How could Voldemort not want to win?
If there had still been even the slightest chance of defeating Dumbledore and Tver through ordinary means, he would never have resorted to the extreme methods he had learned from Herpo the Foul, consuming what little remained of his own soul.
And as long as he could defeat Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Marvolio, then absorb their powerful souls, and then reclaim the missing piece of his own soul from Harry, his soul would no longer be as broken as it was now. It would even reach an unprecedented level of power.
At that thought, a flash of eagerness crossed his eyes, and he searched the crowd of students in secret.
In his current state, his soul was absolutely no match for Dumbledore's.
According to his plan, these Death Eaters and Dark Wizards were exactly what Dumbledore had said they were. Consumables meant to delay Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
And the reason he had not attacked the castle at once was to lure Harry out.
Only by absorbing his Horcrux could he maintain something close to his peak state and face Dumbledore.
But having lost the last rational part of his soul, Voldemort did not notice the complicated expressions on the faces of the Death Eaters under him.
Or perhaps, in his current state, he had no mind to care about such things at all.
"Did the Dark Lord truly never care about us?" Alecto asked sadly, looking at Voldemort's back.
The Death Eaters around her, including the ever-loyal Bella, were silent.
They had once complained that the Dark Lord had failed to fulfill his duties as a leader, but that was only in comparison to Tver's outstanding leadership.
For Dark Wizards like them, who longed to achieve pure-blood supremacy, the only person in the wizarding world they could follow was the Dark Lord.
So no matter how disheartened they were, a trace of hope still remained in their hearts.
Perhaps the Dark Lord's final plan really had succeeded?
It was precisely because of that belief that they had thrown themselves without hesitation into this war, one that seemed so unequal in strength.
Of course, the favorable situation last night had also allowed them to temporarily forget their old grievances.
But now, Dumbledore's words had struck straight at the heart, and the dissatisfaction they had buried deep inside instantly rose to the surface.
If they were all nothing more than stepping stones for the Dark Lord, then what did a world of Pure-Blood Supremacy have to do with them?
If the Dark Lord did not even want to realize their original ideal, and was only using their lives to vent the anger he had accumulated all this time...
Then what meaning was there in fighting here?
That thought spread silently like a virus, taking root and sprouting in the heart of every Death Eater.
The Dark Wizards Voldemort had tricked into coming here had not experienced so much. Compared with the Death Eaters, they could practically be called slaves to dark magic.
They had joined Voldemort's ranks for the madness of being able to use dark magic without restraint.
So at Voldemort's command, those Dark Wizards who had originally been at the back instead howled with excitement and charged to the very front.
Then.
On one of the castle towers, a huge round barrel as wide as Hagrid's waist suddenly emerged. Its muzzle was as deep as a black hole, hidden in the shadows and unnoticed by anyone.
But in the next second, everyone knew it was there.
"Boom!"
The great barrel let out a deafening blast.
Even more terrifying was what came after the flash of fire. An oval object, moving so fast that only a trail of flame could be seen behind it, smashed toward Voldemort's direction.
"Boom!"
Before anyone could react, an explosion that seemed ready to shatter the ground erupted among the Dark Wizards.
But unlike an ordinary explosion, what burst out was not flame and shrapnel, but all kinds of colorful Charms flying wildly in every direction.
One Dark Wizard had just been feeling lucky that he had not charged at the very front, only to find that strange cylinder exploding right in front of him.
Caught completely off guard, he was thrown high into the air by the enormous impact along with no fewer than ten Charms.
By the time he crashed back to the ground, his face had swollen like a pig's head, and his mouth was uncontrollably spewing out sticky slugs. But because he had lost consciousness, he could only passively swallow them back down.
The sight made everyone feel sick.
George, the culprit behind it all, had been watching the results with great excitement, but even he could not help retching at the scene.
"I told you, Fred, we shouldn't use something purely disgusting like this. I feel like it's doing more damage to our side!"
"You're the one who said that spell could greatly weaken the enemy's ability to fight." Fred also looked unable to bear it and turned his eyes away.
This great barrel was, of course, their nearly perfected Blasting.
The reason they did not use gunpowder like muggles, but used Charms as the source of damage instead, was entirely because in the enclosed environment of Hogwarts, gunpowder explosions and flying shrapnel were far more likely to injure their own people.
Besides, once the Dark Wizards adapted to gunpowder explosions, they could work together and use a single kind of Shield Charm to block the equally simple explosive damage and impact.
But Charms were different.
Although their actual lethality was lower, the range and methods of attack became far more complicated.
And Charms flew at different speeds. Often, the moment a Dark Wizard blocked one wave of attacks, the next wave of Jinxes had already rushed straight into his face.
So with just one shot, more than a dozen Dark Wizards completely lost the ability to fight, while another twenty or so were covered in acne and rolling on the ground in pain.
The Dark Wizards' forward momentum stalled, but Hogwarts' morale rose even higher.
At first, everyone had been doubtful about the Weasley twins' ugly anti-curse sets. But now that they had seen the power of Blasting, the ones howling became them instead.
Of course, the ones still charging at the very front were the Order of the Phoenix team led by Dumbledore, who bore the fiercest attacks from the Dark Wizards almost entirely.
But Grindelwald was not Dumbledore. He also wanted to protect the students, but the problem was that his only student was missing.
The anger he had been accumulating since last night erupted in an instant, and for the first time in many years, he displayed his strength without holding anything back.
With each wave of his wand, all kinds of bizarre dark magic, so strange that even these Dark Wizards had never seen anything like it, swept toward them from every direction.
If Grindelwald had not remembered Dumbledore's request that he restrain himself a little, he could have overturned the entire lawn in front of the castle.
On the battlefield, Grindelwald alone seemed to serve as all of Hogwarts' offensive firepower, beating the Dark Wizards into greater and greater confusion.
Dumbledore was one thing, but when had the wizarding world produced another old man this powerful?
Strangely, however, Voldemort paid no attention to these subordinates, who were as fragile as little mice before Grindelwald. Instead, he used the chaos of the battlefield to quietly approach his target.
"Harry Potter..."
Like a black shadow, he gradually loomed over Harry.
What he did not know was that Harry, who seemed completely unaware, and Dumbledore, who had been watching from afar all along, were both waiting for this very moment.