"Creak
The iron-clad wooden door was pushed open, and the screeching friction of the door hinges couldn't drown out the intermittent laughter and curses from inside.
This pub, hidden next to the entrance of the underground catacombs in Edinburgh's Old Town, looked particularly eerie and terrifying—
Like Knockturn Alley, this pub was also one of the gathering places for Dark Wizards.
Compared to Knockturn Alley in London, this place was more remote and more dangerous.
The walls were exposed rocks from an underground cave, with a few unknown skeletons hanging on them, their eye sockets flickering with ghostly blue flames.
The air was filled with a scent more pungent than cheap whiskey:
It was the sour smell of rotting raw meat, the bitter tang of unknown potions, and the sweat of burly men.
Kevin frowned, subtly pulling his hood further forward to cover half his face, revealing only his lean jaw and a hideous scar—
After all, Kevin's appearance still bore a seventy to eighty percent resemblance to his previous self, and this scar could effectively prevent the Ministry of Magic from linking the two.
He walked to the bar and slapped three bronze Knuts onto the scratched oak counter.
The Wizard behind the bar was a woman.
She glanced at Kevin and asked in a hoarse voice:
"What do you want?"
"The cheapest," Kevin's voice was still very hoarse, as if abraded by sandpaper, "as long as it gets me drunk."
The woman fumbled under the counter for a chipped ceramic mug, poured some murky liquid, and pushed it over.
The smell wafting from the mug made Kevin's stomach churn—
The cheap alcohol seemed to be mixed with something else, capable of both intoxicating and inducing harmless hallucinations, making it one of the most favored drinks among these desperadoes.
Kevin took the mug and retreated to a corner, leaning against the cold rock wall.
Having already cast a heightened senses spell on himself before entering, Kevin didn't need to strain to listen; the whispers obscured by the noise were as clear as shadows in daylight to his perception.
"...The Malfoys have been much more restrained lately, because I heard that Minister Moan, who advocates for pure-blood supremacy, is about to fall..."
"...There's a crazy Witch lurking in Devon, specifically stealing young Little Wizards, saying she wants to use their blood to water some 'Ancestor's Flower'..."
"...The Ministry of Magic's new decrees are a joke; those officials can't even manage their own affairs, yet they come to manage us?"
Most of these words were like dust floating in the wind, largely worthless.
Kevin's fingertips gently slid along the rim of the mug, only slightly raising his head when he heard valuable information.
It wasn't until midnight when a corpulent Wizard, reeking of alcohol, burst through the pub door that a hint of abnormality appeared in the din.
The Wizard wore a stained silk waistcoat, with a gold watch chain dangling from his pocket, jingling with every step he took, completely out of place with the pub's gloom.
"Move aside, all of you!"
He let out a belch, spraying spittle onto the face of a tall, thin Wizard nearby.
"Do you know who I am? I'm the one who can make those old geezers in the Wizengamot nod and bow!"
The pub instantly fell silent for a moment, then erupted into uproarious laughter.
"Brock, are you drunk? The Wizengamot? They'd be merciful if they didn't throw you into Azkaban!"
"Exactly! Last time you said you were Dumbledore's distant cousin!"
The corpulent Wizard, called Brock, flushed red and stood up as if to argue, but then seemed to remember something and sat back down.
His reaction drew more mockery, and even the one-eyed woman behind the bar let out a scoff.
But Kevin's hand, resting on his knee, tightened slightly—
Possessing "Turbidity," Kevin had a remarkably keen perception of emotions, and Brock's outrageous claims didn't seem to be entirely drunken lies.
"In the most absurd lies, the sharpest fragments are often hidden."
Kevin tilted his head back, downing the cheap alcohol in his mug. A burning sensation slid down his throat, but it couldn't disperse the chill brought by "Turbidity."
He watched as Brock was propped up by two companions and walked towards the door, his steps unsteady, seemingly somewhat unconvinced.
When the pub door closed again, Kevin silently stood up and slipped out the back door like a shadow.
The alleys of Edinburgh's Old Town twisted like a maze, with puddles on the flagstone streets reflecting scattered streetlights.
Keeping a distance of twenty paces, Kevin followed the three men, Brock and his companions, not too far, not too close. He could hear their argument—
"You're truly insane, daring to expose our secret in the pub!"
"What's there to be afraid of? Even without Lord Grindelwald… once the remaining blood contracts are gathered…"
"Shut up! Do you want the Aurors to know?"
The footsteps stopped before a dead-end alley.
Brock's two companions seemed to have reached their limit and shoved him against the wall:
"Sober up yourself, you idiot!" They then turned and quickly left.
Brock slumped to the ground, leaning against the cold stone wall and snoring.
Kevin waited for a moment, and once he confirmed no one was around, he slowly walked over.
"The blood contract matter,"
Kevin's voice was like the wind in the alley, carrying a bone-chilling coldness, "Tell me about it."
Brock suddenly woke with a start, his drunken eyes hazy as he looked up: "Who? Who are you?"
Kevin didn't answer, merely raising his wand. A trace of grayish-black light flashed from its tip:
"Petrificus Totalus."
Brock's body instantly stiffened, only his eyeballs still able to move, the drunkenness on his face replaced by terror:
"You… you're an Auror? No… you're not…"
He could feel a cold power wrapping around his body with the spell, like countless icy hands moving beneath his skin.
Brock's pupils contracted violently.
He had spent most of his life in Dark Wizard circles, seen all sorts of tortures, but had never felt such pure coldness—
Unlike violent Dark Arts, it was a chilling cold that could freeze the soul, reminding him of the Dementor-drained corpses he had seen during his exile in Eastern Europe.
"Veritaserum,"
Kevin pulled out a small vial from his cloak, the liquid inside glowing with an eerie silver light,
"I didn't want to go this far, sir. But this method seems more efficient."
"I… I'll talk!" Brock's voice trembled uncontrollably, "I was bragging! I don't know anyone in the Wizengamot!"
Kevin unscrewed the cap and poured half the Veritaserum into his mouth. The potion dissolved instantly, and Brock's eyes immediately became vacant, as if his soul had been drawn out.
"The blood contract you just mentioned," Kevin crouched down, his gaze as sharp as a scalpel, "What is it?"
"It's… it's Grindelwald's blood contract…" Brock's voice became mechanical and flat, "When he was in power, he made all those who wanted to join later sign it… using their own blood and souls as collateral… if they betrayed him, they would be devoured by the contract…"
"You have some?"
"Not us… it's the boss… the boss has three copies… We fled to Britain, looking for an opportunity… but the Ministry of Magic has been hunting us… those Aurors are like mad dogs sniffing out blood…"
"Where is your stronghold?"
"In… in an abandoned quarry in Stirling County… hidden in…"
Before he finished speaking, urgent footsteps suddenly echoed from the alley entrance. Three dark figures rushed in, their wand tips glowing red: "Brock! You traitor!"
Kevin whipped his head around, recognizing the newcomers—they were the two Wizards who had been drinking with Brock earlier, plus a muscular stranger.
"Catch him! He heard about the blood contract!" The muscular man roared, raising his wand, "Avada Kedavra!"
Green light tore through the night. Kevin simultaneously rolled to the side, the green light grazing his cloak as it flew past, striking the stone wall behind him and exploding into a charred mess. The moment he landed, he flicked his wand back: "Confringo!"
A grayish-black spell whistled out, faster and heavier than a normal blasting curse, like a cursed boulder smashing towards the muscular man.
The Wizard hastily conjured a small bronze shield, but it shattered with a roar after half a second of resistance, and the spell hit him squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward uncontrollably, his body twisted into a pretzel, leaning against the wall unconscious.
The other two Wizards froze in fear. Kevin didn't give them a chance to react, his body closing in like a phantom, his left hand pressing against one of their faces, the power of "Turbidity" surging through his fingertips—
The Wizard's pupils instantly dilated, his face contorting into an expression of extreme terror, as if he had entered the most horrific nightmare. His wand clattered to the ground, and he collapsed, never to rise again.
The last Wizard turned and ran, shouting incoherently: "Is anyone there! There are Dark Wizards fighting here!"
Kevin frowned, raising his wand at his retreating back: "Imperio."
A cold ripple emanated from the wand tip, and the Wizard's body suddenly stiffened, stopping his loud shouts. He then turned around like a puppet on strings, his eyes showing struggle and pain, then he tremblingly raised his wand and aimed it at his own temple.
"Stupefy!"
A sharp shout suddenly came from the alley entrance, accompanied by several urgent footsteps.
Kevin glimpsed three Aurors in dark blue trench coats rushing in, led by a short-haired Witch with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
Kevin did not linger in combat. He quickly pointed his wand at Brock and the Wizard controlled by the Imperio Curse: "Bone-Scorching Flames!"
Eerie blue flames burned extremely quickly, instantly consuming both their bodies, leaving no ashes—
Having done all this, he leaped onto the wall, and in a few bounds, disappeared into the shadows of the Old Town rooftops.
"Chase him!" The short-haired Witch roared, waving her hand, "He killed those Dark Wizards! And Brock! Quickly notify the Ministry of Magic, we need backup!"
The Aurors' footsteps gradually faded away.
Kevin stopped in the shadow of a clock tower, looking down at his wand.
The wand tip still emanated waves of coldness. Kevin clicked his tongue, savoring the efficient and deadly strike, feeling even greater reverence for his great master's power.
"Blood contract…" Kevin repeated the word softly, the "Turbidity" within him gently trembling, as if yearning for something, "The master will definitely be interested."
He oriented himself and then sped towards Stirling County.
The night wind lifted his cloak, revealing a map hidden inside, with a marked circle in ink—an abandoned quarry.
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