Chapter 725: The Page
Chapter 725: The Page
As Christmas approached, the festive mood was overshadowed by a solemn and grave atmosphere. Everyone felt a heavy weight in their hearts, as if they too were adorned with invisible holly and mistletoe, just like the Christmas trees in the Great Hall. News and photos about the New York Harbor continued to escalate, from traffic jams caused by blizzards to the deployment of soldiers, marines, and coast guard troops, and the UN headquarters urging both sides to remain calm and restrained... all of which increasingly strained the public’s nerves.
Initially, the White House tried to frame the conflict as a ‘drill’—“It helps wizards recognize the situation and understand their place in the world.” However, this quickly proved untenable.
As the entire magical community's unusual silence gave way to unwavering solidarity, and news of the "illegal detention and abuse of hundreds of young wizards for over two decades" spread worldwide, they swiftly changed their stance and began to fiercely challenge the legitimacy of the Charter of the Federation and Alliance.
The White House publicly stated that wizards were a minority group and should adhere to American law. But when journalists pressed for their views on the 200-page list of criminals provided by the International Confederation of Wizards and the International Pan-Magic Alliance, the spokesperson remained tight-lipped. Meanwhile, the federal courts, which represented justice and order, fell silent at a critical moment.
A public relations expert from across the ocean, with a style reminiscent of Luna, bluntly revealed the unpleasant truth:
“The secret of the conflict is written on the last page of the Charter of the Federation and Alliance.”
As people eagerly examined the dense signatures on the document with magnifying glasses, they were shocked to find the truth was so simple:
Next to ‘Felix Hep’—a name now known to all, with over 300 organizations in North America alone claiming a mysterious connection to him—was a line of dark green text that read clearly:
‘The above laws are acknowledged and signed by all representatives of the magical community, authorizing the Grand Mage to enforce them.’
Some people suddenly understood, recalling the somber announcement by the International Confederation of Wizards' spokesperson a few days earlier, where Felix Hep was tasked with rescuing American wizards under threat. However, before that, he would participate as the sole wizard representative in what the spokesperson sarcastically called a “peace drill.”
“This is Mr. Hep’s personal choice. I don’t want to analyze his motives in detail. All I can do is pray for him, just as we did half a century ago while waiting for the outcome of that legendary duel.”
In the days that followed, tabloids unanimously used sensational words like “cruel” and “bloody,” with some even titling their articles “Black Christmas.”
On the morning of Christmas Eve, the time had come, and the world fell silent.
The early morning sky was a cold, deep blue, the weather cold and dry. Dozens of warships drifted like ghosts a few kilometers off the harbor, their wakes stirring the otherwise calm waters. Hundreds of Earth-observation satellites in the sky focused their lenses on the scene, capable of capturing images down to the centimeter level.
In a deep underground command center within the harbor, the atmosphere was unusually tense. Just minutes earlier, a phone call had come in, announcing, “It’s begun.” From that moment, a meticulously planned operation with the word ‘hunt’ in its name was launched. Suddenly, a satellite feed displayed an abnormal disturbance.
A group gathered around the screen showing the anomaly.
“What’s happening?”
“Not clear yet!”
“What about ground radar?”
“Besides the marked helicopters, fighter jets, and warships, no mobile targets detected.”
At this moment, a clerk raised a hand. “R-report, the current situation matches one of the scenarios in the manual.”
“Speak up.”
“Magical disturbance.”
The commander was taken aback. “Is there someone on the satellite?” A surveillance operator, facing away from the general, muttered, “That man has been to the moon.” The implication was clear: compared to the moon, a satellite was nothing. The general interrupted harshly, “There’s no evidence he ever set foot on the moon! Aside from that bit of dust—”
As he spoke, a young face appeared on the screen, lips moving as if speaking to himself, though no sound could be heard. The image then went dark.
The general swallowed hard. “Did anyone catch what he said?”
The command room was silent. After a few seconds, a voice from the corner spoke softly, “Based on the English pronunciation, I think he said...” The voice paused, seemingly incredulous, “U... S... A...”
Over the next ten minutes, one by one, the hundreds of screens on the main display went black, like the fires of early civilization being extinguished by an unseen hand in the darkness. The room’s air conditioning seemed to have failed, making the temperature as cold as the icy outdoors, suffocatingly so.
Another three minutes passed without any more screens going dark. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief, though only about half of the satellite feeds remained intact. Just as they caught their breath, the phones in the command room started ringing one after another.
"Shut those bumbling fools up!" the general roared. "The target may have given up. Immediately gather the remaining satellites and set the radar to maximum power. Tell the helicopters, reconnaissance planes, and fighters to search with all their might—"
Hundreds of fighter jets patrolled the sky, leaving long white contrails that sliced the sky into a grid, like a chessboard enclosing the morning stars that had yet to completely fade.
As the early warning aircraft climbed to nearly 30,000 meters, it finally relayed a message, "Target acquired! Should we initiate the attack?" This was followed by military radar and satellite positioning, the image gradually becoming clearer, though it only showed the back of a head.
"Attack", the commander ordered coldly.
Felix was restraining his urge to use magic, allowing himself to drift down like a feather. Although he could fly on his own. At this moment, Felix was even in the mood to calculate, based on his current speed, he would land in about three hours... a truly long time.
Orange-red flames connected in lines and then wove into a web, rushing towards him like a sudden storm. But under the influence of the Mind Chamber, which had expanded to cover several dozen kilometers, Felix knew about these high-speed machine gun bullets even before the pilots in the fighter jets did—whether they would hit their target, which was him. It was a matter of skill, and compared to the size of the aircraft, he was still too small.
Felix made a few symbolic dodges, followed by various types of cannons, air-to-air missiles, and laser-guided bombs. The sky turned into a fireworks show, flashing wildly with deafening thunder. When another fireball with a blast radius of over 200 meters exploded near him, trying to obliterate him, Felix merged into the air with a serious expression.
Silence returned. Felix carefully examined the black smoke nearby and the much brighter sky. In the distance, various fighter jets were attempting to turn around, seemingly planning to make another pass.
"At this altitude, you should have a clear view, right?" Felix murmured to himself. He wasn't speaking to the pilots or even the ground commanders, but to over 200 countries and regimes around the world—conventional weapons were ineffective against him.
Felix extended his hand and said calmly, "Let's end this quickly." With the right preparation, he had numerous methods at his disposal.
Amidst a dazzling pale green light, the sound of what seemed like a baby's cry grew louder and more cacophonous, then abruptly stopped. Felix stood in the air, his face expressionless as he lowered his arms. Within the range of the Mind Chamber, the sleek fighter jets suddenly lost control, tumbling down in a series of erratic plunges.
The cry of a mature Mandrake could be lethal—this magic he had intended to seal away permanently.
It wouldn't be long before information about it would be on the desks of world leaders, its magical effect comparable to a nuclear bomb. Under the vast power of magic, it could almost effortlessly cover an entire city, creating a dead zone in the blink of an eye, from which not even mosquitoes or cockroaches could escape. Felix suddenly felt like a merchant of death—a herald of the Grim Reaper, showing off the product's performance to potential buyers and even providing a user manual to ensure they understood its value.
Felix knew no one could hear him, but he still wanted to say something.
"The progression to this point was inevitable. If not the United States, it would have been another country. The more I planned, the more I tried to account for everything, even the chaotic regions of Africa, to avoid war... the more I found myself standing against the entire world."
"Wizards, as a group with power, should have been utilized by the nations from the moment they were exposed, but I delayed this process. This delay led many to doubt the strength of wizards. Indeed, without me... the top-tier wizards would either resist, compromise, or hide deeper, leading to conflicts... chaos that would last for years, even decades, but this process would also lead to a more realistic evaluation. A new order would be established in blood and fire, at the cost of countless lives."
"I detest chaos, so I facilitated the birth of the Charter of the Confederation and the Alliance, much like how the four most outstanding wizards and witches founded Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a thousand years ago. Upon reflection, I foresaw this scene, as if I saw the future—well, in a sense, I wasn't wrong. Given that, I have a responsibility to ensure this future becomes a reality."
From today onward, everyone will know what it means to stand against a Grand Mage, especially one specializing in Ancient Runes.
Felix's figure suddenly vanished, reappearing at the edge of the harbor, where he could smell the sea air. He extended his left hand, palm up, and a book, richly imbued with Magic, appeared out of thin air. With his right hand, he opened the Ancient Rune Book, his fingertips gently brushing over the pages. One of them instantly detached, floating like a feather, completely weightless.
But to a skilled mage, this page carried Magic beyond their imagination.
Felix stood straight, lifting his head slowly to scan the surroundings. This was unnecessary, as his Mind Chamber had already informed him that the nearest helicopter was two kilometers away, the fleet outside the harbor had yet to turn, and the snow in the distant city piled up on the high-rise buildings, their glass and telescopes reflecting light in intricate patterns. He could even faintly hear the roar of motorcycles and excited shouts.
He understood. The city covered an area of over a thousand square kilometers and was home to nearly eight million people. Most had evacuated, causing a massive traffic jam, but a small group of skeptics had chosen to stay and watch the spectacle. The empty streets of the city provided these people the opportunity to unleash their primal violent desires in broad daylight, with motorcycles, leather, muscle, and sweat.
Felix guessed that in the coming week, this place might become a source of inspiration for many artists.
The next second, the page landed.
Ancient Runes danced like ice crystals, and an icy blue Magic surged, blending seamlessly with the biting cold wind, making his clothes flutter. The Magic spread like dye in water, creating ripples—Felix had cast this spell before, multiple times, but the Magic he expended now was a fraction of what he used then. As a result, everything around him began to lose color, whether buildings or people, leaving only clear outlines. Upon closer inspection, these outlines reflected a faint glow.
The range of this spell was vast, encompassing the soldiers along the coastline, the command center, and part of the fleet. These people were still alive, but for the next week, they would fall into a silence, as if the city had been transformed into a single panel in a comic book.
Having completed this, Felix took a step and appeared outside the harbor. The silence was absolute, reminiscent of his first experience in space. A bold idea suddenly struck him—lifting the entire city of New York like he had Grawp's hut at the Burrow and hanging it in front of the White House in Washington. Even he found this idea too wild, and he imagined the communication channels to Albus Dumbledore and Amelia Bones were probably overwhelmed by now.
The activity from the Mind Chamber reminded him of the task at hand. Standing high above, he looked down and saw a clear line dividing the water, one half real, the other shaped like waves from a comic book. He then turned his gaze to the city, where not everyone had been 'outlined.' He had deliberately avoided the hidden Wizard families, who remained intact and stood out in the chaotic black and white lines.
The most prominent among them was the Woolworth Building, the headquarters of the American Wizarding Congress, home to several hundred Wizards.
Seeing Horace Grimmstein flying toward him on a broom, Felix suddenly realized that the American Wizarding Congress might be facing its sixth relocation.
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Felix and the International Confederation of Wizards, along with the Ministry of Magic, had always aimed to integrate Wizards peacefully into the outside world. They had done well, signing cooperation treaties with various countries through a series of measures.
However, the biggest issue was that their efforts had been so comprehensive that no large-scale conflicts had erupted, leading the world to only have a theoretical understanding of the Wizards' war potential and deterrent level. Many countries shared a common thought: they hoped for a conflict to occur, as long as it wasn't in their own territory. This was the final hurdle before true peace.
Felix had taken it upon himself to bear this responsibility.
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(End of Chapter)
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