Chapter 61: Got a Problem? Contact the Ministry of Magic!

In an instant, a dazzling green light tore through the air like a streak of lightning. Wherever it passed, air molecules trembled violently, emitting a piercing whistle.

The lethal Killing Curse, cloaked in an aura of death, struck with lightning speed, leaving no time whatsoever for any reaction.

Yet, the old man acted as though he possessed foreknowledge, anticipating it all long before.

At the very split second when the spell was about to strike, the old man swung his wand with a fluid, natural grace akin to flowing water.

In a flash, the suits of armor and shields displayed in the drawing-room seemed controlled by an invisible giant hand, roaring through the air as they flew over to rapidly erect a sturdy defense line before the old man.

The green light slammed heavily against the shield with a dull, thunderous roar, instantly deflecting it.

The scattering sparks of light, resembling a brilliant meteor shower, carved gorgeous trails through the air before slowly fading away.

"Hmph, still refusing to give up, clinging to a vain, desperate struggle." The old man's gaze suddenly sharpened like an eagle's, a cold glint flashing within it. His words, laden with a bone-chilling frost, fell coldly, "Do you truly believe you can walk out of here unscathed today?"

While the old man's voice still echoed softly in the air, the black-robed wizards in the room caught his meaning instantly. Like a well-trained army, they raised their wands in unison with a sharp, synchronized motion.

The next second—

Magical lights of various colors intertwined like nimble serpents, colliding fiercely with deafening roars that illuminated the entire hall as bright as day.

Spells shot from the hands of the black-robed wizards like arrows released from taut bowstrings, carrying a chilling power as they streaked across the air like meteors, dragging eerie, glowing tails behind them.

Morris wore a calm expression, utterly devoid of fear. As he chanted incantations under his breath, his wand traced complex patterns through the air.

In the blink of an eye, the stone slabs on the floor seemed to be imbued with life, bursting upward one after another to transform instantly into unbreakable stone walls, solidly blocking the majority of the magical assaults.

Still, a few spells cunningly breached the defense line, striking precisely at the tables and chairs beside Morris.

Accompanied by a muffled boom, the furniture shattered into flying fragments instantly, wooden splinters scattering in all directions.

Once drawn into combat, Morris seemed like an entirely different person.

As his wand waved, everything around him transformed into sharp blades in his hands.

The exquisite porcelain near the walls, the decorative metal sculptures, and even the tables and chairs furnishing the room all became effective tools for him to fend off enemies.

At this moment, he had no time for further contemplation.

Every action and every reaction appeared intensely urgent under the encroaching shadow of death.

In other words—

Everything was an instinct honed on the edge of life and death, or invaluable experience accumulated through countless battles.

Heaven knows how he possessed such abundant and exquisite combat skills at his tender age.

Morris moved with agile grace, cleverly utilizing his surroundings for evasion and counterattack.

In a twinkling, a decorative ceramic vase flew before him, transforming instantly into a solid shield to block an attack for him. The massive standing mirror by the door, driven by his magic, shattered instantly into numerous sharp blades that, wrapped in a whistling gale, were hurled fiercely toward the black-robed wizards.

Yet, the tide of battle was as unpredictable as a surging wave, shifting toward a far more complex direction in the blink of an eye.

Morris realized.

The cobbled-together defensive and offensive means at his disposal were no longer enough to withstand the overwhelming, crushing onslaught of the black-robed wizards.

Their numbers were simply too vast...

"I cannot keep trading blows head-on!" he thought to himself.

Just then, a fatal beam of black light grazed past his shoulder, carrying a searing heat that caused his skin to sting faintly.

He frowned, making a split-second decision.

"Fall back!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Morris spun around abruptly, sprinting toward the stone staircase in the corner that he had already targeted, and leaped down without a second thought.

By his estimation, the cramped terrain of the basement would grant him an absolute advantage.

In a video game, this would be equivalent to a safe zone where he could recover his health.

Following Morris's entry into the basement, the storm-like magical barrage from upstairs came to an abrupt halt.

The black-robed wizards had never expected that Morris, who moments before had been brimming with fighting spirit and ready to drag them down with him, would choose to retreat in such an unexpected manner!

Nevertheless, the black-robed wizards were well-trained after all. Recovering quickly, they pursued him without hesitation.

However, the narrow, cramped stone staircase became a massive obstacle to their pursuit.

Confined within this tight space, they could only struggle downward one by one at a crawl.

Worse still, fatal Killing Curses erupted from the darkness from time to time, moving with a speed that left them no time to evade.

Amidst piercing screams, the comrades leading the charge fell one after another, their lifeless bodies piling haphazardly across the stone steps.

Witnessing this, the remaining black-robed wizards turned pale with fright, no longer daring to descend rashly.

Seizing this opportunity, Morris paused briefly upon entering the basement, taking deep breaths to restore his stamina.

With a sidelong glance, he swiftly scanned his surroundings to analyze the terrain—this was the ultimate line of defense left behind by nobles for extreme emergencies, exceptionally sturdily built.

The basement space was relatively enclosed, yet featured winding corridors and complexly laid-out storage rooms.

Whether guarding the stairwell to hold off ten thousand single-handedly, or drawing the enemy into narrow passageways, he could reduce the enemy's numerical advantage to a bare minimum.

Yet, this approach possessed one major drawback—

"Our men cannot get down there."

Inside the drawing-room, a black-robed wizard spoke tremblingly to the old man.

Before the old man could utter a word, a black-robed figure beside him darkened his expression instantly. Waving his wand fiercely, he overturned the nearby tables and chairs with a surge of powerful magic, producing a deafening crash.

"Useless! A bunch of useless fools!" he roared in uncontrollable fury. "So many of you unable to handle even a single person—what use are you!"

The vast majority of the black-robed wizards lowered their heads, not daring to draw a breath. A heavy, oppressive haze seemed to shroud the entire room, filling the air like a rising tide that choked off the breath.

The old man's gaze swept over everyone present one by one.

"At this moment, the initiative rests firmly in our hands, and two paths lie before us."

"The first path is to outlast him," the old man narrowed his eyes slightly. "That basement is akin to an airtight cage with no other exits. Once he exhausts his resources and physical strength fails him, he will lose his ability to fight on his own, even if we do not lift a finger."

At this, the old man paused slightly, his expression growing ever more solemn.

"However, the longer this drags on, the more variables arise. Therefore—" he deliberately drew out his tone, sweeping his gaze across the crowd once more, and declared decisively, "We shall take the second path—a direct assault."

As his words fell, the faces of the black-robed wizards reflected a myriad of complex expressions.

Yet the one thing every single face shared was an unmistakable look of reluctance and deep hesitation.

Although they were elite death-squad members meticulously cultivated by various pure-blood families, accustomed to obeying family commands without question, who could treat life and death lightly or march into battle without fear when faced with a suicide mission like a frontal assault?

After all, everyone knew crystal clear—

Mounting a frontal assault in a narrow, perilous basement was tantamount to casting one's life away at random. Relying on sheer casualties to pave a path to victory offered a microscopic chance of survival.

Sensing the hesitation and dread etched across the black-robed wizards' faces, the old man instantly saw through their thoughts.

With a cold chuckle, he said steadily, "Rest assured, I shall not have you march to your deaths in vain. You are elites cultivated at great resource cost; I will not let your lives be squandered lightly."

"Then... what exactly do you plan to do?" Below, a black-robed wizard asked with a mixture of tension and anticipation.

Instead of answering, the old man strode toward Vane in the corner, who remained petrified.

Perhaps because Morris did not wish for Vane to die so easily, or perhaps because he was simply too much of a nuisance—at the very start of the battle, Morris had kicked Vane into the corner of the drawing-room, miraculously leaving him completely unharmed throughout the skirmish.

"Finite Incantatem!"

With a flash of light, Vane gradually regained control of his body.

Unlike the Petrifying Charm induced by a Basilisk's gaze, though Vane had lost control of his physical body, he could still perceive everything around him, meaning he had heard every single word of the preceding conversation.

Staring at the old man before him, the malicious glint that flashed through his eyes was quickly concealed. Compared to the humiliation he had just suffered, the most pressing matter at hand was how to deal with Morris.

Dignity versus death; with the two options laid bare, the choice went without saying.

"So, what is your plan?" Vane asked in a low voice.

Without flinching, the old man met Vane's gaze and said, word by word, "Report what has happened here to the Ministry of Magic."

"What??!!"

Nearly all eyes converged on the old man, shocked into disbelief by what he had just proposed.

However—

A few sharp-witted wizards had already begun to grasp the old man's intention, their faces dawning with sudden comprehension.

Noticing the crowd's reaction, the corners of the old man's mouth curled upward into a meaningful smile.

"Consider this, gentlemen: an unknown dark wizard suddenly dares to break into our manor and slaughter wantonly."

"Under such circumstances—"

"Is reporting this to the Ministry of Magic not precisely what a law-abiding ordinary wizard ought to do?"

"Otherwise, have all the generous taxes we send to the Ministry of Magic every year simply gone down the drain?"

"The Ministry's duty is to maintain order and safeguard the security of ordinary wizards like us."

"Now is precisely the time for them to fulfill their duty!"

Hearing this, the crowd exchanged knowing smiles.

Indeed, wasn't the Ministry of Magic's purpose precisely to provide services for them?

All in all—

When facing trouble, turning to the Ministry of Magic is always the right answer!