vncnus Chapter 551: Who is the Dark Lord?
Chapter 551: Who is the Dark Lord?
Dark shadows lurk.
A conspiracy is brewing.
at the same time.
On the empty streets, the cold moonlight cast long shadows on the figures slumped on the ground.
"No! How could you be so powerful! We are the strongest!" The five Horcrux clones had just struggled to crawl halfway out of the rubble—and then, that was the end of it.
Ian raised his wand again, this time without any fancy movements, simply pointing it calmly in the five directions. Five silver-white beams shot out simultaneously from the tip of the wand, striking the five clones precisely between their eyebrows.
There was no explosion, no screams, not even a struggle.
The five figures froze simultaneously, a brief, incredulous blankness appearing on their faces—then, as if weathered away, their bodies began to disintegrate from the edges into tiny, silvery-white specks of light, drifting away in the wind.
Like five pencil drawings that have been erased.
Like five dreams that never existed.
"you……"
In his final moments before dissipating, young Tom stared intently at Ian, his crimson eyes filled with resentment, rage, and… a deep-seated fear. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but before a sound could escape, he completely transformed into specks of light and vanished into the London night wind. The other four Horcruxes met the same fate.
Five of Voldemort's clones, terrifying beings with independent consciousness, legendary magic, and the power to crush ordinary Aurors, were completely wiped out in just a few seconds.
It's as if it never existed.
The Death Eaters were completely devastated.
It's unclear who first threw away their "wands"—those branches transformed into wands by illusion, now looking particularly ridiculous in the moonlight. They knelt on the ground, hands raised high, trembling, uttering incoherent pleas:
"We surrender! We surrender!"
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I'm just following orders!"
"It was all the master's orders! We know nothing!"
"Please! Please spare my life!"
After discarding the branches, some pulled various odds and ends from their pockets—spare wands? No, those were also products of illusion, now merely worn-out quills, a few rusty nails, and even a half-eaten loaf of bread in their hands. They stared in horror at their possessions, bewildered, and could only throw them all away, burying their heads in their hands, kneeling on the ground in utter humiliation. These were Death Eaters.
Before Voldemort, they were fanatical believers, loyal servants, and warriors fighting for the glory of pure-bloods. But when the real threat of death descended, when that being, more powerful than the Dark Lord, coldly watched them, their inherent cowardice, selfishness, and fear of death were revealed.
They are a group of bullies who prey on the weak and fear the strong.
Faced with powerless Muggles, they could slaughter them at will, laughing wildly and enjoying the thrill of killing. But when the blade was about to fall on their own necks, they were more terrified and more pathetic than anyone else.
"This is what they call a rat that can't get on the table."
Ian’s gaze swept over them, calm as still water, yet it made every Death Eater who was touched feel as if they had been doused with ice water, trembling even more violently.
He didn't speak.
He didn't even glance at them again.
He turned and walked toward Grindelwald.
The Death Eaters kneeling on the ground dared not move, dared not run, and dared not even raise their heads. They simply lay there, trembling, awaiting their fate.
Just then
"Slap! Slap! Slap!"
A series of explosive apparitions suddenly rang out on the outskirts of the street. Dozens of figures appeared simultaneously, all dressed in scarlet robes with gold badges embroidered on their chests—the Aurors of the Ministry of Magic!
The leader was none other than Scrimgeour, who had just been "resurrected" from the ruins.
The claim of dying in battle is false.
But it's true that the Ministry of Magic got wind of it and took action.
His expression was grave, his wand gripped tightly, followed by more than twenty equally alert Aurors. They had rushed to the scene after receiving the emergency alert, prepared for a fierce battle.
However one
When they saw what was before them, everyone was stunned.
The streets were deserted.
Death Eaters were kneeling all over the ground.
They held their heads in their hands, trembling all over, their posture extremely humble.
Not far away, several silvery-white dots of light were dissipating, and the outlines of human figures could be vaguely discerned.
Further away, in the middle of the street, two statue-like figures stood facing each other—Dumbledore and Voldemort, still frozen in their positions, motionless. An invisible, distorted force field surrounded them, isolating everything outside, not even moonlight could penetrate it.
"What... what's going on?" A young Auror rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
Scrimgeour was also stunned.
The intelligence reports that Death Eaters have mobilized in large numbers and are preparing to massacre Muggles! They've prepared for heavy losses; some have even written their wills. But now…
The Death Eaters knelt on the ground and surrendered.
There were no Muggle corpses, no signs of battle, and not even a trace of blood.
Only those two frozen figures proved that something had indeed happened here.
"Someone... has already solved it?" another Auror murmured.
Just then, someone noticed another figure standing not far away—long silver hair, an aged face, heterochromatic eyes, and a long robe that, though worn, still exuded former majesty.
"Grindelwald...?!"
Exclamations of surprise rose and fell.
All the Aurors instantly pointed their wands in that direction, their faces filled with terror and wariness. Grindelwald! The First Dark Lord! A legendary figure imprisoned in Nurmengard for nearly half a century!
What is he doing here?!
"Don't be nervous." Scrimgeour raised his hand to stop his men, but his voice was equally tense. "Grindelwald... Mr., what are you doing here? And... what happened here?"
Grindelwald slowly turned around, moonlight illuminating his aged face and reflecting the complex emotions in his heterochromatic eyes. He glanced at the Death Eaters kneeling on the ground, then at Dumbledore and Voldemort standing frozen in the distance, and finally, his gaze settled on the dark-haired young man beside him. "It wasn't me," he said, his voice hoarse and weary.
The Aurors were stunned.
"I didn't do it," Grindelwald repeated, then, to everyone's astonishment, he raised his hand and pointed at Ian. "It was him."
All eyes instantly focused on the black-haired young man.
Ian Prince.
He looked no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, with black hair, a handsome face, and dressed in ordinary dark casual clothes, holding a seemingly unremarkable wand. He stood there calmly, receiving dozens of shocked, confused, and incredulous gazes, his face expressionless. "Him?" an Auror blurted out, "A child?"
"Children?" Grindelwald sneered, a complex light flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. "Those Death Eaters you just saw kneeling in surrender, 'he' dealt with them all by himself. Those five Horcruxes over there dissipating—Voldemort's clones—were also suppressed by 'he' alone."
He paused, then his voice became even lower:
"I didn't lift a finger from beginning to end."
Dead silence.
Absolute silence.
All the Aurors stood frozen in place, their expressions shifting from shock to disbelief, and then to an almost absurd bewilderment. They looked at Grindelwald, then at Ian, then at the Death Eaters kneeling on the ground, and finally at the five dissipating silvery-white specks—those were Voldemort's clones?!
"Voldemort...Voldemort's clones?" Scrimgeour's voice trembled. "Five of them?"
“Five,” Grindelwald confirmed. “Each one possesses legendary-level magic, each capable of easily crushing you Aurors. Just now, they all attacked this young man simultaneously—and were then suppressed.”
He gestured with his chin towards the few points of light that had almost completely disappeared.
What you see is the final result.
The Aurors were completely speechless.
They stared blankly at Ian, at this boy who looked younger than many of them, their minds momentarily blank. Five legendary Voldemort clones.
They acted simultaneously.
Suppressed by one person.
What does this mean?
This meant that this boy, this seemingly ordinary black-haired boy, possessed strength... that had reached a level they couldn't comprehend! Scrimgeour swallowed hard, his gaze towards Ian now filled with deep awe and a hint of... fear. "This... sir," he spoke cautiously, even his form of address unconsciously changing, "may I ask... who... who exactly are you?" Ian's gaze shifted from Grindelwald to Scrimgeour's face. That gaze was calm as still water, yet unfathomably deep, causing this battle-hardened Auror office director to feel a slight urge to retreat.
"Me?" Ian's voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. "Just someone passing by."
He paused, then turned his gaze back to Grindelwald, his deep, pool-like eyes seeming to gleam with a light that only the two of them could understand: "A...person searching for answers."
The cold moonlight cast long shadows on him.
The Aurors remained rooted to the spot, unable to recover for a long time.
Scrimgeour took several deep breaths before he could barely calm himself down.
He glanced at the Death Eaters still kneeling on the ground—by now, several bolder Aurors had stepped forward and bound them one by one with magical chains. The Death Eaters offered no resistance, not even a struggle, simply obediently extending their hands as the chains wrapped around their wrists. Their faces were filled with the relief of surviving a close call.
I'm so glad that terrifying boy didn't make another move, and I'm so glad I'm still alive.
"Take them all back to the Ministry of Magic for interrogation," Scrimgeour ordered, then turned to Ian, his attitude extremely respectful. "Sir... is this arrangement acceptable?"
Ian nodded casually, his gaze still fixed on Grindelwald.
Scrimgeour breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at the two frozen figures in the distance—Dumbledore and Voldemort were still locked in a battle of wills, the invisible force field around them preventing them from getting close.
He hesitated for a moment, then tentatively asked:
"Is Professor Dumbledore... alright?"
"Wait," Ian replied curtly, "they're almost done."
As soon as he finished speaking, as if to confirm his words, the two frozen figures in the distance trembled slightly at the same time.
Dumbledore swayed, his silver beard fluttering in the night wind, a hint of weariness on his face, but his deep blue eyes remained bright. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at Voldemort opposite him.
Voldemort also opened his eyes, his crimson pupils flashing with a complex light—resentment, anger, shock, and a hint of… barely perceptible fear. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only let out a cold snort, and his figure suddenly transformed into a cloud of black mist, disappearing into the night sky.
Apparition.
He fled.
Dumbledore didn't give chase. He stood there, took a few deep breaths, and then slowly turned around to look in their direction.
When his gaze fell on Ian, a complex emotion flashed in his deep blue eyes—gratitude, relief, confusion, and something else that even he himself couldn't quite put his finger on.
He walked over, his steps a little unsteady, but his back remained straight.
The Aurors quickly made way, their eyes filled with reverence.
Dumbledore stopped in front of Ian, paused for a few seconds, and then spoke, his voice hoarse but sincere:
"Thank you, child. If it weren't for you... tonight's ending would have been terrible..."
He didn't finish speaking, but everyone understood what he meant.
If it weren't for Ian, the massacre depicted in the illusion would have become reality. Those Muggles, those Aurors, those innocent lives would have been swallowed by darkness.
Ian shook his head slightly: "No need to thank me. I was already there."
He paused, then turned his gaze back to Grindelwald.
Dumbledore followed his gaze and only then noticed Grindelwald's presence—though he had known beforehand, the mental battle had taken a heavy toll, and only now did he truly understand his old rival's predicament. He frowned slightly, about to speak, but was interrupted by Ian's next words. "Mr. Grindelwald," Ian's voice remained calm, yet carried a strange penetrating power, "our conversation is not over yet."
Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes flickered slightly. He knew what Ian was referring to—the title "Professor," the secret that had been exposed. "This...is not the place to talk," Grindelwald said slowly, his gaze sweeping over the Aurors around him, the kneeling Death Eaters, and the Ministry of Magic personnel examining the scene in the distance.
"I know."
Ian nodded, then turned to Dumbledore. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I'll leave the aftermath of tonight's events to you. As for Mr. Grindelwald... I'll need to borrow him for a while."
borrow?
A legendary wizard.
Using the word "borrowed" to describe another important person?
Was this something they, the Aurors, should be involved in? Of course not! The Aurors exchanged glances, but none dared to voice their doubts. Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, then finally nodded: "Yes. Tonight's events are sufficient proof that his 'parole' was necessary. And…"
He glanced at Grindelwald, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
"With you here, I feel at ease."
Although Dumbledore didn't know what had happened, his intelligence allowed him to guess some of the situation, and Grindelwald felt somewhat uncomfortable upon hearing this.
His lips twitched slightly.
But he didn't say anything.