"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 401: My Sister Would Never Betray Me!
Marco looked at Douglas, his eyes fierce and unwavering.
"It's not pride that kept me from seeking help in person. The truth is, with my identity, I can't set foot outside the Apennines."
"The Church has eyes everywhere, always watching. If I show myself, it wouldn't just be my own life at risk—I'd bring disaster down on the whole tribe."
"And even if I somehow slipped past their spies, as a werewolf, there's no way I could enter the British wizarding world to visit you. It's just not possible."
"In the end, it was Isabella who came up with a solution. She thought we might use Deputy Director Lorenzo and, in the name of the Italian Ministry of Magic, try to invite you for an official visit. That way, everything would be aboveboard, and you'd have at least some degree of protection. We never imagined things would turn out... even harder than we'd feared."
Marco's voice grew low, the weight of a pack leader heavy in the flickering firelight.
Outside, the cave echoed with the tribe's quiet murmurs—children crying, wounded warriors stifling their pain. Each sound was a knife, a bitter reminder of how much they'd already lost.
He stared at the stone wall, guilt flickering in his eyes—a flicker Douglas caught at once.
The air inside the cave thickened, heavy with the gravity of Marco's honesty, but also more genuine for it.
Even the bitter mushroom soup seemed to take on a complicated, human warmth.
Lupin cradled his bowl, the rising steam blurring his vision.
His heart churned. Every word from Marco was a stone cast into the deep waters of his own memory, sending ripples through old wounds.
Bitten as a child. Parents who never abandoned him, no matter the cost. Choosing exile to spare those he loved, finally finding a home among his own kind, and taking on a crushing responsibility...
How painfully familiar.
But where Marco had forged himself into the alpha, protector of his pack, Lupin had once nearly drowned in self-loathing—until Dumbledore and his friends pulled him back into the light.
Looking at the resolute werewolf chief before him, Lupin felt a tangled surge of kinship and admiration.
Silence thickened. Only the fire's crackle echoed in the cavern.
Then Douglas set down his clay bowl with a soft, deliberate tap.
Clink.
The sound cut through the hush like a pebble breaking the surface of a still lake, shattering the fragile warmth.
"So you've figured it out," Douglas said, voice utterly calm.
Marco jerked his head up, confusion flashing in his eyes.
Douglas met his gaze, lips curved in a faint, chilly smile.
"I mean how the attackers found you."
Understanding dawned. Marco shot to his feet.
His tall form loomed in the firelight, casting a huge, menacing shadow.
"My sister would never betray me!"
His voice was raw with outrage, like a beast whose most sacred boundary had been crossed.
But Douglas remained composed, not even shifting in his seat.
He raised a hand, palm down, a soothing gesture. "I never said it was her," he replied lightly, a trace of amusement in his tone. "I know she would never betray you."
He looked through the wavering firelight, locking eyes with Marco's fury.
"But you're forgetting something. She works for the Italian Ministry of Magic. Every move she makes is watched by people with their own agendas."
"Especially when she started asking questions about a famous Brit—someone who'd improved the Wolfsbane Potion."
Marco's face drained of color.
Douglas's tone was as cool and detached as ever, as if he were simply stating a fact.
"Isabella is clever. But sometimes, when you care too much, you make mistakes."
"The very precautions she took to contact you made her easier to track."
The cave seemed to freeze.
Marco sank back down, voice hoarse. "So... the Order of St. Benedict found us because of traces left by Isabella?"
Douglas didn't answer directly. He simply lifted his now-cool bowl, took another sip, and let the bitterness linger.
Pain and guilt twisted across Marco's face.
Douglas set the bowl aside, then delivered the real blow:
"The Order of St. Benedict—disciplined, ruthless. Last time you faced them, you suffered heavy casualties. Is that right?"
Marco nodded.
"And this time? You were hit hard, but you said not a single person died. Doesn't that seem... suspiciously merciful?"
Marco froze, stunned.
In his mind, the chaos of that day replayed itself. The attackers had fought fiercely, their weapons unmistakably those of the Order of St. Benedict—arrows dusted with silver, spells tinged with holy light.
But...
Now that he thought about it, their tactics had been sloppy, even awkward. They moved like a band of strangers thrown together at the last minute, relying more on equipment and brute force than discipline or teamwork. Nothing like the deadly, well-drilled unit from before.
That's right. Nothing like them.
Last time, they'd lost so much.
This time, despite the injuries, no one had died.
"Their goal was never to wipe you out."
Douglas's voice was cold and sharp, like a stone striking ice.
"More precisely..."
He paused, letting the chill settle over the cave.
"They tracked you using the trail Isabella left while trying to reach me. That's how they found you."
"Your tribe was just the grass rustled to flush out the real prey in this hunt."
Douglas fixed Marco with a steely gaze, enunciating every word:
"...the bait."
That word stung more than any curse.
It was a poison-tipped barb, sinking deep into Marco's pride.
They were wolves. The proud Ashclaw of the Apennines. They had outwitted the Church, fought vampires, survived the impossible—never once bowing their heads.
And now, someone was telling him that all their sacrifice, their near-destruction, was nothing but a sideshow on someone else's chessboard. That every struggle, every loss, was just to stir the grass and flush out the true prey.
Marco's fists clenched until his knuckles blanched, the sound echoing in the firelit gloom.
But the rage in his eyes slowly gave way to something deeper: fear and bewilderment.
"Why?"
He forced the word out through gritted teeth.
"Who is it? The Church? What do they want?"
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