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Inside this underground chamber filled with Black Iron armor, even with over two hundred wizards present, the space still felt vast and hollow. The atmosphere was stifling and heavy, as if the very air had thickened. Other than the two "guests" being led on a tour, the rest of the crowd had fallen into an uneasy silence.
Whether they were scholar-wizards responsible for research or the Aurors tasked with security, none of them spoke. Yet, their minds were flooded with countless thoughts.
The researchers worried about whether they would still have jobs after today. They had dedicated years of grueling, isolated study to this project—not out of passion or free will, but because of the generous compensation and the prestige they hoped to gain once their research bore fruit.
Few people in this world sought neither wealth nor recognition, and it was clear they were not among them. Even if this man allowed them to continue studying these ancient artifacts, the high salaries and the guaranteed security for their families—privileges only the Ministry of Magic could provide—were undoubtedly gone. Those were things no private individual could easily promise. Moreover, given this man's utter disregard for human life, even if they made groundbreaking discoveries, the likelihood of their names appearing on any official research records was slim at best.
Perhaps the leading scholars might still be acknowledged, but the majority of them? Not a chance.
The Aurors, on the other hand, had much simpler concerns. They weren't worried about money—they were worried about staying alive.
Compared to the scholars, who had research value and could be controlled more easily, the Aurors found themselves in a precarious position. Even if they all worked together, they couldn't lay a finger on this man. The seemingly thin magical barrier surrounding him could be broken, but their own tests had proven that it would take at least five to ten seconds of concentrated firepower to even crack the damn thing.
Sure, the wizarding world had stronger magical shields—but those were used to fortify fortresses and outposts, built with massive alchemical arrays for permanent or semi-permanent defense. Since when could an individual carry something like that?
Technically speaking, there was precedent, but that precedent had a name: Nicolas Flamel. And there was only one of him. Only one wizard in history had ever created a Philosopher's Stone—an artifact so miraculous it defied reason.
If Flamel hadn't pillaged and destroyed the goblin empire during its attempted resurgence, seizing astronomical amounts of wealth in the process, even he wouldn't have been able to afford the absurd luxury of using Philosopher's Stones like disposable trinkets. Alchemy had always been a gold-devouring art, and the creation of a Philosopher's Stone was the pinnacle of extravagant expenses. Using one just to transmute gold? That was the least profitable use imaginable.
'Could this guy be Flamel's… illegitimate son?'
The absurd thought crossed someone's mind, only to be dismissed immediately. Flamel had gone centuries without producing an heir. The Elixir of Life was even jokingly called the world's most potent contraceptive potion. If even a legitimate heir was impossible, how could he have a secret one?
Besides, this man had black hair, black eyes, and a broad, imposing frame—if anything, claiming he was a descendant of Emperor Trajan would be more convincing than linking him to Flamel.
Just as the Aurors' unease reached a peak, a faint pulse of concealed magic rippled through their bodies. A familiar voice echoed in their ears, and in an instant, their sinking morale stabilized.
'It's Director Tom!'
'What?! How is Director Tom here?!'
The Aurors resisted the urge to glance around in search of him. Instead, at the soft whispers guiding them, they subtly lowered their heads, making sure not to exhibit any reaction that might alert the "tourist" up ahead—the very man they now saw as their captor.
When it came to Director Tom, there wasn't a single Auror who didn't respect him. Sure, when he had first been parachuted into his position, there had been plenty of opposition and resentment. But in just a few short months, he had completely taken control of the Auror Department.
Unlike their previous superiors, who did nothing but spew empty promises and false hopes, Director Tom actually got things done.
Not only had Director Tom improved the Auror Department's benefits and compensation—long-overdue measures that should have been implemented years ago—but he had also helped them achieve visible progress in their magical abilities. Their wallets were fuller, their lives were better, their jobs were easier, and they carried themselves with newfound confidence. With a superior like that, who wouldn't be convinced?
For the Aurors—and even for the rest of the Ministry—hiring Director Tom had been the best decision the Minister had ever made. In just one year, calls for Tom to take over as Minister had grown louder and louder. Give it another year, and the Ministry might undergo a full transformation—something everyone welcomed with open arms. Other departments had envied the Aurors for a long time, desperate to have a leader like him at their helm.
"I've always been right beside you."
Tom's deep, magnetic voice echoed in their ears. Yet… was it just their imagination, or was there a hint of gritted teeth behind that composed tone?
Maybe Director Tom, too, was seething with hatred for the monster who had just slaughtered several of their colleagues. Unconsciously, their own rage burned hotter, their loathing for that man carving deeper into their bones.
"Don't worry. That bastard is strong, but this is our home turf."
Tom's words cooled their fury, replacing it with unwavering focus. Every Auror listened intently to his steady whispers.
"The dungeon's protective magic has been suppressed, but not destroyed. I need a team to manually reactivate key defensive nodes. The priority is to break the Anti-Apparition Bind. Auror Squad One, this is your mission. Move into position slowly and wait for my signal."
"Second—while the reverse-engineering of the Black Iron Armor has been slow, these suits aren't completely inoperable. The Ministry has already figured out how to activate and pilot them. However, since their magic cores haven't been replaced, we can only power the smaller suits using our own magic."
"These will drastically improve our mobility and survival rate. Let's be clear—our small squads alone won't be enough to take him down. We need reinforcements."
Tom began calling out names, one by one.
Despite the crowd of over two hundred people, he recognized every single one of them. That attention to detail didn't go unnoticed. Moved by his precision and leadership, their loyalty deepened yet again.
Once the initial assignments were set, Tom continued:
"I'll blast open the sealed exit. Those not assigned a role—when the signal comes, cast a coordinated spell with me.
If we can't break through his magic barrier in the short term, then we won't waste time trying. There are plenty of ways to trap him."
From start to finish, Tom never once revealed himself. No one had even figured out where exactly he was, yet not a single person hesitated to follow his orders.
They didn't know why, but the moment they heard his voice, their instincts whispered:
"Trust him. He is your leader. He is someone worth following."
And so, in just a year, the entire Ministry had fallen to his influence.
Silently, the operatives moved into position, waiting for the earth-shattering signal to arrive.
Meanwhile, up ahead, the two "tourists" remained utterly oblivious to the storm brewing behind them.
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(End of Chapter)