Chapter 13 - 13: 13: Bloodbath in the Marsh

"Shadowless Swiftness" Sagres's figure instantly vanished from where he stood. In the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore suddenly looked up in the direction of Sagres's office, his aged face filled with helplessness. … Rotting mud gurgled beneath his shoes as Sagres followed the scent of blood, cutting through man-eating vines that blocked his path, arriving at the town Nightingale had mentioned in her letter. Black Fiendfyre burned in the town. He bent down and picked up an ice crystal wrapped around a werewolf fang from the soft, wet mud. This was Nightingale's method—a signature spell he had custom-designed for her before he entered Azkaban. The chaotic state of the scene indicated only one thing: —She had been attacked. Crushing the ice crystal in his hand expressionlessly, Sagres drew his wand and decisively shot a brilliant spell into the sky. Crrreeeeeaaaak~~! Boom! The spell carried a piercing sound, finally exploding into the terrifying shape of a black crow's head high above. Two seconds later, a purple spell shot up 800 yards away, bursting into the elegant silhouette of a nightingale. Sagres let out a sigh of relief, then transformed into a black crow shadow, rising from the ground and rapidly flying toward the direction of Nightingale's signal. The scenery on the ground flashed by. He saw intermittent bloodstains and three badly mangled corpses. One was impaled on a tree by an ice pick, while the other two were only half-bodies, lying haphazardly in the mud, with pure white ice crystals emerging from their severed waists, nearly freezing the entire remains. Suddenly, a sluggish sensation spread through the air. Sagres immediately understood—this was an anti-Apparition field set up by the opposing Dark Wizards using an alchemical array. It seemed they had come prepared. Following the signal's guidance, he arrived at the heart of the battlefield, where a large expanse of bloodsucking snake vines bared their fangs and claws before him. These twisted, vine-like magical plants were wildly extending across the battlefield, their grotesque snake heads at the ends opening their jaws, searching for prey. Sagres plummeted from the sky, crashing to the ground like a meteor. "Protego Muspelheim~" Swosh! Pale flames burst from the tip of his wand, and a pure white Patronus emerged from the fire. The moment it appeared, it soared skyward for a short distance before changing direction and diving headfirst into the ground. Boom~ At the Patronus's impact site, a massive wave of flames surged outward. All the bloodthirsty snake vines turned to ash the instant they were touched by the fire—they didn't even have time to struggle. These eerie white flames caused no harm to anything else. After incinerating the dangerous magical plants, the fire transformed into tiny white birds that floated in the air, gradually reforming into the same shape as the Patronus that had been summoned. Only now did Sagres clearly see the battlefield after the snake vines had been eradicated. Ice and fire had split the terrain into two stark halves: on the left, a bubbling swamp spewing black fire; on the right, clusters of three-meter-high jagged ice spikes. On the dividing line between ice and fire, a black-robed corpse was impaled by an icicle, its posture still frozen mid-spell from the moment it died. As soon as the battlefield came fully into view, five black-robed wizards emerged from the black flames. Behind them shambled a large group of newly conjured Inferi, following in their wake. Sagres ignored the grim-faced Dark Wizards and instead turned his gaze to the right side of the battlefield. Nightingale stood up from the rotting swamp, her silvery-white hair matted with mud, and beads of blood clinging to the ends of her strands fell like sparks—a sign that her Veela bloodline was on the verge of going berserk. She hunched over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath, disheveled—yet none of it could conceal one undeniable fact: her breathtaking beauty. This was also why these Dark Wizards had been willing to pay such a high price to capture her. Her beauty far surpassed that of a typical Veela, and selling her to a Goblin would surely fetch an enormous profit. Seeing that she was still able to stand, Sagres gave her a slight nod before turning decisively toward the culprits. He raised his wand toward them without hesitation. "Do you think you can—" Ignoring the lead Dark Wizard's attempt to speak, Sagres uttered the incantation in a cold, resolute tone: "Frenzy Reducto!" A thick, blood-red burst of spell light shot out like lightning from the tip of his wand, cutting off the lead Dark Wizard mid-sentence. Boom! A deafening roar followed as a massive crater was blasted into the ground, scorched patterns radiating outward from its center. Dozens of Inferi were annihilated by the explosion. Of the five Dark Wizards, only the leader remained, his limbs broken and body riddled with injuries; the rest had been reduced to ash. "Ah—Wait... in Merlin's name!" The surviving Dark Wizard dropped his shattered wand, groaning as he raised his fractured arms above his head. "We're just hounds paid to do a job—please let me go, I'm willing to serve you, anything…" Sagres nodded. "You only need to do one thing…" The Dark Wizard seemed to know what was coming. His broken hand moved, and an intact wand suddenly appeared in his grasp—"Avada…" Splat~ A flash of red light. Sagres's silent spell, sharp enough to cleave iron, sliced clean through the wand, severing the four fingers holding it—and half the man's head. "I knew it…" Sagres turned away with disdain and walked toward Nightingale. "Watch out!" Just as he helped Nightingale to her feet, an urgent cry burst from her lips. A tall Werewolf suddenly leapt from the boiling mud, pouncing toward Sagres with sharp claws wreathed in burning black flames. "Scarlet Rend!" While the Werewolf was still mid-air, Sagres's wand had already aimed at its expected landing point. A searing red light flashed, and the lunging Werewolf was instantly reduced to a puddle of red liquid, splashing back at even greater speed. "No!" The moment the Werewolf was torn apart and melted by the spell, an angry roar echoed from afar. Sagres twirled his wand, and the swirling red liquid abruptly solidified into dense, blood-colored crystals that shot toward the source of the voice. Then he waved his hand, summoning a gentle breeze that scattered the lingering smoke on the battlefield. Only then did he clearly see the figure who had just cried out in rage. "I wonder who it is…" Sagres's voice was calm as still water. "Turns out it's the infamous Werewolf leader, a wanted criminal who kills Muggles for fun… Fenrir Greyback." As his words fell, a tall figure emerged from the dissipating smoke. Though he had reverted to his human form, his twisted face and sharp, yellowed teeth still bore clear Werewolf features. Under the earlier barrage of blood-red crystals, Fenrir was riddled with small wounds. His matted fur was soaked in mud and blood, making him appear grotesque and savage. "I know you, Sagres…" A hoarse voice grated from his throat, full of hatred and disgust. As he spoke, his yellow eyes flicked toward Nightingale behind Sagres, his disgust even more pronounced. It was this woman who had caused them heavy losses, even costing his brother's life… Greyback dug a blood-red crystal from his flesh and clenched it tightly in his hand—his brother's blood. "Greengrass family cub, let's end this here. I won't—" "Did I say it would end here?" Sagres coldly interrupted the Werewolf, his wand raised in warning. "Do you want to be marked by the Blood Moon Alliance?" Greyback suppressed the urge to transform, grinding out each word through clenched teeth. "Kill me, and you'll become the target of every Werewolf's hunt…" "Heh, hunt me?" Sagres scoffed. "By you? A mongrel cub infected by a wild dog?" He twirled the battered, second-hand wand in his hand, shaking his head with disdain. "Or do you actually think you're someone important?" The insult cut deep. Rage filled Greyback's face, his spine cracking audibly as fury surged from his chest to his throat: "Awooo~" Like the sound of metal grinding mixed with viscous, bloody foam, Fenrir Greyback's last shred of sanity vanished with that howl. Saliva mixed with blood dripped from his fangs, and the hot breath he expelled while howling carried the stench of rotting flesh. He — a mad wizard who had willingly infected himself with lycanthropy to gain power. He — a Werewolf leader who had harmed countless Muggles and infected many Wizards. He — a magical creature who spread endless fear and left behind countless bloody curses. Was now being pointed at with a wand by an inferior wizard—insulted like a dog being scolded. Anger gave him strength. When the transformed Werewolf Fenrir pounced, wrapped in a foul gust of wind, Sagres raised his hand and cast a silent Freezing Charm, instantly freezing the savage creature like an insect in amber. Then, with a casual flick of his wand, Sagres stirred the swamp water. Under the effect of the Homorphus Charm, the liquid transformed into a cage of sharp spikes, once again trapping the Werewolf who had just broken free. Immediately after, the spiked cage ignited with flames, cruelly torturing the already wounded Werewolf until he was completely mangled. A series of humiliating attacks silenced the angry howls in Greyback's throat, leaving only the whimpers of a defeated dog. But he still muttered under his breath, "You wouldn't dare kill me… you can't bear the mark of the Blood Moon Alliance's pursuit…" Sagres leaned in close, extended his wand to Greyback's rapidly beating heart, and said indifferently, "Then let your Werewolf cubs try." "Magicae Litis!" A strange light flashed from the tip of the wand. Fenrir began to scream uncontrollably, and in his gradually weakening wails, he reverted to his human form. Fenrir Greyback was dead.