Chapter 1295 Giving the Shit Bowl a Gilded Edge
After leaving the Department of Mysteries, Scrimgeour "bumped into" Kingsley, who had just returned from Gringotts, in an empty corridor.
“Shakel.” Scrimgeour’s expression was extremely grave. “That thing is pure evil. Anyone who comes into contact with it will become unfortunate. The Department of Mysteries has handled it very well. I don’t see any danger it may pose at present.”
Kingsley's eyes suddenly sharpened.
He knew nothing about Horcruxes; Dumbledore's task for him was to guide Scrimgeour to ascertain the nature of the object and whether it posed a danger.
Pure evil poses no harm at present.
Scrimgeour provided the answer, and the mission was successfully completed, which should have been a cause for celebration. However, Kingsley stared at the departing figure with a furrowed brow.
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Lane Hotel,
Having shed his disguise, Vincent refocused his attention on the search for Aiden Selwyn.
Over the past few days, MI6 agents have been investigating locations in and around London where there have been unexplained phenomena. Hunter also personally led the Maxma Unit to infiltrate the community of paranormal enthusiasts and collected a large number of recent and inexplicable urban legends.
Continuous whispers emanated from a basement in the West End; an unnatural oily sheen appeared on a section of the Thames at midnight; and police officers reported smelling rotting flowers in an abandoned subway station…
Unfortunately, after on-site investigations, none of these locations were found to be suspicious, and Aiden Selwyn's whereabouts remain a mystery.
The elder of the Acting Council, who was sent to monitor the Selwyn family, also came up empty-handed; at least on the surface, Morian and his men did not show any suspicious behavior.
The search operation got bogged down, and time went by day by day.
On the morning of December 21, in the Ministry of Magic's conference room.
The long conference table was filled with directors and senior officials from various departments, each with varying degrees of numbness or flattery on their faces.
Scrinker stared at the clock hands on the wall and thought they were ridiculously slow.
"We must convey confidence to the public!" Fudge waved the Daily Prophet in his hand. "The Department of Magical News should step up its publicity efforts. Gringotts' restoration is progressing far beyond expectations, and it will be open for business soon."
As for the absurd rumors of the fire dragon and Muggle sightings, there's no need to worry. The situation is under our control, and there's no risk of the magical world being exposed..."
This boring meeting was a cruel murder of time; the real threat was creeping in, yet they were discussing how to gild the dung heap.
Scrimgeour's patience had reached its limit, and he was tempted to just get up and leave.
Just then, a powerful vibration came from the magical communicator on his wrist.
Fudge's voice continued: "Therefore, we must draft a statement as soon as possible, emphasizing the Ministry of Magic's absolute control over Gringotts' security and strongly condemning Vincent Wayne's act of terrorism for undermining trust in the international magical community..."
"Squeak—" The wooden chair legs made a grating sound as they rubbed against the marble floor.
All eyes in the conference room turned to Scrimgeour, who had suddenly stood up, including Fudge, whose expression remained frozen.
Everyone was waiting for him to speak, but he grabbed the dark robe draped over the back of the chair and walked silently toward the door.
Fudge's face instantly turned a deep shade of liver. "Rufus, the meeting isn't over yet."
Scrinker stopped and looked at the faces in the conference room, some puzzled, some watching the show, and some gloating.
He chuckled and quickly put on his robe. "Instead of wasting time here, I might as well go outside and take a walk. Maybe I can find some useful clues."
The air in the conference room seemed to be sucked out instantly, and everyone subconsciously held their breath.
Fudge's hands trembled violently, as if he were struggling to control his emotions. "Rufus, what kind of attitude is this? Your job is to capture Vincent Wayne as soon as possible, not to question the department's overall strategy."
Scrimgeour chuckled again and continued walking towards the door.
"You! You stop right there!" Fudge's voice trembled with anger as he pointed forcefully at his back. "Don't forget what you said when you were reinstated! You still have half a month! If you can't catch Vincent Wayne by then, you're fired!"
Scrimgeour stopped by the heavy oak door, turned halfway around, and glanced expressionlessly at the officials in the conference room, whose expressions varied.
They were either astonished or avoided the topic altogether, with only a few, such as Amelia Bones, daring to meet his gaze.
“My actions were based on professional judgment and valid leads.” Scrimgeour’s voice was eerily calm, a stark contrast to Fudge’s exasperation.
“Mr. Minister, if you believe that setting arrest deadlines in a conference room is more important than tracking real threats, then you certainly need more practical advice, but that’s not my job.”
Fudge was furious. "This is outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!"
Scrimgeour ignored Fudge and the officials who were gasping in shock.
He yanked open the conference room door and slammed it shut.
The loud noise echoed in the empty corridor, like a slap in the face, striking everyone in the conference room hard.
Outside an abandoned warehouse called Neptune at the East End docks of London.
The sound of the phantom appearing was masked by the sea breeze at the dock and the distant roar of machinery. Vincent, emerging from the black and white vortex, quickly walked toward the few Maxma soldiers guarding outside the cargo hold.
"What's going on inside?"
Private First Class Baker gritted his teeth, "We...we let him get away."
Vincent said with a grim face, "Stay alert."
After saying that, he walked into the messy warehouse.
The air here was filled with a familiar aura of curses. Hunter, who had arrived earlier than him, squatted down in front of two teammates whose skin was bluish-purple, as if they were under some kind of curse.
Vincent glanced at the escape route on the wall, where a trace of something almost completely disappeared remained—a remnant of the Apparition technique.
Instead of giving chase, he went straight to the two cursed team members.
The soft light from the serpent staffs dispelled the ominous aura, and they exhaled a glob of dark green, viscous liquid, their complexions gradually turning rosy.
Vincent put away his double serpent staff and squinted at the two pools of liquid that were slowly corroding the ground.
His choice was right; if not treated in time, this monstrous thing could corrode the body's internal organs, leaving them riddled with holes.
He raised the double serpent staff again and burned them completely with fierce fire.
After doing all that, he turned his attention to the escape route on the wall.
The traces left by Apparition had long since disappeared, but he felt no regret whatsoever.
Regardless of whether Aiden Selwyn was the antisocial pleasure offender who placed the cursed item, given his cautious nature, he must have had other plans.
Vincent is not a gambler; he wouldn't risk the lives of two players for a possibility.
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