Chapter 1228 It's too easy for him to die like this.

Everyone is equal before death, and Death Eaters are no exception.

Rodolphus stared intently at Vincent's retreating figure with resentful eyes.

This little Mudblood, this lowly Mudblood, is the reason why pure-blood wizards are gradually declining.

To maintain the purity of the wizard's bloodline, this little mudblood must die today!

Rodolphs struggled to raise his bloodied and mangled right hand.

His thumb and ring finger were gone, leaving him with only three fingers. He couldn't even hold his wand properly, but the corners of his mouth beneath the mask were twisted into a hideous grin.

As if a finger had emerged from a pool of blood, aimed at Vincent's back, and amidst Rodolfos's maniacal laughter, a thread of blood-soaked blood extended from the fingertip and pierced straight through.

Vincent, focused on the duel, was caught off guard when a scarlet thread pierced through his back and out of his chest.

But to Rodolphus's surprise, he actually pulled hard on the thread.

"Attack him quickly!"

The two Death Eaters bypassed the lava giant and raised their wands almost simultaneously.

One is aimed at the head, and the other at the feet.

Vincent tilted his head, letting the chains conjured by Transfiguration bind his legs.

The Death Eater missed his attack and chanted the spell again, but the ignored lava giant suddenly crashed down in front of Vincent.

“I almost forgot, you’re a bunch of lunatics.” Vincent gripped the scarlet thread piercing his chest tightly, turning back to look behind him with an emotionless gaze.

Rodolphus, who was being stared at, had a strange feeling, as if he were being stared at by a powerful fire dragon.

In that moment of stunned silence, the lava giant erupted in flames, forcing the two Death Eaters to stay away.

Vincent swung his double serpent staff, shattering the chains binding his legs.

He slowly walked towards Rodolphus. "Uninvoking a spell, and an offensive one at that. Are you one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families?"

Rodolphus tried everything but couldn't pull the crimson thread that was tightly gripping him; his eyes, hidden behind his iron mask, were filled with disbelief.

A powerful wizard can control everything around him, and the little mud-child approaching him step by step is clearly not at that level, so it is he who has become weaker.

"Don't want to talk?" Vincent's right hand, which was gripping the scarlet thread, flashed white light, and magic power, like an electric current, drilled along the thread into Rodolphs's connected index finger.

This invading magic was like countless steel needles, piercing through bones, blood vessels, and muscles, and emerging from the bloodied and mangled skin.

As Rodolphus screamed in agony, the crimson threads turned into a blood mist and dissipated into the air.

Vincent stepped on his chest. "I've heard that you Death Eaters symbolize the conquest of death. Will you die if you don't put your lower body back together?"

Rodolphus felt his internal organs being squeezed together, and the blood he spat out flowed outwards along the edge of the iron mask.

"You filthy little mudblood, you'd better kill me now, or your family, classmates, friends, even your neighbors will..."

With a "crack," his sternum was broken.

Vincent waved his hand lightly, and the iron mask was flung into the air.

“Rodolphus Lestrange.” Vincent murmured his name, unconsciously increasing the pressure of his foot on Lestrange’s chest.

The mouthful of blood that Rodolphs spat out was frozen in mid-air, and his internal organs were squeezed out through the split wound.

His intestines were spilling out onto the ground, and his breathing was extremely weak; he could die at any moment.

Vincent's eyes were utterly cold. Rodolphus was one of the Death Eaters who tormented the Longbottoms back then, and it would be too easy for him to die like this.

……

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The commotion near Callum Science Centre immediately drew the attention of the local Muggle government.

Just yesterday, a group of foreign spies were arrested, and today new uninvited guests have arrived. Almost all of the Oxfordshire Ministry of Defence police were mobilized, rushing to the scene in armored vehicles and helicopters.

But the British Ministry of Magic arrived before them.

Kingsley was still leading the team. He was in a very complicated mood, not only because of the land that seemed to have been scorched by fire, but also because of the four Death Eater corpses.

Apart from Trevor's body, which was still barely recognizable, the other three bodies were almost burned to ashes. If they hadn't maintained their relatively intact human shapes, anyone who saw them would have thought they were just large pieces of charcoal.

The only survivor, Rodolphus Lestrange, was in no better shape.

His left hand was gone, his right hand was a bloody mess, his body was split in two, his intestines and internal organs were spilling out, and his thin and haggard face was covered with large purple spots. If it weren't for simple hemostasis, he would have been dead long ago.

However, if limb rehabilitation is not carried out as soon as possible, the person will also die in a few minutes.

Kingsley turned to look at the deep pit a dozen meters away.

It is filled with an unsettling, malevolent aura, a unique scent left over from the three Unforgivable Curses.

A Muggle officer strode toward him.

The other person was pale, seemingly affected by the Unforgivable Curse.

"Hello, I am Lieutenant Colonel Hunter Lane."

Hunter didn't waste any more words. "Gentlemen of the Ministry of Magic, the area ahead is an important research facility protected by the military. Let's talk here."

Kingsley frowned, his gaze sweeping over the four charcoal-ash-like corpses. "Lieutenant Colonel Ryan, what exactly happened just now?"

“We were attacked by unidentified assailants.” Hunter’s eyes were sharp as a knife. “We fought back fiercely and eventually managed to kill four of them.”

Kingsley's lips twitched slightly.

Putting everything else aside, just take the dying Rodolfos. He spent 14 years in Azkaban and was a complete madman. How could the Muggle military have managed to injure him like this?

"Sorry, the story is just too far-fetched," a fellow Auror couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Kingsley glared at him. "I understand, Lieutenant Colonel Lane. We need to take them back immediately."

Hunter reluctantly nodded. "Fine, matters concerning wizards should be handled by the Ministry of Magic."

After saying that, he turned and left quickly, just as decisively as he had come.

Kingsley looked at the Aurors beside him, "Put the body aside for now, treat Lestrange first."

Rodolphus's injuries were so severe that even if his two bodies were put back together, he would barely survive.

Septic shock, decreased cardiac output, complete loss of multiple organ function, comminuted spinal cord injury...

His body is completely ruined; he'll be bedridden for the rest of his life, unable to even take care of himself. He's not even as good as Quirrell, who can only drool and say "ba ba ba."

Kingsley sighed softly and turned to take a deep look at the Callum Science Center in the distance.

Only a few days had passed, and he was already having a headache again about how to report the situation to Fudge.

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