Chapter 27: The Flint Family
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Sargeras sat there in silence, quietly watching the other man's futile struggle. He didn't speak until Barnabas finally slumped in defeat, his strength and composure draining away.
"As a wizard, it's honestly disappointing… that the very last thing you thought of was to draw your wand and face me," Sargeras said slowly, his voice carrying a trace of mockery.
He shook his head, his expression almost regretful. "To tell you the truth… I'm quite disappointed."
"You… you can't do this…" Barnabas Cuffe stammered, his voice shaking with fear. "If you do anything to harm me, the Ministry of Magic will arrest you. You'll be dragged straight back to Azkaban… and this time, not even Dumbledore will be able to save you…"
"Harm you?" Sargeras sounded genuinely surprised, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. "Oh no, I wouldn't dream of hurting you…"
A faint smile crept onto his lips. "I'm merely… a little dissatisfied with the way you've been evaluating me. And my teaching methods."
As he spoke, he reached casually into the flames, retrieving a freshly printed edition of the newspaper that was still burning. With a flick of his wrist, the flames snuffed out instantly, and the half-charred paper returned to its pristine state, as though it had never been touched by fire.
"For example… this little gem right here." He pointed at a bold headline sprawled across the front page. "'Shocking Teaching Methods, The Dangerous Genius May Lead to Hogwarts Closure.'"
Sargeras tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with quiet displeasure. "I can't say I'm fond of that title. What do you say we change it?"
Even as the words left his mouth, the letters on the newspaper began to peel off the page, floating silently into the air. They rearranged themselves neatly across the parchment, forming a brand new headline:
'Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Prophet Found Dead Under Mysterious Circumstances — Feared to Have Suffered Horrific Torture Before Death.'
Barnabas Cuffe's face turned deathly pale. Cold sweat trickled down from his temples, his lips trembling as he struggled to say a single word…yet nothing came out.
Sargeras cast him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. "It seems Mr. Cuffe isn't too fond of that one either."
"In that case," he continued pleasantly, placing the newspaper down onto the desk, "why don't we come up with a headline that… makes everyone happy?"
The letters on the page shifted once more, rearranging themselves into a clean, new line of text:
'Hogwarts Pioneers Groundbreaking Practical Charms Classes — Risks Manageable, Results Remarkable…'
For a brief moment, Barnabas Cuffe simply stared at the newspaper in stunned silence. Then, as though snapping out of a trance, he nodded his head furiously, agreeing to everything with desperate, trembling eagerness.
Sargeras chuckled softly at the sight, giving a small nod of approval. "Very good. It seems Mr. Cuffe is finally satisfied as well."
Leaning back in his chair, Sargeras continued smiling, his gaze fixed on the other man's pitiful attempt to squeeze a smile onto his pale, trembling face.
"Now then… I do hope Mr. Cuffe will be so kind as to tell me one more thing…"
The forced smile on Barnabas' face froze in place, as if his expression had turned to stone. Sargeras' smile, too, gradually faded away, leaving only a cold, steady stare.
"Who exactly… asked you to do this?"
As he finished speaking, a wave of Legilimency swept out, silently penetrating the other man's feeble Occlumency defenses as though they were nothing more than wet paper.
"Carbott Flint!" The answer surfaced clearly and immediately, exactly what Sargeras wanted to hear.
But just to be certain, he didn't stop there. With practiced ease, he followed up by casting three advanced variants of the Memory Charm in quick succession — Memory Recollection, Memory Weaving, and Total Oblivion.
First came Memory Recollection, pulling forth every vivid detail of Barnabas Cuffe's secret meeting with Carbott Flint.
Then, with Memory Weaving, he carefully constructed a flawless set of false memories to take their place, ensuring no trace of his involvement remained.
And finally, with Total Oblivion, he wiped away all memory of tonight's events… as though they had never happened at all.
With that done, Sargeras disappeared from the Daily Prophet's editorial office without the slightest hesitation.
The moment he apparated into the Flint family estate, deep within its underground vaults, a pair of sharp eyes snapped open — the eyes of Gargoyle Scarface.
The towering figure lifted his head slightly, sniffing the air. In the next breath, his amber-orange pupils narrowed into vertical slits, gleaming with a feral light, like a predator locking onto its prey.
"Hunters of the Blood Moon Alliance…" Gargoyle's voice echoed through the darkness, cold and ruthless. Almost immediately, several more pairs of glowing eyes lit up inside the vault, burning with the same deadly hunger.
"The prey just walked right in!"
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The ashen-grey, three-story Baroque-style manor sprawled low and wide in the depths of the withered beech forest, its faded silver-and-green crest still floating faintly above the wrought iron gates.
This wasn't Sargeras' first time here.
Two years ago, while tracking down a Ministry of Magic official on the run, he had come to this exact place. He still remembered the man's name — Leonard Flint.
There was no intention of knocking.
With a casual wave of his wand, Sargeras fired a Blasting Curse straight at the heavy iron gates. A deafening bang echoed through the silent forest as a gaping hole was blasted clean through the metal, every protective charm in place crumbling under the raw power of "Frenzied Explosion."
A wrinkled, elderly house-elf poked his head out through the shattered iron gate. The moment his eyes landed on Sargeras, his face twisted in fury, and he leapt through the opening without hesitation.
"What have you done, you filthy half-blood mongrel?!" The old elf jabbed a crooked finger at him, his shrill voice filled with venom. "How dare you destroy the ancient property of the Flint family? Are you not afraid of the wrath of the noble Lord Flint?!"
Seething with anger, the elderly house-elf snapped his fingers. With a metallic clatter, the gates swung open, and two neat rows of alchemical constructs holding weapons marched out, their steel armor gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
Sargeras didn't even glance at them. With a flick of his wand, a Severing Charm shot straight for the house-elf's neck.
Just as the spell was about to strike, a circular Shield Charm appeared, shimmering into existence in front of the house-elf, deflecting the charm with ease.
"Corcian, get out of the way." Carbott Flint's cold voice ordered from the shadows. Without even sparing the elf a glance, he waved his wand toward the dark corridor, and more iron-clad golems filed out one after another, filling the space with the clank of armored footsteps.
"And look who we have here…" Carbott's voice carried a sneer as he stepped into view. "Isn't this the dangerous individual The Daily Prophet's been condemning over and over? What's the matter? Come crawling to beg forgiveness from an ancient family with that filthy Mudblood blood of yours?"
"Forgiveness is Merlin's business." Sargeras twirled his wand lightly between his fingers, his voice calm and unhurried. "But if you like, I can send you to go see him."
The mocking grin instantly vanished from Carbott's face. The tip of his wand crackled faintly with sparks as he fought to restrain the urge to attack, his voice low and venomous.
"Two years ago, you killed my brother… and you practically destroyed everything the Flint family built within the Ministry of Magic…" His words simmered with bitterness and barely contained rage.
Sargeras' expression remained utterly unbothered. A faint, almost careless smile curved his lips.
"Ah… you mean the lunatic who tried to bash his wife's brains in because she gave birth to a Squib?" His soft chuckle cut through the tension like a knife, his eyes gleaming with quiet disdain. "I imagine your precious family tapestry must be rotting away under the weight of all those Squib branches by now, isn't it?"
"Sargeras!" Carbott shot to his feet, seething with fury. "The Flint family's ancient bloodline has crushed countless enemies beneath its heel… and you…" His voice twisted with cold contempt. "You aren't even worthy to be a doorman in the family graveyard. You're nothing but a stray mutt."
"As foolish as ever…"
Sargeras didn't spare a thought for the insult. With a casual flick of his hand, the venomous barbed vines growing from the floor shriveled away, and he slowly drew his wand as he walked toward his opponent.
"Filthy half-blood… I'll give you this much, your courage is impressive." Carbott's voice sounded almost amused, but beneath the forced calm simmered rage and mockery. "Tell me… do you really think you're walking out of Flint territory alive tonight?"
Sargeras couldn't help but let out a soft laugh upon hearing this. "With you standing in my way?"
The moment the words left his lips, a sharp, cone-shaped blast of light shot straight at Carbott.
"Protego!" Carbott shouted the Shield Charm in a panic, but the sheer force of the impact sent him flying backward, slamming hard into the stone wall with a dull thud.
"Awooooo~!"
A sharp, piercing wolf howl echoed from not far off.
Sargeras turned his head, watching with mild amusement as a pack of werewolves came charging toward him from the shadows. A strange, almost mocking smile curled at the corners of his lips.
"Ah… now I see where you found the guts to pick a fight with me. Turns out you've got these wolf cubs backing you up…" He strode forward at an unhurried pace, his wand of Everbloom wood swaying slightly as he pointed it toward Carbott, now slumped in a crumpled heap by the wall. "Tell me… have you ever heard the phrase… 'inviting wolves into your home'?"
Carbott lay sprawled on the floor, silent. The brutal impact had left his ribs shattered, every breath sending waves of pain through his body. But even so, gritting his teeth, he forced his trembling arm upward, his wand aimed at Sargeras.
"Necromancy…!" Carbott snarled, his face twisted in pain and fury as he slashed his wand through the air.
Beneath the withered tree at the center of the back garden, skeletal hands clawed up through the dry soil as the buried corpses of Squibs—executed by generations of Flint Heads—rose from their graves.
"Pathetic…" Sargeras sneered, lazily flicking his wand. "Iron Flood."
The armored constructs that had been marching toward him instantly liquefied, their steel forms collapsing into pools of molten iron. The scalding metal surged across the ground like a living tide, flooding straight toward the Inferi-like corpses scrambling out from beneath the earth.
"You really should be thanking me." Sargeras continued walking without slowing his pace, his tone light, as though this were nothing more than a pleasant chat. "If I hadn't killed Leonard, you wouldn't have gotten the chance to be head of the Flint family… isn't that so?"
"Shut up…" Carbott roared, waving his wand furiously as a streak of green light, the telltale glow of the Killing Curse, shot toward Sargeras.
With a casual flick of his wand, Sargeras sent a ripple of magic surging through the floor. The ground rumbled, and a thick stone wall erupted upward, blocking the charging werewolves in an instant — and at the same time, it intercepted Carbott's Killing Curse with effortless ease.
"I have a feeling tomorrow morning's Daily Prophet headline might need another revision…" Sargeras spoke with quiet amusement, his footsteps steady and unhurried as he walked forward. With every step he took, the stone wall between them quietly crumbled away, reduced to drifting fragments of dust and rubble.
Finally, Sargeras stopped right in front of him, looking down from above, his voice calm and almost playful.
"'Flint Family Suffers Werewolf Attack, Head of the Family Carbott Flint Tragically Killed'…what do you think of that headline?"
Behind him, the battlefield lay in ruin. Every alchemical construct and steel golem had melted into scorching rivers of molten iron under the effects of Iron Flood, and the Inferi that had clawed their way out from beneath the earth were nothing more than ashes swept away by the glowing tide.
Sargeras glanced at Carbott's terrified face and nodded slowly.
"Hmm… looks like you're not too fond of it." He tilted his head slightly, his expression cool and composed. "But that's alright. As long as I like it, that's enough."
With that, he raised his wand and fired a razor-sharp Severing Charm toward the dark corridor.
The house-elf lurking in the shadows, hoping to ambush him, barely had time to cast Protego, summoning a shimmering round shield to block the incoming spell. But the moment the crimson light touched the shield, it melted through like hot wax.
For a brief moment, the elf, Corcian, froze in confusion. Then, his so-called shield shattered and dissolved into a swarm of razor-sharp red blades that whirled back toward him like lightning.
SPLAT~!
The house-elf's small body was sliced into countless pieces, his remains scattered across the floor like scraps of discarded meat.
The last flicker of hope in Carbott's eyes drained away completely. He collapsed onto the ground, limp and defeated, yet even in that state, his eyes burned with hatred as they locked onto Sargeras.
Sargeras returned the stare without a flicker of emotion, his voice cold and emotionless. "If I had to guess… within three seconds, you'll be begging me to kill you."
"I'll never… bow to you…" Carbott hissed through gritted teeth.
"Flesh Flaying!"
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the front yard of the manor.
"Aaaaah~!"
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Sargeras coldly lowered his wand, the faintest curl of disdain at the corner of his lips. "Hmph. Seems I overestimated you… couldn't even beg for mercy, pathetic."
With a wave of his hand, he dispelled the stone walls that had been containing the werewolves. In the next instant, the feral pack leapt down from the iron-wrought gallery of the Flint estate, their snarling bodies lunging straight toward him one again.
With practiced ease, Sargeras flicked his wand, casting a simple Levitation Charm. The half-dead Carbott was flung through the air, landing directly in the path of the charging werewolves.
The largest of the beasts at the front of the pack lashed out with its claws, tearing the incoming "obstacle" clean in half with a single brutal swipe.
Sargeras raised an eyebrow slightly, entirely unfazed. Without breaking stride, he cast another spell toward the few remaining werewolves hurtling toward him.
"Hominum Revelio."
A surge of potent magical energy swept across the courtyard.
The snarling pack of wolves was instantly forced back into human form, their bodies collapsing heavily to the ground as they stumbled and tumbled across the floor.
Sargeras swept his gaze across them, and a faint, amused smirk played at the corner of his lips.
"Well, well… looks like we've got some famous wanted criminals here." His eyes lingered for a moment as he recognised several familiar faces among the group.
The briefly flustered werewolves quickly regained their composure. In the midst of snarling howls, their bodies morphed once more, stretching and twisting as they transformed back into monstrous wolf forms.
Scarface, standing at the front, had corrosive saliva dripping from his fangs. But before he could get any closer, his massive body slammed headfirst into a transparent membrane just three feet from Sargeras.
It wasn't Protego (Shield Charm). This was something entirely different — Mirror Impact.
The towering werewolf was blasted backward on the spot, sent flying like a rag doll.
Sargeras watched the spectacle with calm detachment, even taking the time to casually announce his opponent's identity.
"Gargoyle Scarface… former Inquisitor for the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." His voice remained even, carrying just the faintest hint of mockery. "Fled after being caught conducting illegal Dark Magic experiments on imprisoned werewolves. And now, what… tactical commander of the Blood Moon Alliance?"
His eyes lingered on the massive, hulking figure struggling to rise, and he couldn't help but shake his head with a quiet sigh. "The job title 'tactical commander'… honestly, are they joking? You look like you barely have the brains to stand upright."
Gargoyle was clearly enraged by the insult. The moment he hit the ground, he let out a furious howl and charged again, this time even faster, fueled by blind rage.
"Suit yourself." Sargeras' voice was cold, his expression unreadable.
With another spell, "Sandstorm" Gargoyle was sent hurtling backward once more, this time crashing heavily to the floor.
Before the brute could even attempt to rise, Sargeras followed up with another incantation— "Earthbind." Jagged stone spikes erupted from the ground beneath Gargoyle, piercing through his limbs and torso like a pincushion. This time, the beast never got back up.
Almost simultaneously, three globs of corrosive, venomous sludge came flying toward Sargeras from the side. Without so much as a glance, he sidestepped the first and raised his wand with sharp precision.
"Repelling Spell!"
The toxic projectiles instantly reversed direction, shooting back even faster toward their source, and slamming into the gray-furred werewolf that had leapt toward him mid-pounce.
The creature shrieked in agony as it crashed to the ground, its body writhing as it shifted back into human form.
Sargeras pointed lazily at the struggling figure, his tone calm and composed, as though delivering a lecture rather than standing in the midst of battle.
"Bloodscab Seraphina… former healer from St. Mungo's. Obsessed with creating some twisted new plague by combining werewolf venom and Dark potions. Voluntarily joined the Blood Moon Alliance just to get her hands on live experimental subjects."
His eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head: "I heard you cultivated a parasitic plant using werewolf saliva… one that grows in a victim's throat and forces them to scream themselves to death?"
Seraphina's face contorted with fear and pain, but Sargeras didn't bother waiting for an answer.
A single Crimson Rend put an end to her misery, her body collapsing lifeless to the ground.
Without pause, Sargeras turned and raised his wand toward the distant iron gallery. With a casual flourish of his wrist, the heavy steel structure shuddered and twisted, reshaping itself into a massive, writhing serpent of dark metal that slithered wildly into the fray.
A werewolf leaping down from the second floor didn't even have time to dodge before the iron serpent's tail whipped through the air, sending the creature flying like a rag doll.
And through it all, Sargeras continued to speak, his tone steady, his expression as indifferent as ever.
"Grumador Bullock… a Squib-born alchemist's assistant. Murdered the very person who saved his life in cold blood… all so he could follow Fenrir Greyback and 'fight against magical discrimination.'"
With a flick of his wand, Sargeras ended the man with a single "Pulverize Charm," reducing him to little more than drifting ash.
Without slowing for even a second, he raised his wand again, the incantation rolling smoothly off his tongue.
"Chaos Reassembly."
The curtains by the window, shredded by another werewolf moments earlier, hadn't even hit the floor before the scattered velvet threads reformed themselves into a barbed net, wrapping tightly around the beast and suspending it helplessly in midair.
"The Twin werewolves, Tick and Topak. Deformed conjoined twins who like to carve the double-headed wolf insignia into their victims' corpses…"
Sargeras raised his wand again, and a conical burst of "Buzzing Detonation" shot out from the wand tip, striking the two-headed werewolf square in the chest. Blood gushed from their mouths and noses as their organs shattered beneath the force of the spell.
It was only then that Sargeras noticed his boots sinking slightly into a pool of foul, pus-like blood. The moment the liquid touched the ground, blue flames erupted wherever it spread.
He shook his head in disdain and waved his wand.
"Frostfire Reversal!"
The flames instantly receded from his feet, surging backward along the swamp of blood with terrifying speed, racing toward the remaining werewolves.
Icy magic coiled through the air, freezing their legs into solid blocks of ice, while the flames devoured their flesh, leaving blistered, rotting wounds in their wake.
The five remaining werewolves, already shaken by Sargeras' series of assault, were now utterly terrified. Faces pale with horror, they turned and fled without a second thought.
"You won't get away." His voice was soft and composed as he lightly tapped the metallic serpent beside him.
The massive body of the steel snake immediately liquefied into scorching molten iron, rushing after the fleeing werewolves like a river of liquid fire.
The first two to escape panicked completely, shedding their wolf forms in a desperate scramble. Wands drawn, they tried to Apparate.
But Sargeras was faster.
"Spatial Displacement Reversal."
The werewolves who had just disappeared with Apparition were yanked back into existence mid-air. The forcibly interrupted Apparition ripped their forms apart, their shredded remains falling to the blood-soaked ground in a mangled, gruesome heap.
Sargeras' expression grew even colder. His eyes, devoid of the slightest emotion, swept across the battlefield as he strode through the blood-streaked floor, stepping calmly over clumps of fur and mangled flesh, making his way toward the barely-breathing Gargoyle Scarface.
Raising his wand, he pointed it calmly at the man's forehead, his voice quiet and merciless.
"Do me a favor… send my regards to Fenrir."
A faint, almost imperceptible ripple of magic passed through the air, and Gargoyle, still impaled upon the jagged stone spikes, finally went still, reduced to nothing more than a lifeless corpse.
Turning away, Sargeras' eyes fell upon the vast Flint family estate sprawled before him.
His face calm, he directed the molten iron from the Iron Flood, sending it crashing into every building, the molten metal devouring structures with terrifying ease.
The grand old Baroque manor, steeped in history, quickly crumbled under the ruthless assault of magic, reduced to little more than rubble.
But Sargeras wasn't finished.
To ensure not a trace of the enchanted portraits hidden within the manor remained, he calmly lifted his wand once more, invoking a second ancient war magic.
"Meteorfall!"
The sky darkened in an instant. A massive, burning meteor broke through the clouds, descending with a deafening roar. The sheer force of its fall sent shockwaves rippling across the land, rattling the trees and shaking the earth beneath his feet.
This was remnant magic from the ancient wars between Giants and Wizards. A spell as destructive and forbidden as Iron Flood, both classified by the International Confederation of Wizards as banned war magic, designed purely for brutal efficiency, widespread destruction, and strategic domination.
As he stood there, watching the Flint estate collapse into a smoldering ruin, Sargeras' voice was low and quiet, more to himself than anyone else.
"There aren't many Flints left now… let's hope you lot finally learned your lesson."
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PS: Hey guys, let me know what you all thought of this fight sequence chapter I translated. If there's anything you didn't like or feel could be better, don't hesitate to tell me. This chapter turned out pretty damn big, so I'll definitely work on improving it if needed.
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