parentshiftbook Chapter 195 Planning and Visits
Chapter 195 Planning and Visits
Chapter 195 Planning and Visits
"No, that will be the final step, and also the most dangerous one." Lynch shook his head and calmly corrected him. "Before that, I need a more controllable, but still dangerous, alternative for preliminary testing. I have already applied to Professor Sprout for a pot of immature mandrake, ostensibly to study the effects of advanced protective magic on the resilience of magical plants."
He continued, "The cry of a mature mandrake will instantly kill anyone who hears it. It's a powerful magical effect that acts directly on the mind and life force; its 'instant death' rule is, in some ways, similar to the basilisk's glare and—the Avada Kedavra curse."
The cry of a young mandrake, though not fatal, is enough to plunge any wizard who hears it into a forced coma lasting hours or even longer. "If my 'soul armor' theory works, allowing me to effectively defend against this level of impact and remain conscious and mobile when I pluck it with my own hands—" Lynch's gaze sharpened, "then we will be qualified to discuss the next step, to face the basilisk's legendary, true, inescapable, instant-death gaze."
He paused, then said calmly, "I'm telling you this, Reggie, so you can be fully prepared. The test on the young mandrake goes without saying. But if the subsequent plan is launched, and we confront the basilisk—that means I will be voluntarily stepping into the unknown, and the consequences could be far more serious than simply being unconscious. There's a risk of mental trauma, even permanent damage, and perhaps—"
He didn't utter the word "death," but the meaning in his words was clear enough.
"This is insane, Jim!" Reggie's hoarse voice trembled, suppressing anger and deep unease, like a blunt object scraping against rough stone. "The risks of this plan far outweigh the rewards! This is no longer a plan, this is gambling! A crazy, pointless gamble with your life on the line! We have the resources, we have the connections! Finding a damn prisoner, or kidnapping some scum from Knockturn Alley, wouldn't the cost be less than sacrificing you? Wouldn't the risk be lower?"
Upon hearing this, Lin Qi chuckled softly, "Heh—it's been a long time since I've heard you say so much in one go."
Then, his expression turned serious: "But, Reggie, I can't do that."
"Only by experiencing and verifying it myself can I capture the subtlest signs before the defenses collapse and understand the precise pattern of how the impact affects the soul. Others' data is ultimately incomplete. Facing the enemies we might encounter in the future, 'almost' and 'theoretically feasible' is a shortcut to utter destruction. For this, I am willing to bear the calculated risks."
The green flames in the fireplace burned silently, illuminating Lynch's unwavering profile.
After a long silence, Reggie's signature, flat, hoarse voice rang out again, his words heavy and tinged with helplessness: "I still firmly oppose it. But I know that once you make a decision, no one can change it."
"Get ready for what you need to do, Reggie," Lynch said finally, his gaze turning deep as he looked at the flickering flames. "Hopefully, when we contact each other next time, I'll have good news."
As soon as he finished speaking, the emerald flames receded abruptly, contracted, and quickly faded, returning to a warm orange-red. Reggie's figure also vanished into the swirling sparks.
Silence returned to the stone house, broken only by the soft crackling of burning firewood.
Lin Qi sat alone in the light and shadow, and after a while, his gaze shifted to the south.
Late at night, in the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor.
Lucius Malfoy was awakened by an indescribable, icy touch, as if an invisible venomous snake had slithered across his spine.
He opened his eyes abruptly. The bedroom was deathly silent, with only a sliver of pale moonlight filtering through the edges of the heavy velvet curtains, outlining the blurry contours of the furniture.
.
Everything seemed normal.
Narcissa slept soundly beside him, her breathing steady.
However, the feeling of being constantly on edge grew clearer and clearer, and an instinctive, extreme warning of danger made his blood almost freeze.
He slowly and very carefully turned his head, his gaze passing over the foot of the bed to the opposite wall where he found his favorite high-backed armchair inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
The next second, his breathing suddenly stopped and his pupils contracted sharply.
A figure, a figure that should never be here, was sitting quietly in that chair.
The man was shrouded in darkness, almost blending into the shadow of the chair. Only his distinctive bird-beak mask, with its cold, metallic sheen, reflected a chilling glow in the dim moonlight.
The hangman.
He sat there quietly, his posture even exuding a sense of leisure, as if he were simply taking a short nap at home.
He didn't look towards the bed, but instead tilted his head slightly towards the side wall, as if admiring the paintings on the wall by the moonlight, or as if he was quietly waiting for something.
Lucius's heart pounded wildly in his chest, as if it were about to explode.
A tremendous fear gripped him instantly, leaving his limbs cold and unable to move.
He wanted to scream, to shake his wife awake, to reach for the magic wand by the bed, but his body felt frozen solid by an invisible fear, unable to move even a finger.
My mind was a complete mess, with only one thought swirling wildly within me:
How did he get here? How did he get in? What happened to the manor's protective magic? Where are the house-elves?
Lucius recalled their meeting last year.
The executioner tormented him like a puppet in his own hall, eventually leaving an invisible ligature mark on his neck.
The card that was left behind is now locked in the most secret drawer of his study, like an eternal warning.
Since then, he has spared no expense in upgrading the manor's defenses to the extreme. Now the defenses are as tight as an iron barrel, completely airtight!
But now, this evil spirit has once again silently penetrated all defenses and appeared directly in his most private and theoretically safest bedroom, sitting just a dozen steps away from his bed!
Lucius lay frozen on the bed, too afraid to even swallow. He could only stare wide-eyed at the silhouette in the darkness, feeling the cold sweat soaking his silk pajamas. Every second felt like an eternity.
He had no idea what he was going to face; the extreme fear made it almost impossible for him to think.
The executioner remained silently facing the wall, as if he had existed there since time immemorial, oblivious to the agonizing fear raging within his prey on the bed, or perhaps, utterly indifferent.
In the bedroom, only Narcissa's even breathing and Lucius's own suppressed, almost inaudible sobs of despair deep in his throat could be heard.
Finally, the hangman turned his head.
His gaze locked onto the stiff Lucius on the bed, and his hollow, calm voice broke the suffocating silence in the deathly quiet bedroom: "I'm sorry to disturb your rest, but I have something important to ask you."
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