traveling by official portkeys issued by the Ministry. The familiar tug and squeeze spat them out to Ministry of Magic in Madrid, Spain. After registering their arrival they went to the avevue of the tournament. Arcturus, his chest swelling with pride, declared loudly to anyone who asked that the young Black was here to prove his name in the noble art of the duel.
The avenue was a grand sight, a wide coliseum like hall draped with the banners of dozens of nations. Magical wards shimmered faintly around the dueling platforms, pulsing like protective shields. To both Corvus and Arcturus' surprise, Vinda Rosier awaited them at the entrance. The formidable witch's hawk like eyes softened when she saw Arcturus. They embraced, an embrace equal parts affection and the bond of warriors who had once fought side by side next to Grindelwald. She confessed she had come to see the young Black in action, and afterward to speak more privately about 'other' subjects.
After formal greetings, the trio entered. Numbers were drawn, placing Corvus in one of the thirty two groups of four contestants. Only the first in each group would advance to the knockout stages. From there, it would be the round of sixteen, quarterfinals, semifinals, and the grand final. To determine third place, the two semifinal losers would duel one another. Ensuring there was no ambiguity in the rankings.
Corvus left Arcturus and Vinda in the stands and moved to the waiting chamber with the other competitors. His first opponent was a Spanish wizard named Alejandro Serrano, a stocky youth with fast reflexes and a reputation for aggressive hexes. The referee reminded both duelists of the rules: no Unforgivable Curses and no spells that would cause permanent mutilation.
As the two contestants walked onto the platform, murmurs rippled through the stands. "That's the Black heir," one witch whispered, her tone mingling awe and curiosity. Another added, "The genius from Durmstrang, let's see if he lives up to it." Masters in the upper rows leaned forward, noting the relaxed way Corvus held his wand, casual yet controlled, a grip that spoke of supreme confidence.
At the referee's signal, the duelists bowed. Alejandro snapped into a rigid stance, his jaw tight, wand clutched like a dagger. Corvus, by contrast, lifted his wand in the languid, almost mocking gesture he, once in a former life watched on screen a scene showing Grindelwald's speech in Paris.
The match began, "Silent casting!" someone gasped as the first bone breaking curse shattered Alejandro's legs before he could even blink. "Merlin's beard, that was fast" another exclaimed. The crowd's shock deepened as crimson streamed from the Spaniard's eyes and ears under the bloodletting curse. "That's a battle grade curse! On the opening volley?" one of the masters muttered, half in awe, half in disapproval.
Before Alejandro could even cry out, a suffocation curse slammed into him. The boy collapsed, gasping noiselessly as his wand slipped from his grip. In the commentator's box, the voice wavered with disbelief: "And that's it! Three spells, bone breaking, bloodletting and suffocation curses. All delivered in seconds, all silent. Extraordinary! Absolutely brutal, yet extraordinary!"
The referee quickly ended the match, his wand raised high as healers sprinted onto the platform, robes billowing. The crowd buzzed with a mixture of awe and horror, the commentary punctuating their mood: "Corvus Black has finished his first match under ten seconds. Under a ten seconds! This is not just dueling, this is annihilation."
Corvus had obliterated his first opponent, leaving the healers working feverishly and the entire coliseum caught between awe, horror, and the realization that the heir of House Black had arrived and he was playing by his own rules.
--
Corvus advanced through the group stage with ease, barely breaking a sweat. He started to enjoy the tournament on the second day. In the knockout rounds, and his first considerable opponent was a witch from China named Lin Xue, renowned among her peers for her speed and precision. Whispers in the waiting chamber spoke of her ability to weave martial arts into her dueling, turning every movement of her body into an extension of her spellwork. Other contestants gave her wary glances, while some whispered that Corvus might finally meet his match.
When their names were called, the commentator announced with dramatic flair: "Representing China, Lin Xue, known for her lightning quick silent casting and extraordinary reflexes, a duelist made a name for her flowing combat style. And opposite her, Corvus Black, The Brutal Heir, the young Durmstrang prodigy who has already shaken this tournament to its core with battle grade curses!" The crowd applauded with anticipation, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a blade.
The duel began, and Lin Xue burst forward, movements sharp and fluid, her wand flicking in tandem with graceful strikes of her hands and feet. She leapt and spun, combining punches and kicks with bursts of magic in a dazzling rhythm, transferring her wand from right to left while trying to get close for a physical contact. Corvus, however, kept his distance, his wand slicing the air with practiced calm. He transfigured sections of the arena floor into jagged ridges and shifting sands, forcing Lin to adjust her footing. "Black is controlling the field!" the commentator cried. "He's turning the arena itself into a weapon, cutting off her movement one step at a time!"
Lin deflected two of his spells with dazzling precision, her shield shimmering like glass, and the crowd cheered her resilience. But when she braced against his next barrage, the shimmering wall cracked, spiderwebbing before it shattered. Corvus' wand danced in silence, four bone breakers flew in rapid succession, striking her arms and legs in a merciless volley. She crumpled to the floor, her wand clattering away, a groan escaping her lips. The referee's whistle cut through the air just as Corvus angled for another chain, declaring the duel over.
"She's down! Lin Xue is down! Corvus Black claims victory!" The commentary echoed as healers rushed forward. The crowd roared in approval, though a ripple of unease ran through some of the older masters who recognized the ruthless efficiency in his spellwork. One even whispered, "He fights like a veteran, not a boy."
The quarterfinals came next, pitting him against a Russian witch he recognized from Durmstrang's sixth year classes. Yelena Morozova, an animagus with the ability to shift into a cougar. The commentator's voice carried through the coliseum: "In this quarterfinal match, we have Yelena Morozova, the Russian cougar herself, feared for her ferocity, her animagus form, and unmatched transfiguration skills. Facing her is none other than Corvus Black, who has yet to be challenged in this tournament." The stands shook with the stomping of feet and chants of the duelists' names.
The match began with Yelena shifting between forms, her cougar body darting with predatory grace as she tried to close the distance. The crowd gasped as her claws raked across the transfigured stone. Corvus answered with a whip of lightning, striking the ground near her paws, forcing her to twist away. She hissed, shifting back to human form to cast, only for another crackling bolt to sizzle across her robes and send her stumbling. "Brilliant counter! He's forcing her to change forms before she can stabilize her attack!" the commentator shouted in astonishment.
Corvus raised his wand again, his strikes sharp and deliberate, eyes cold with calculation. Another flash of lightning arced across the platform, this time grazing her shoulder. She collapsed with a cry, smoke curling from the scorched fabric. The referee leapt in to end the duel as healers rushed to her aid. Corvus, lowering his wand, muttered to himself with wry amusement, "There was a spark between us," a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The audience buzzed, some unnerved by his relentless control, others exhilarated by his brilliance. Masters in the stands leaned forward, whispering: "This boy isn't simply dueling, he's dissecting his opponents. Every move calculated, every strike decisive. He is rewriting what it means to dominate in combat."
Corvus had advanced once more as the second day of the tournament ended, leaving scorched ground, stunned silence, and murmurs of fear and awe in his wake.
--
The semifinals brought a hush over the arena as the announcer's voice rang out, carrying the names of the next duelists. "On this side, representing Germany, we have Viktor Krafft, an ambitious and fast duelist with a legacy steeped in Grindelwald's war. And facing him, the rising star of the tournament, Corvus Black!" Murmurs rippled through the crowd at the mention of both names, whispers of two bloodlines woven deeply into Europe's darker history. Even the commentator added with reverence: "Two grandsons of Grindelwald's generals, this is a meeting of history itself, and we are about to witness it."
Viktor Krafft stepped forward with practiced poise, his back straight, movements sharp. He bowed slightly. "A pleasure, Heir Black. Send my regards to Lord Black," he said with a smile that carried both courtesy and challenge. Corvus returned the gesture with a faint incline of his head, his turquoise silver eyes steady, wand resting loosely but confidently in his hand. The referee raised his arm, then dropped it, signaling the match to begin.
Krafft wasted no time. Chains of spells streamed from his wand like a machine gun. A rapid Stupefy, followed by Expelliarmus, then volleys of Blasting Curses. He mixed Flippendo to unbalance and Impedimenta to slow, layering basic spells with bursts of dangerous hexes. His incantations were sharp, his timing impeccable, his rhythm relentless. The crowd roared at his precision and ferocity, some rising from their seats as the German pressed the attack.
Corvus, however, stood like a monument among the storm. He moved only as much as needed. A flick of the wrist here, a silent Protego there, sometimes no spell at all, just a lean of his body so that Krafft's curse skimmed past harmlessly. His expression remained calm, his relaxed grip on his wand a stark contrast to Krafft's white knuckled focus. Masters in the stands murmured among themselves. The commentator exclaimed over the noise, "Corvus Black isn't even counterattacking, he's letting Krafft empty his repertoire! This is control in its purest form!"
The exchange went on for nearly a minute, the air filled with lights, sparks, and the crash of magic on shield. Finally, Viktor slowed, sweat dripping, his breathing heavy. He stopped, straightened, and bowed again. "Thank you for your courtesy, Black. I will not test your patience today. Better to bow out than to crawl." The audience gasped. A surrender? Corvus inclined his head once more, acknowledging the wisdom in his choice. The commentator's voice rose above the murmurs: "Extraordinary! Viktor Krafft yields of his own accord, choosing dignity over destruction. Corvus Black advances to the final!"
The second semifinal came to its end shortly after. The victor was another Durmstrang student, Harald Bjornsen, a towering Norwegian with a reputation for brutality. Known for his savage tactics and merciless efficiency, Harald's path to the finals had left his opponents bloodied, broken, or barely conscious. His name carried weight, even in the infamous halls of Durmstrang.
After a half hour pause, the finalists were called. The commentator's voice thundered, electric with anticipation: "And now, the match for the championship! On one side, Corvus Black silent caster, brutal, strategist, and storm bringer, heir to the House of Black. On the other, Harald Bjornsen, ferocity incarnate, a predator in human form. As brutal as Black. Both molded by Durmstrang, both warriors beyond their years. To call them duelists would be an insult. Tonight, we witness titans in the making."
The roar of the crowd swelled as the two finalists entered the arena. They bowed, Harald's grin wide and wolfish, Corvus' expression a mask of icy calm. The referee's hand dropped, his shout cracked through the air, and the arena erupted into chaos.
Harald opened with a Bombarda Maxima, the explosion booming like thunder as it tore across the stage. Corvus swept his wand upward, transfiguring a wall of black stone to intercept the blast. The impact shook the ground, dust rising, but Corvus answered instantly with a tidal wave of boiling water that surged forward, its steam curling in the light. Gasps echoed as Harald countered with freezing curses, stopping the wave in a spray of shimmering and ice.
Then came a storm of violence. Harald's wand spat Bone Breakers, Cutting Hexes, and Blasting Charms in merciless rhythm. Corvus replied in silence, each flick of his wand crisp and deliberate, suffocating curses twisted the air tight around Harald's chest, binding spells lashed out like fiery chains, and piercing hexes struck like arrows. The commentator shouted, "Every strike a hammer blow, every counter a dagger thrust, this is no contest of points, this is war!"
By the second minute, the battlefield was unrecognizable. Harald shattered the floor into jagged chasms that split the dueling platform, while Corvus conjured rivers of molten lava bubbling from fissures. They transfigured beasts into existence, Corvus sent flocks of ravens from the lava itself to swarm Harald, their wings blotting out the view heat rising in the arene, only for Harald to transform them into burning spears mid flight and hurl them back. Corvus twisted the spears into firey serpents, which slithered forward with snapping fangs. The crowd screamed, half in awe, half in terror.
"Look at this!" the commentator roared. "Not even Aurors face such raw, unrestrained devastation! These two are increasing the bar with every volley!"
At the three minute mark, Harald was already showing signs of fatigue. Inevitably, one of Corvus' piercing hexes found its target, slamming into Harald's leg. He staggered, his balance breaking. Two seconds, two precious seconds was all Corvus took. His wand became a blur. First, two more piercing hex struck, one cutting deep into his thigh the other his stomach. Next, a bone breaker shattered his wand arm with a sickening crack. A suffocating bind wrapped around his torso, freezing him in place, and finally a lightning bolt split the air, grazing his cheek and leaving a scarlet welt as ozone filled the coliseum. Harald dropped his wand, blood dripping, starting to pool at his feet, body limp on the ruined stage.
The referee pierced the stunned silence. "Victory! Corvus Black is champion of the Under Eighteen Continental Tournament of 1993!"
The arena erupted. The crowd surged to their feet, applause and cheers thundering like a storm. Some spectators wept, others screamed in joy, and still more sat stunned, trying to comprehend the scale of what they had witnessed. The top three were honored swiftly, though most of the eyes lingered on Corvus, the boy who had fought like a man grown, like a conqueror.
When he rejoined Arcturus and Vinda, the applause still shaking the walls, Vinda's words were sharp and dry as ever: "Why didn't you finish sooner?" Corvus smirked, wiping soot from his robes. "No need to show off, Professor. I need to leave some moves for the next year as well." Arcturus, however, was alight with joy, his chest swelling, pride blazing in his eyes. Already, he imagined the headlines screaming across Europe and beyond. His heir had not only won, he had dominated, and the wizarding world would never forget it.