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Chapter 520: Recognition by the Wizard Purity Party
“Do you think I deliberately lost to Dumbledore?” Gellert Grindelwald asked, his tone edged with irritation. “What exactly are you doubting?”
“I’m not questioning the authenticity of that duel,” Wade said calmly. “I’m simply curious—could the Inferno God Spell really be repelled?”
Gellert Grindelwald stared into those calm gray eyes and realized he’d overreacted. His anger vanished instantly.
Ever since his return, there had been a steady stream of sycophants trying to paint his defeat in a favorable light—framing the duel as a conspiracy. In their retelling, Dumbledore had used some underhanded trick before the match, sabotaging the noble, radiant Gellert Grindelwald, who was portrayed as a man of pure ideals.
Others—those who knew the truth, yet still twisted it—had turned the duel into something even more grotesque. They claimed it had been a romantic gesture: that Gellert had simply nodded at Dumbledore, then conjured a white handkerchief on the tip of his wand, surrendering without a fight.
To them, Gellert Grindelwald was a hopeless romantic, willingly placing Dumbledore on a pedestal while willingly stepping into the darkness of prison.
To Gellert, these tales were an insult—not just to Dumbledore, but to himself. It painted him as a fool, a love-struck simpleton, someone so blinded by emotion that he’d abandon his ideals, betray his cause, and forsake his followers—all for one man.
That was why he’d unleashed countless Cruciatus Curses on anyone who dared question the narrative. Now, finally, no one dared.
So when Wade asked the question, it had sparked a sudden, instinctive rage.
But then he saw only genuine curiosity in Wade’s eyes—pure, unfiltered fascination with magic, not malice or doubt.
Gellert Grindelwald suppressed his irritation and replied, “My fifty years in prison weren’t spent sleeping.”
Wade blinked. “So… the Inferno God Spell was your own creation?”
The boy’s admiration warmed the old man’s heart. A faint, pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his wrinkles softened.
He cleared his throat. “I drew inspiration from ancient spells. Inventing new magic is a fundamental skill of any true wizard. Nothing extraordinary.”
“If you wish to learn from me,” he added, “you’ll need to spend time mastering several ancient wizarding languages—and even the tongues of magical creatures.”
He hadn’t finished speaking when a sharp, crystalline shattering echoed through the air.
Wade spun around. One section of the barrier had cracked open—then the entire structure splintered, crumbling into countless faint glimmers that dissolved into the darkness.
The once-thick grove of Giant Trees had been reduced from a dozen to just three or four. Most of their branches and leaves had been incinerated. Gellert Grindelwald and Wade weren’t alarmed. Even Mihal had withdrawn his Inferno Flame, not wanting to burn the wizards standing near the trees.
Then, several members of the Wizard Purity Party were flung aside by the snapping branches—screams tore through the air as they arced through the sky like projectiles.
Others ran after them, shouting, casting levitation spells in desperate attempts to catch them mid-flight.
Gellert Grindelwald’s smug smirk vanished. His face darkened. He was, once again, infuriated by the incompetence of the younger generation.
Standing still and casting spells looked impressive in theory. But when faced with the unexpected, these young wizards immediately devolved into chaos.
Yet not everyone failed.
A number of them had dodged the initial wave of attacks. In unison, they raised their wands and chanted spells they had prepared in advance.
The charred Spruce Tree sank into a thick, sucking swamp, its roots dragging it deeper despite its frantic writhing.
The massive Beech Tree thrashed wildly, but its movements were sluggish—like a man bound by invisible chains. Light from the spell tore into its bark, causing it to explode in jagged fragments.
One poor Oak Tree, reduced to half its original form, was hoisted upside down by a dozen wizards. No matter how its roots flailed, it couldn’t regain balance—soon, it was consumed by fire.
Of course, some spells failed.
One genius had cast a Dance Spell on a purple Cedar Tree. The spell was potent. The tree, once clumsy, now leapt and bounced wildly, sending wizards flying left and right. It took several times the effort to subdue it.
But in the end, the area grew quiet.
Injured members were treated. Those who’d been thrown aside were retrieved. The roots of the Giant Trees continued burning in the flames, likely to smolder for hours.
The night grew thicker, darker. Flames flickered and danced, sparks scattering like fireflies. When the silence finally settled, Wade noticed that everyone was staring at him—silent, unblinking.
Gellert Grindelwald gently nudged his shoulder, urging him forward two steps.
Then, several members of the Wizard Purity Party approached. As they drew near, they removed their wide hoods.
“I’m Castor Bank,” said a pale, lean man, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Pleased to be your ally, Braun.”
“Nice to meet you,” Wade replied, shaking his hand. The man’s grip was unnaturally cold.
“Octa Nott,” said a young brunette witch with high cheekbones. A burn scar ran across her lips. She waved her mother mirror. “I recorded everything. Can I broadcast it?”
“Go ahead.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head with a playful grin. “So this isn’t your real face… but no matter. I recognize your power.”
“Leave her alone,” muttered a grim-faced wizard, stepping in. “I’m Fon Rosen.” Wade shook his hand, his eyes flicking to the bleeding wound on the man’s arm.
“Seraphina Ram,” said a serious witch with sleek, polished hair—her presence reminded Wade of Professor McGonagall. “I’m sorry you had to witness such… unsightly behavior from some of our own.”
“Albaric Neil,” rumbled a burly man with a gray beard. His voice was gravelly. “You’ve already figured it out—I’m a Werewolf.”
Not everyone came forward to shake hands with “Braun.” But those who’d stood out the most did.
The burning pine resin crackled. Flamelight illuminated the silent faces around him. Gellert Grindelwald’s gaze drifted into the distance, a hint of mystery returning to his lips.
…
In the stadium, Little Barty Crouch stood by a corridor behind a compartment, glancing down at his watch once more.
Logically, the animated Giant Trees should have already stormed in, wreaking havoc. Why was the stadium still so eerily calm?
(End of Chapter)
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