Chapter 1300 The Coming Carnival
Lucius Malfoy is undoubtedly a treacherous viper. What can you expect from cooperating with such a person? Betrayal?
Aiden's intact right cheek twisted into a mocking arc. "Mr. Malfoy, do you think there's still a place for me in London? This city is overflowing with Muggles from all over the world. That guy... Wayne, he's put a giant spotlight on the whole city."
"Spotlight?" Lucius practically spat out the word. "Just a gimmick by a bunch of tasteless and visionary idiots! Wayne thinks blowing up Gringotts and riding a fire-breathing dragon is power? That's just barbaric showing off! Drawing the dirty, curious, and fearful eyes of Muggles to our world!"
He slammed his snake-headed cane heavily on the ground. "No class! No strategy! He exposed the magical world to unnecessary risks and caused chaos for countless people... including me."
A glint of light flashed in Aiden's eyes.
It seems that Wayne has not only caused trouble for him, but also for Lucius, who is slightly out of control in front of him.
"Mr. Malfoy, judging from your tone, you seem to dislike this new-age Dark Lord quite a bit?"
Lucius snorted, "Just a self-important little bastard. He's got a little bit of cleverness, but he'll never amount to anything."
Aiden understood perfectly. Since they were all from the Twenty-Eight Holy Families, the more casually they spoke, the more it demonstrated Wayne's abilities.
"Mr. Malfoy, what do you want from me?"
Lucius regained his composure, his eyes sharpening. “Mr. Selwyn, I, and some of my patrons who share similar views, believe that rather than letting that brute continue to taint our world with explosions and flames, we should introduce more creative, artistic, and deterrent methods to serve as a warning.”
"What warning?"
Lucius smiled dismissively. "That's not important, Mr. Selwyn. I've heard a little about your work; it's more powerful than mere destruction and better reflects the understanding of influence held by certain ancient families."
He looked at Aiden's left cheek, which was covered by a mask. "Was the accident caused by those ignorant Muggles? As long as you participate, you can obtain resources far beyond your imagination, a broader stage, and you can vent your hatred for Muggles to your heart's content."
Lucius Malfoy, able to piece together the truth from fragmented clues, truly is a treacherous viper.
Aiden's gaze became wary.
Lucius wasn't acting out of some lofty pure-blood ideal, at least not in his own words; it was a transaction based on calculations of profit and risk transfer.
Lucius and the forces he represented despised Wayne's "stupidity" and "recklessness" and wanted to accomplish a certain task of deterrence or diversion in a more "elegant" way, while extricating themselves from the situation.
Aiden was the chosen executor, the scapegoat.
"Mr. Selwyn, what is your answer?"
Aiden remained silent.
The waves crashed in his ears, and his mind raced as he calculated the gains and losses.
Lucius gave him an opportunity, a chance to exact revenge on the Muggles.
He will have to pay a heavy price; he may spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, or he may even be killed on the spot.
Aiden raised his still-healing right hand and gently touched the mask on his face.
Beneath this mask lies purgatory, a purgatory created by the negligence of Muggles.
After a long while, he looked up at Lucius, the struggle in his eyes replaced by a cold resolve, "I want absolute control, I don't want you interfering with my creative process."
Lucius loosened his grip on the snake-headed cane slightly, seemingly quite satisfied with his answer. "Reasonable conditions; we can discuss the details gradually, so..."
Lucius formally extended his hand to him, "Welcome to this party, Mr. Selwin. I hope our collaboration will yield some truly classy results."
Aiden didn't hesitate any longer and gripped it tightly.
……
……
London, top floor of the Lane Hotel.
The true identity of the antisocial pleasure criminal who planted cursed items in the Muggle world has finally been confirmed: he is Aiden Selwyn, a former genius healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries.
Vincent stood in front of the projection screen, quietly looking at the handsome face on it.
It is a despicable and shameful act to transfer one's misfortune and suffering to others, not because it harms the innocent, but because it rejects the most precious courage in humanity—to face one's own darkness.
"The rat disappeared into the sewers, completely vanished." Hunter walked to his side with a grave expression. "If I had chosen Destruction Mode and killed it outright, we wouldn't be in this situation now..."
Vincent shook his head. "Uncle Hunter, you've done very well."
Aiden Selwyn's escape was like a drop of water merging into the ocean; Ebenezer could only provide limited clues, and they had no choice but to accept reality.
The intense sense of defeat caused Hunter to clench his fists tighter and tighter. "There's no news from MI6 either. We're on the defensive again."
Vincent went to the window and looked down at London, which was still bustling with traffic.
As Christmas approaches, Muggles are preparing for the holiday, while some tourists from all over the world are setting up their cameras and aiming them at the sky, as if they want to capture the world-shocking fire dragon.
“Aiden Selwyn…” Vincent murmured the name, his deep blue eyes devoid of any warmth.
The person has escaped, and the trail has gone completely cold, but judging from the other party's level of caution, the Muggle world should be safe for the time being.
Unless someone has lost their mind, they would not risk continuing to commit the crime.
Vincent turned around. "Uncle Hunter, all we can do now is be on high alert. The Type A spheres have been deployed, and any unusual magical fluctuations in the city will not escape their detection."
Hunter looked away from the projection screen with a resentful expression. "If I run into him again, I won't give him a chance to escape."
the next day,
Early in the morning, Vincent, as usual, disguised himself as Scrimgeour and went to the Ministry of Magic.
The tedious routine meeting began again, and Fudge practically roared at him, "Rufus! Almost a month has passed, and what's your progress? Let me tell you! My tolerance has its limits!"
Scringer remained unmoved, as if he couldn't hear anything.
Fudge's voice grew louder: "Rufus Scrimgeour!"
Amelia Borns, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, gently nudged Scrimgeour's arm. The latter looked at her questioningly. "Is the meeting over?"
Fudge's face turned red instantly.
Scrimgeour stared at the face that looked like it could explode at any moment, and stood up with a creak.
He grabbed the robe draped over the back of the chair. "I apologize, everyone, I seem to have interrupted your meeting."
Fudge was so angry he laughed, and his laughter was terrifying.
The Minister of Magic, a man of great stature, has been repeatedly ignored by his subordinates. If he continues to let Scrimgeour run rampant today, his authority as Minister will be completely tarnished.
……
……
