Chapter 25: Please, Answer Me Again

The atmosphere in the attic plunged to freezing point.

Without warning, the wind picked up. It swept across the high attic, carrying the chill of the mountains, catching the steam rising slowly from the teapot and tearing it apart, scattering it into the air. The setting sun slid toward the horizon, and the radiance at the edge of the sky turned into a dark red, like spilled blood, staining the entire sky with a desolate and grim hue.

"I’ve been wanting to say this for a while, Mr. Grindelwald."

Morris slowly set down his teacup. The base clicked against the stone table, a crisp sound that felt particularly jarring in the silent evening breeze.

"Your methods of provocation are not clever at all."

Grindelwald’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of displeasure appearing in his eyes, but he did not speak, seemingly waiting for Morris to continue.

"Provocation doesn't work on me, Mr. Grindelwald. On the contrary, your series of actions just now seems both redundant and ridiculous."

"That’s right," Morris shifted his tone, "My faith, from beginning to end, has been vengeance."

The sentence was like a cold blade, thrust straight into the silent air of the attic; even the wind seemed to pause for a moment.

"However..." Morris paused, narrowing his eyes slightly, "Unlike the vengeance you understand, my methods are... unique."

Grindelwald’s expression turned cold, and a complex look flashed in his eyes. He seemed to have realized something, yet he remained silent, clearly waiting for Morris to go on.

"Do you think making them bleed, making them kneel on the ground and beg, is a victory?"

"No, no, no. I want those people—those who once hurt me and those I love—to watch, bit by bit, as everything they hold dear fades away."

"I will not let them die easily, for death is the greatest mercy I could grant them."

"I will let them live, to witness with their own eyes how the world they built collapses and crumbles."

Morris turned his head slightly, gazing at the darkening horizon. The last rays of the setting sun shone upon his face, light and shadow intertwined, and then... vanished, leaving only darkness behind.

"I want them to understand that their arrogance, their privileges, are ultimately things without roots."

"I want them to watch as what once belonged to them is taken away, step by step—power, status, even their very thoughts."

"I want them to watch as their dignity is stripped away layer by layer, until even living is no longer a source of pain, but a source of terror."

"The terror of waiting—waiting for an unknown punishment, waiting for the moment when everything they have is stripped away."

"I want them to live, to live in despair, knowing clearly every day that they have no way to escape, yet still being forced to drag out their existence under my shadow."

"I want those stagnant, decaying, and archaic ideas—which have stood still for hundreds of years—to be shattered within a few short years. I want them to go through this process without ever knowing exactly where they went wrong—watching helplessly as their fixed perceptions are broken, while they remain lost and powerless."

"And that, is far more interesting than killing them."

Having said this, Morris smiled at Grindelwald. But that smile, in Grindelwald’s eyes, was so... familiar. It was as if he were seeing an expression he had caught in the mirror countless times—contemptuous, confident, yet harboring an inscrutable ambition.

However, Morris seemed to discern Grindelwald's thoughts and interrupted the man’s lingering memories without hesitation.

"Mr. Grindelwald," he said softly.

For some reason, Grindelwald detected contempt in Morris’s tone. Yes, contempt—an attitude so unfamiliar to him that he even began to doubt if he was being overly sensitive.

"You think I will be like you were in your youth, don't you?" Morris continued, his tone as calm as if he were stating a fact. "Going all in, acting on impulse, deluding yourself into thinking you could reshape the world single-handedly, only to be defeated by your own stupidity and obsession in the end."

Grindelwald’s gaze shifted slightly. His lips parted to speak, but he was completely cut off by Morris’s next words.

"In my view," Morris’s voice was low, "you and Voldemort are merely two losers—two pathetic creatures who dared not truly face reality."

Grindelwald’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the armrests of his chair. His gaze shot toward Morris like a blade, but the latter remained composed, showing no fear.

"You think I’ve offended you, don't you?" Morris smiled with disdain. "But that is the truth. What you and Voldemort did was nothing more than make people bleed and die, nothing more."

He paused slightly, as if to emphasize his point. "And as I said before, what this world owes me is not just to me personally, but to all of us—so the object of my vengeance was never just those people, but... the entire world."

Morris placed his right hand over his chest and said, word by word:

"Yes, what I intend to do is to change this world, and to change the thoughts of everyone within it."

Grindelwald’s complexion shifted; that suppressed anger was finally ignited. Was it because of Morris’s provocation? Perhaps. Was it because of Morris’s scorn? Perhaps that too. But more than anything, it was perhaps because he saw—himself—in Morris’s expression.

No, to be precise, he saw himself from half a century ago. That high-spirited Gellert Grindelwald who dared to dream of controlling the entire wizarding world.

Yes, no matter what Morris said, he was not like him at all, but in Grindelwald’s eyes, Morris was the version of himself from fifty years ago—just as stubborn as he once was. Therefore, it was less that he was angry at Morris, and more that he was angry at his past self.

And so, when Grindelwald suddenly stood up, the aura of the Dark Lord that had once swept across Europe and struck fear into the wizarding world returned in an instant. The air in the attic seemed to solidify; the wind surged in from all sides, whipping his robes and snapping loudly. He stood there like a mountain, a peak that could never be scaled, casting a long, heavy shadow in the shallow night.

"Change the world?" Grindelwald repeated coldly, like a predator coiled and ready to strike its prey. "You talk a big game."

"Do you know how many people have said similar things? Albus said it, I said it, and even that piece of garbage called Voldemort said it."

He walked slowly to the stone table, his fingertips tracing the surface; the cold touch was as biting as his words.

"But in the end, what did we change?" Grindelwald’s voice rose sharply, not knowing if he was questioning Morris, himself, or the world at large. "We just let the world continue to rot in a different direction."

He stood still, staring coldly at Morris, his tone suddenly deepening.

"Don't tell me you think you’re far better than us. You are clever, but clever people often die the fastest—because they think they have everything under control, while ignoring the variables they cannot foresee."

"So, Morris—please, answer me again: what makes you think you are the exception?"