[Intentional Punch: Blocking enemy attacks accumulates special potential energy, which can be unleashed in one explosive counterattack with tremendous force.]
[Note: Damage increases dramatically against enemies of the opposite sex.]
Wayne's lips twitched.
Enemies of the opposite sex...
If Grindelwald or Dumbledore were the receiving party... would that count?
Far away in Nurmengard, Grindelwald, who was sleeping under a thin blanket, sneezed involuntarily.
"Never mind. Like card tricks, just treat it as another attack method."
Wayne was quite pleased. The biggest gain today wasn't the two epic rewards but the discovery that the system could actually drop equipment.
Opening his stats panel, Wayne glanced at his current power level:
[Host: Wayne Lawrence]
Magical Power: SSS (Current MP: 2.6 D)
Charms: SSS
White Magic: SSS
Dark Magic: SSS+
Transfiguration: SSS
Potions: SSS-
Alchemy: SS
Special Talents: Gathering Storm, Thunderlord's Decree, etc...]
[Power Evaluation: Unrivalled in the world. You can proudly declare, 'I don't eat beef.']
Unrivalled in the world.
Those few words summarised Wayne's current situation.
Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Voldemort—they were all just Western European Jerrys, not a single one capable of putting up a fight.
At best, they could run away.
After all, the magical world had all sorts of escape methods, impossible to guard against.
Back in the day, someone at James Potter's level had managed to escape Voldemort three times before being marked as a mortal enemy.
Just a bit more effort!
Wayne clapped his hands, psyching himself up.
He could feel he was nearing the late stages of this realm, soon to hit the barrier. Once he broke through, he'd become a legend of this era.
His rapid progress wasn't just due to Ravenclaw's Diadem—it was mostly his hard work.
Ahem...
Well, that was part of it.
But more importantly, Gathering Storm was starting to show its power.
In the early stages, Gathering Storm was inconspicuous, feeding back magical power every three months with minimal increases. But over time, the numbers became terrifying.
In the past year alone, he'd gained almost one D in magical power.
How many Snapes was that...?
Wayne estimated that, at this rate, he'd hit the barrier before graduation even if he did nothing.
If he put in a bit more effort...
A small goal: break through to legendary by the fifth year, or at the latest, the start of the sixth year.
Gazing at the moon, Wayne spread his palm, and the Holy Grail appeared, spinning lazily.
Under the moonlight, it reflected a faint glow.
Now, the Holy Grail was little more than an empty shell. After its full unsealing, its vast magical power had surged into his forehead. A single thought was all it took to make a wish.
What troubled him now was how to use this wish.
Directly boosting his power was undoubtedly the worst choice.
The system had already declared him beef-averse, and his current progress wasn't slow. Wasting a precious wish just to save some time was completely unnecessary.
Unless he hit a wall at the legendary breakthrough, then he might use it as a boost.
Pondering the possibilities of the wish, Wayne gradually closed his eyes.
...
Officially on holiday, Wayne didn't waste a single moment, immediately switching to debt-repayment mode.
Having spent most of the year at school with few opportunities to return to London, he'd naturally had little time to spend with Penelope and Grace.
Grace was easier to manage—they occasionally sparred at night. But Penelope, still living with her family, made things rather inconvenient.
Now that Penelope had completed her NEWTs and officially graduated, she could finally move out. Wayne promptly found a flat near the Ministry of Magic as their love nest.
Then he didn't return home for two days and nights.
The golden-haired, wavy-haired senior now resembled a fully bloomed flower, radiating astonishing charm that Wayne couldn't get enough of.
However, by the third day, Wayne had no choice but to emerge.
"You're resigning?"
In Grace's home, Wayne stared at the young woman before him with utter astonishment.
"Why? Did someone in the Auror Office bully you?"
Just moments ago, Grace had suddenly announced her intention to resign from the Ministry.
To be precise, it should be considered leaving before officially starting.
She'd passed the Auror tests but never reported to the Ministry.
"No." Grace shook her head. "Though there are a few unpleasant people in the Auror Office, we don't interact. Separate the well water from the river water."
"I just find it all rather dull. Daily life feels tedious and somewhat boring."
Wayne opened his mouth but didn't know how to persuade her.
"Then what else would you like to do? I'll support you whatever you choose."
It wasn't that he particularly wanted Grace to become an Auror—he mainly worried about her wandering off alone and stumbling into some dangerous ancient tomb again.
Grace didn't answer directly but countered: "Any news from Borgin and Burkes?"
"He's been busy dealing with the Rosier family recently and has only just freed up his hands. There won't be any progress for a while yet."
"Then I'll go travelling." Grace nestled into Wayne's embrace, wriggling slightly. "I plan to travel the world for a year."
"What about me?" Wayne protested unhappily.
Grace looked at him with an amused smile. "Do you even have time to spare?"
"Absolutely." Wayne was shameless. "Worst case, I'll steal a Time-Turner to make time."
Grace: "..."
This man was beyond saving, to the point of actually considering using a Time-Turner for time management.
"Just one year, alright?" Grace cradled Wayne's head, speaking as softly as if coaxing a child. "You know I can't stay idle. After seeing everything out there, perhaps I'll settle down afterwards.
"I'll make it up to you properly when I return."
Wayne was still hesitant, but seeing her determination, he reluctantly agreed.
Perhaps it was for the best. Next year's Britain wouldn't be peaceful—travelling might help her avoid some dangers.
"Wait a few more days, then. I'll prepare some protective items for you."
He also produced a large bag of coins and a bank card, which Grace accepted without hesitation.
Between them, such formalities were unnecessary.
She was already Wayne's woman—what was wrong with using some of his money?
...
So Wayne stayed at Grace's house for a few more days, crafting a full set of equipment for her.
Attack, defence, escape, survival—everything was covered.
There were even two vials of Ho-Oh's tears for emergencies. She was practically armed to the teeth.
On the first day of July, Grace had already bought her ticket to Constantinople.
Wayne saw her off at the airport.
After their final kiss, Grace pulled a gemstone necklace from her chest, unclasped it from behind, and placed it in Wayne's hand.
"Keep this as a memento."
Wayne looked puzzled. "I've never seen you take this necklace off before. Why give it to me now?"
Grace smoothed her hair and gazed at the gemstone necklace in Wayne's hand with a charming smile.
"The Head at the orphanage said this necklace came with me when I first arrived. It was my most precious treasure... until I met you. Why keep it now?"
"D—"
Before Wayne could speak, a finger pressed against his lips.
"Take good care of it for me. Don't lose it, alright?"
With that, Grace turned and walked away.
Watching her retreating figure, Wayne could only shake his head helplessly before tucking the necklace away.
He planned to use it as a clue to investigate Grace's origins.
Exiting the airport, Wayne squinted at the bright sunlight overhead, feeling like he'd forgotten something important but unable to recall what.
After standing blankly for a long moment, he suddenly smacked his forehead.
"Crouch!"
He'd completely forgotten about Crouch still being detained by Fudge all these days.
Because of young Barty's involvement, he'd been held in the Ministry of Magic's temporary prison, not yet sent to Azkaban—mainly because they couldn't settle on a proper charge.
Since Fudge refused to acknowledge Voldemort's return, he couldn't admit young Barty had escaped and nearly killed him either.
Thus, there was no valid pretext to convict Crouch.
But leaving Crouch imprisoned indefinitely wasn't an option. Wayne quickly contacted several Wizengamot members to pressure the Ministry.
Finally, two days later, Crouch was reinstated and walked out of the Ministry unharmed.
Wayne visited his home immediately.
"You've had a rough time," Wayne said warmly, patting Crouch's shoulder.
"It's nothing."
Crouch had grown accustomed to his employer's unreliability.
Besides, during his confinement, Fudge hadn't dared mistreat him—just restricted his movements.
"What exactly happened?"
He'd been imprisoned before learning the full story, only knowing it involved young Barty.
Wayne extracted a silvery memory strand.
"See for yourself."
Crouch took out a Pensieve, poured in the memory, and immersed himself in it.
After a long while, he emerged with a complex mix of emotions.
Wayne then produced the young Barty's body, preserved by magic to appear freshly deceased despite the passage of time.
Gazing at the lifeless face, Crouch struggled to articulate his feelings.
This was, after all, his only son—his late wife's final request entrusted to him.
Naturally, he grieved his death.
Yet Crouch understood young Barty had to die. He had committed too many wrongs without the slightest remorse. Even if Wayne had brainwashed him and altered his cognition, did erasing memories mean past crimes vanished?
If such rules truly existed, social order would collapse entirely. Anyone could kill at will, then simply wipe their memories afterwards.
"Winky," croaked Crouch.
The house-elf Winky appeared instantly, her large eyes brimming with tears as she looked at young Barty on the floor. Spotting Wayne standing nearby, she didn't even dare to sob.
"Bury the young master in the family plot—in the grave prepared for him long ago."
"Yes, Master."
The house-elf took Barty away. Crouch poured himself a glass of red wine, downed three in quick succession, his face flushing crimson before he finally exhaled deeply, regaining his composure.
"Let me guess—Fudge chose the most foolish path, refusing to acknowledge Voldemort's return, didn't he?"
"Correct."
"So he's fallen out with Dumbledore?"
"The resentment has been building for years. Fudge's dissatisfaction with Dumbledore isn't new." Wayne sat opposite Crouch, sighing. "Even over a decade ago, when he was still Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes, he already disliked Dumbledore."
"Oh?" Crouch seemed genuinely surprised this time. "Did Fudge tell you that himself?"
"He sought me out for a talk after returning to London."
"Deep down, he already believes Voldemort has returned. But he's still thrashing about in desperation, so he struck a deal with me."
"He asked me not to interfere in his feud with Dumbledore and to prepare a dignified exit for him—no retribution."
"In return, he'd place my people in key positions. Once he steps down, we can smoothly take over the Ministry of Magic."
"That was Fudge's idea?" Crouch sounded sceptical.
Wayne replied coolly, "I used the Legilimency Spell. It was his own thought."
"Seems I underestimated him."
Crouch echoed Wayne's earlier sentiment. He'd always considered Fudge a complete fool, but it appeared the man had some wits in critical moments.
"So what's your plan?" Crouch relaxed slightly. "Will Madam Greengrass become Minister for Magic?"
"She never had such ambitions." Wayne shook his head. "Once Astoria fully recovers, Madam Greengrass intends to devote most of her time to family."
"Then it falls to me?" Crouch frowned.
It wasn't that he didn't want the position, but his past stains—especially with Voldemort's return—would be magnified endlessly.
"Not you either." Wayne's lips curved slightly. "I'll push you into the role of Head Auror. Controlling the armed forces is enough."
"Then who have you chosen?" Crouch was baffled.
Wayne held many cards, but the only ones fit for Minister were himself and Madam Greengrass.
Amelia Bones, perhaps?
Though they got along, Bones' unbending principles made her an unlikely ally. Someone so fixated on right and wrong joining their... little faction... wouldn't end well—ideological clashes were inevitable.
Wayne picked up the teacup beside him, blew on it, then drained it in one gulp.
He uttered something Crouch didn't understand.
"That blasted Scottish weather, still so cold even in summer. Professor Dumbledore really ought to have an extra layer..."