https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-437-Gellert-Grindelwald-s-Paper-Airplane/13685456/
Chapter 438: Gellert Grindelwald's Heir?
In the past, Wade had often wondered—could Muggle weapons really kill wizards of the caliber of Dumbledore, Voldemort, or Gellert Grindelwald? Even the most powerful wizards had vulnerabilities: high offense, low defense. Take Professor McGonagall—master of Transfiguration, later Headmistress of Hogwarts—she’d nearly been killed by four Stun Spells. And yet, despite their mastery of formidable magic, all three had ultimately fallen to the Killing Curse. Voldemort, in particular, had died twice—both times by the rebound of his own curse.
Wade had originally imagined that modern weaponry, with its relentless, high-intensity firestorm, could force even the most elite wizards into panic, disrupting their ability to Apparate calmly—potentially enough to kill them.
But he never expected to witness such a scene of overwhelming firepower… coming from Gellert Grindelwald himself.
The wall was reduced to rubble. Elegant, imposing buildings lay in ruins. Figures—once indistinct and countless—vanished in flashes of flame and explosions, like shadows swallowed by fire. Two tanks and a missile launcher, previously hidden behind cover, were obliterated.
Lives dissolved like dew under the sun—yet, because Wade didn’t see bodies or blood, the horror didn’t feel visceral. Instead, it was breathtaking, dazzling, almost majestic.
It was no different than a swarm of small drones raining fire upon the ground.
He didn’t know whether anyone could survive such a barrage—unless they’d already hidden deep within a solid basement.
After hearing Gellert Grindelwald speak of Muggle weapons, Wade fell silent for a moment, then finally asked, curiosity overcoming restraint:
“Those paper airplanes… were they prepared long ago?”
This wasn’t mere folding. These planes carried loads far exceeding natural buoyancy. Some even dodged bullets—clearly, they used Alchemy. Even simple versions weren’t accessible to just anyone. Mastery required more than skill—it demanded understanding.
If this was a decade-long buildup—“ten years to forge a sword, one strike to shatter the world”—then it might make sense. The Wizard Purity Party had limited Alchemy apprentices, and crafting these planes would take years. They were disposable, one-use only—no recovery possible.
But Gellert Grindelwald’s lips curled into a faint smile as he replied:
“Wade, if Muggles wanted to mass-produce identical items, how would they do it?”
Wade hesitated.
“Assembly line production?”
Aslan Magical Workshop used that method—allowing them to produce vast quantities quickly, dominate the market, and launch new products globally.
Gellert Grindelwald nodded.
“We do the same. The time these little beauties take isn’t what you think.”
—Assembly line production?
Dreian thought, not daring to ask. He filed the term away, vowing to look it up later.
He was a quintessential Pureblood—longing for wizardkind to rule over Muggles, yet contemptuous of learning about the other world. But now, seeing his idol embracing Muggle knowledge, witnessing a paper airplane—once just a messenger—transform into a weapon of such terrifying precision… his perspective began to shift, quietly, irrevocably.
Gellert Grindelwald suddenly laughed.
“It seems the rats can’t hide anymore… Gunter, deal with them!”
The paper airplanes were spent. The people who’d been hiding emerged—black vehicles bursting from underground, roaring as they tried to flank the wizards from both sides. Round cannon barrels extended from their flanks, humming with a low, ominous tone.
Dreian’s eyes sharpened instantly. He pressed his left ear and gave the command. In a blink, he Apparated to the front line, wand raised.
Wade noticed: every member of the Wizard Purity Party carried a Communication Pea. They split apart instantly, each targeting their own objective.
Boom!
Cannons fired. A torrent of golden powder erupted—shining brilliantly under the flames.
The Shivangis Bells on the wizards’ belts flared faintly, swaying gently.
Wade watched the battle unfold—when suddenly, a voice beside him asked:
“Have you learned Fire Shield Defense?”
He turned sharply, eyes locking onto Gellert Grindelwald.
He’d suspected the reason the magic book ended up on the bookshelf—but hearing the question so directly, so casually, still caught him off guard.
For a moment, silence. Then Wade chose to seize the moment.
“…There are still a few things I don’t fully understand.”
“Go on,” Gellert Grindelwald said, calm and measured.
On the battlefield, the golden powder swirled like miniature dragon winds, flowing into the bells hanging from the wizards’ waists.
Most remained unaffected—only a few unlucky ones, who accidentally inhaled the powder, collapsed instantly. But the rest marched forward, casting spells with steady precision.
It wasn’t that they couldn’t run—walking at a brisk pace ensured greater spell accuracy.
Some vehicles were overturned by rapidly expanding stone. Others sank into sudden swamps. One driver was hit by a Confusion Charm, veering wildly into another car.
Wade turned his gaze back to the fight.
“Besides Patronus Charm… I’ve never seen a spell that can automatically distinguish friend from foe. It protects, yet it’s also a devouring flame. It’s both shield and weapon.”
“But how does it decide? Is it based on the immediate thought when casting? Is it a conscious choice… or pure instinct?”
Gellert Grindelwald smiled faintly.
“If it were guided by subconscious thoughts we don’t even understand, I’d have fewer than a handful of people left around me.”
He looked coldly at the clumsy wizards—those wildly waving arms and shouting incantations—then said:
“You’ve studied Mental Defense. But you’ve only learned to close your mind. Not how to create false memories.”
“Clear your mind. Leave only one clear thought in your mental sea. That’s the direction your flame will burn.”
Wade froze. Then realization struck. His eyes narrowed slightly. He swallowed hard, barely suppressing the urge to retort.
How do you know I’ve learned Mental Defense?
Did you sneak a Dementor’s Kiss on me while I wasn’t looking?
He felt both relief—thankful he’d mastered mental defense and practiced clearing his mind every night before bed—and a sharper awareness: Gellert Grindelwald was nothing like Dumbledore.
This Dark Wizard had reached such power that he seemed utterly devoid of the moral qualms most would have about bullying the vulnerable.
After a pause, Wade moved on.
“Fire Shield Defense… like Inferno Flame, it’s a high-difficulty Dark Magic. Perhaps even harder. Once cast, it doesn’t need constant magic to sustain it—it feeds on those around it, growing stronger. If it goes out of control, the casualties would be massive.”
“How do you fully master it? Or… restrain it?”
Gellert Grindelwald gave him a half-smile.
“Mastering it? Fine. But you want to restrain my flame?”
Wade’s gaze flickered—awkward, but he pressed on:
“…Can I learn it? If not, I’ll let it go.”
“If I teach it, I’ll teach the whole system,” Gellert said.
“The secret lies in courage and resolve. You must not fear your own flame. You must not waver.”
“Even if you see your trusted comrade turn to ash in the fire—screaming, begging, dying—you must hold firm. It was never your fault. Not your spell. Not your choice. Once you’ve decided, anyone consumed by the flame is an enemy. Only that.”
Wade stared at Gellert Grindelwald’s cold, impassive profile.
He’s been through that before, hasn’t he?
Watching someone he once trusted step willingly into the fire—confident, smiling—then screaming in agony, begging to be spared… only to realize too late they weren’t a friend at all.
Far away, Dreian shattered a few vials. A green smoke, thick with foreboding, exploded outward like a rapidly expanding cloud, engulfing an entire vehicle.
Inside, screams erupted. Skin melted instantly. Blisters bloomed across their bodies. They clawed at their faces with desperate hands—then fell still, lifeless.
The imposing figure of Dreian, seemingly a warrior, was in fact a Potion Master.
Several vehicles rose under Wingardium Leviosa, then crashed down hard. With a sudden spell, they split apart—revealing dazed soldiers inside.
Those who’d charged out of their armored shells realized too late: steel and iron offered no protection. They’d become weapons in their enemies’ hands.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Scattered gunfire. A few wizards from the Wizard Purity Party collapsed.
The soldiers who fired stared, stunned.
Why did the missiles and machine guns fail… but these bullets worked?
Then it hit them: not every wizard was as strong as a supernatural monster. The spell that blocked bullets? It only worked when they were grouped together. Now scattered, it was useless.
More guns roared, spitting flame.
But the cries of the dying, the sight of fallen comrades—none of it disturbed Gellert Grindelwald’s teaching. He watched his people die. He watched the survivors, pressed under immense pressure, growing stronger.
He was the leader of the Wizard Purity Party—but not their caretaker. He had no interest in using his aged, weary body as a wall to shield them like infants.
He didn’t wonder what Wade was thinking. Instead, he continued:
“When you doubt magic… magic will betray you. All magic. But Fire Shield Defense? Its rebound is crueler.”
“And how to restrain it? There’s only one way…”
The battlefield was chaotic. Gellert Grindelwald lowered his voice. Wade instinctively leaned closer, straining to hear.
---
On the hillside, had Voldemort’s infant body possessed more strength, he might have jumped in shock several times.
But his soft bones forced him to stay still, his expression unnervingly calm.
Little Barty Crouch was different—cold sweat poured down his face, his hands trembling as he gripped his wand.
He watched the battlefield below, unconsciously placing himself in the victims’ shoes. Each time, he realized he wouldn’t survive such a slaughter.
The storm of gunfire… would turn anyone into a sieve.
Those paper airplanes—were they just Ministry novelties? How could they be this deadly?
And why wasn’t it ending? How many more were there?
What was that golden powder?
It looked like Muggle magic—but did nothing.
If someone fired at him from behind while protecting his master… one bullet blocked, another coming… how many times could he survive?
The Wizard Purity Party hadn’t suffered heavy losses because they fought as a unit—supporting each other’s blind spots, their spells amplifying one another.
But Little Barty Crouch had never had such allies.
His past beliefs—if you’re strong enough, you don’t need friends—had been proven by Voldemort’s power.
Now, facing Muggle weapons—deadly, relentless, cunning—he realized: a comrade mattered.
“Barty,” Voldemort said suddenly.
“Yes, Master?”
“Look at the one beside Gellert Grindelwald.”
Infant Voldemort pointed with his wand.
Little Barty Crouch spotted him immediately: Gellert Grindelwald stood uncovered, his white hair strikingly visible among the sea of black cloaks. The man was short, close to Gellert—intimate in stance.
And he’d done nothing to interfere.
That wasn’t because he outranked Gellert. Only because his magic wasn’t strong enough—so he was protected.
“He’s likely Gellert Grindelwald’s heir,” Little Barty Crouch guessed. “Small stature… probably young.”
“Note it,” Voldemort said. “If we ever target the Wizard Purity Party, he could be a weak point.”
“Yes.” Barty nodded, staring at the cloaked figure.
Though he couldn’t see the face, if he ever encountered the Wizard Purity Party again, and saw a young wizard of similar height—deeply favored—there’d be no doubt.
Gellert Grindelwald wouldn’t hide his heir forever.
---
Back on the battlefield, Wade—once so relaxed, so unengaged—clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. His expression hardened. His scalp felt like it might burst.
After asking his final questions, Gellert Grindelwald suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Wade… were you prepared to escape today?”
(End of Chapter)
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