章 406: 0405 Albania
Albania, a land of contrasts and mysteries, presents a facade of natural beauty to the unsuspecting Muggle world. According to official government statistics, one-third of Albania's diverse terrain is blanketed in lush, dense forests. These verdant expanses, with their towering trees and vegetation teeming with life, paints a picturesque scene that lures Muggle tourists from far and wide. However, for upstanding wizards in the Wizarding world, it's not a place worth lingering.
The root of Albania's magical predicament lies in its demographics. The country's population, by global standards, is relatively small. The limited population renders to a correspondingly small number of native-born wizards and witches. This scarcity of wizards has led to a critical problem that reverberates through every aspect of magical life in Albania.
Without a sufficient number of local wizards, Albania lacks the necessary foundation to establish a legitimate Ministry of Magic. Such a ministry, recognized by the International Confederation of Wizards, is the cornerstone of magical governance in most nations. It serves as the regulatory body, enforcing laws, maintaining order, and ensuring the delicate balance between the magical and Muggle worlds remains undisturbed. In its absence, a vacuum of power emerges, leaving only the bare minimum of magical law - the Statute of Secrecy - to govern the actions of witches and wizards within Albania's borders.
This lack of comprehensive magical oversight has given rise to chaotic and often dangerous phenomena. Magical creatures in this country are slaughtered indiscriminately. Their parts, prized for their magical properties, fetch exorbitant prices on the black market, fueling a cycle of greed and destruction.
The trade in illegal magical substances flourishes in this lawless environment. Rare potion ingredients, some so potent or dangerous that their very possession is illegal in most civilized magical communities, change hands freely here. Smugglers, drawn by the promise of enormous profits and lax enforcement, have made Albania their chosen marketplace. They conduct their evil business with liberty, knowing that no aurors or magical law enforcement agents will swoop down to arrest them.
In this climate of unchecked magical activity, the darker aspects of wizardry have found fertile ground to take root and flourish. Dark magic, shunned and forbidden in most magical societies, is practiced openly here. Curses that would earn a life sentence in Azkaban are cast without fear of repercussion. Enchanted objects of malicious design are crafted and sold to the highest bidder.
Adding to this volatile mix are the traditional wild witches and wizards who call Albania home. These practitioners of ancient and often brutal forms of magic often conduct cruel experiments here.
As word of Albania's unique situation spread through the darker corners of the wizarding world, the country became a magnet for those with something to hide. Fugitives pursued by their home countries' Ministries of Magic saw in Albania a perfect refuge. These individuals, already of questionable character, brought with them their own brands of mayhem. Incidents involving attacks on unsuspecting Muggles became increasingly frequent, though carefully orchestrated to avoid causing widespread panic that might draw unwanted attention.
The International Confederation of Wizards, theoretically responsible for magical governance in the absence of a local ministry, found itself in an impossible position. Tasked with maintaining the Statute of Secrecy above all else, the Confederation is forced to turn a blind eye to many of the atrocities committed within Albania's borders. As long as the Muggle world remains blissfully unaware of the magical chaos unfolding around them, the Confederation's hands were tied.
Even Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful and influential wizard of the age, was also powerless to change Albania. His desire to protect the innocent Muggles caught in the crossfire of magical conflicts is blocked by the complex web of interests that have taken root in the country.
Like the underground world in the depths of Knockturn Alley, Albania's magical underworld is protected by a network of connections that blur the lines between light and dark. To truly change the status quo, Dumbledore would have to charge in wielding his wand and go on a rampage himself.
As twilight descends upon this land, the sky's vibrant palette gradually fades.
The setting sun, once a blazing orb of fierce crimson, mellows to a softer, more subdued red. At the distant horizon, where the vast expanse of the sea meets the darkening sky, one can just make out the tiny black silhouettes of fishing boats struggling to reach shore, painting a picture of the vast, boundless ocean.
The encroaching night brings with it a palpable sense of unease among the Muggle tourists. Despite being captivated by the raw beauty of Albania's natural landscapes, As if responding to some unspoken signal, tourists begin to call out to their companions and walk with hurried footsteps to their cars to leave.
By the time the cold moon becomes faintly visible in the sky, there were hardly any Muggles left at the boundary between the primeval forest and the hills covered in lush green grass. However, by the rippling lakeshore, a middle-aged woman was kneeling, sobbing desperately as several policemen try to restrain her.
"What's going on?" A young man carrying a travel suitcase appeared silently behind a policeman, startling the Greek-looking Muggle police officer who had been standing nearby, hands on his hips, surveying the scene with a weary sigh.
"Oh Damn, where did you come from?" The policeman, seemingly the leading officer, nearly twisted his ankle. His hand even moved reflexively towards his gun holster, but after his gaze swept over the gray-haired young man's entire body, the vigilance in his eyes dissipated, replaced by a touch of embarrassed anger from being frightened.
"What happened?" The gray-haired young man asked, ignoring the Muggle policeman's emotions, raising his chin and looked towards the middle-aged woman who was struggling with several officers and wailing loudly as she tried to rush into the lake.
"Ah—" The Muggle policeman seemed to be a very approachable person. He didn't dwell on how the gray-haired young man managed to sneak up behind him without making a sound on the open grassland where they could see everything. Sighing, he looked at the middle-aged woman with sympathy in his eyes.
"She's a tourist from Italy. This morning, the lady and her daughter were out boating on the lake. Everything seemed normal at first, but then a gust of wind blew by. The woman says she just blinked, and in that instant, her daughter vanished."
"Oh—" The young man, with strangely rare eye color but handsome appearance and an eye-catching temperament nodded thoughtfully. "What about the search team? Haven't you tried looking in the lake?"
"You're not from around here, sir. You don't understand the situation—" The Muggle policeman lowered his voice, afraid of upsetting the Italian woman whose nerves are already frayed. He leaned towards the gray-haired young man's ear and whispered, "This sort of thing... it happens here quite often. More often than anyone likes to admit. Tourists come to enjoy our beautiful country, they're playing by the lake, exploring the forests, visiting our scenic spots, and then... in the blink of an eye, their loved ones vanish.
We search, of course. We search until we're exhausted, until we've combed every inch of land and water. But it's always the same. No matter how much effort we put in, how many resources we deploy, we can't find them. It's like they've been swallowed up by the earth itself.
Sometimes, if they're lucky, the missing people reappear after a while. They just show up in another place. But here's the strangest part - they have no memory of what happened to them during that period of time. They can't explain how they ended up where they were found, or what happened during the time they were missing. It's like they stepped out of the world for a while and then stepped back in, with no idea they'd been gone."
"And the unlucky ones?"
"Oh—" The Muggle policeman's face turned horrified. "The unlucky ones... when we finally find them, they're already gone. Dead. But that's not even the strangest part. There's never any apparent cause of death on their bodies. No wounds, no signs of violence. And then there are the most unfortunate cases. The ones where people disappear completely, leaving no trace at all."
"Hmm—" Looking at the grief-stricken Muggle woman, a deep light flashed in Bryan's eyes. "Haven't you ever truly investigated the cause?"
"Of course we want to!" The Muggle policeman cried out indignantly. "But the higher-ups won't let us dig too deep. The government, they're more concerned about protecting the tourism industry than finding the truth.
They use every trick in the book - threats, bribes, whatever it takes to keep the families quiet. They're terrified that if word gets out about what really happens here, no tourist will ever set foot in this country again. And the politicians, those despicable, self-serving—Oh, damn!"
The Muggle policeman suddenly stopped his rant, jumping away from the gray-haired young man and stared at him with terrified eyes. "I shouldn't have told you all this," he stammered, panic evident in his voice. "Oh, damn it. Alright, forget everything I just said. You never heard any of this, understand?"
His tone became urgent, almost pleading. "Hurry back to your hotel and rest, sir. It's not safe out here at night. There are... things in the darkness. Large wild animals prowling around. You wouldn't want to end up like the others, would you? Disappearing suddenly only to be found in a stinking sewer after a while?"
"Thank you for your warning. I certainly wouldn't want to meet such an end—" The gray-haired young man nodded politely to the Muggle policeman, smiling courteously.
"Then leave quickly!" the officer insisted, waving his arms in an exaggerated shooing motion. He watched intently as the young man turned to go, only relaxing slightly when he saw him start to walk away. With a heavy sigh, the officer turned his attention back to the weeping Italian woman, her cries having subsided to quiet, heartbreaking sobs.
But as the officer's gaze shifted away, the young man halted his departure. He turned his head, fixing the grieving mother with a long, penetrating look. For a brief moment, a flash of lightning-like anger in his eyes.
The gray-haired young man is, of course, Bryan.
Four or five days ago, Bryan was still drifting on the ocean with Sirius.
The trip to Azkaban had been quite fruitful. According to the original plan, he was prepared to return to 12 Grimmauld Place and spend some time pondering the gains from this adventure.
But just at the end of this adventure, a letter from Kakus Fawley interrupted Bryan's plans, forcing him to embark on a tiring journey to this unfamiliar country, despite having already expended considerable energy.
Now, as he stood at the edge of this primeval forest, Bryan couldn't help but draw comparisons to the Forbidden Forest that bordered Hogwarts. But as the Forbidden Forest held a certain familiarity, a sense of being tamed (if only slightly) due to its proximity to the school, this Albanian woodland exuded an aura of wild, untamed aura.
In the dense woods, towering trees reaching several dozen feet high and too thick for even several adults to encircle with their arms are everywhere. While the sky outside still held the faint glow of sunset, the forest was already steeped in darkness.
Bryan pulled his black robes tighter around himself, more out of instinct than any real need for warmth. The garment, imbued with protective enchantments, seemed to absorb the surrounding darkness, rendering him nearly invisible. This camouflage, however, did little to shield him from the unseen wizard's eyes that watched his every move.
Clad in black robes, Bryan ignored the greedy eyes that were lurking in the deep darkness, secretly peeping and waiting to strike, as he struggled along a barely noticeable path. The vines around were so thick that Bryan wasn't even sure if he's walking on the right path or if he's already gone astray.
After struggling through the vegetation, Bryan paused to check the letter from Kakus Fawley once more. From an inner pocket of his robes, he took out the slightly crumpled parchment. Attached to it was a crudely drawn magical map. In the dim light filtering through the canopy, Bryan studied the parchment intently.
According to the map, he was very close to his destination. Not far from it, a larger symbol marked his goal. Bryan took a moment to survey his surroundings, matching the outlines of the land to those depicted on the map. Satisfied that he was indeed on the right track, he carefully refolded the letter and map, tucking them safely away before setting off once more.
The next ten minutes of his journey were perhaps the most grueling yet. The forest seemed to grow denser with each step, as if actively resisting his progress.
Finally, after these ten minutes of struggle, Bryan emerged into a small clearing. At its center stood a massive spruce tree, its trunk as wide as a small house.
But it was what hung at the base of the spruce that truly caught Bryan's attention. There, fixed to the ancient trunk, was the severed head of a goat.
The sight was grotesque and unsettling in equal measure. The flesh where the head had been separated from its body was startlingly fresh, droplets of blood still clinging to the its edges, about to fall at any moment. But the rest of the head bore unmistakable signs of age and decay. The skin had tightened over the skull, giving it a mummified appearance.
Most disturbing of all were the eye sockets - once home to the goat's eyes, they now gaped as empty hollows, seeming to stare into Bryan's very soul.
"I wish to enter the camp,"
Bryan said in an old voice, facing the goat's head.
For a moment, nothing happened. The clearing remained silent, the only movement the gentle swaying of leaves in a breeze Bryan couldn't feel. Then, slowly at first but with increasing intensity, a change came over the scene.
A subtle wind arose, seemingly from nowhere, rustling the undergrowth and setting Bryan's robes to fluttering. The air grew thick with an unseen energy, making the hairs on the back of Bryan's neck stand on end. And then, most unsettling of all, the goat's head began to move.
Creak, creak, creak--
A sound emerged from its throat, a creaking, groaning noise. As Bryan watched, the goat's head fixed to the spruce tree suddenly laughed ghostly, two points of sickly green light ignited in the depths from its hollow eye sockets.
"State your name and your introducer,"
When the goat's head spoke, its voice was like nails scratching a chalkboard, high-pitched and grating.
"Golden Viper, introduced by Kakus Fawley—"
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Author's Note: This whole thing regarding albania is fully fictional. i just used the place's name in Original Story as a reference. This albania and our real world albania are different.
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章 407: 0406 The Bar
Rumble—
After Bryan revealed his identity and the contact who introduced him, the Goat once again let out a chilling laugh. Amidst this piercing sound, the earth beneath their feet trembled. Behind the towering spruce, a vast expanse of land came alive in a most unsettling manner. The lush grass, gnarled trees, and twisting vines that had peacefully adorned the forest floor suddenly began to writhe and contort. Their movements were not gentle swaying, but rather a frenzied, almost sentient dance.
Then, as if an immensely powerful hand beneath the earth had grasped them, all the vegetation was pulled underground.
The ground continued to quake relentlessly, the tremors growing in intensity. From the depths of the newly formed pit, a two-story building entirely constructed of rotting wooden planks, "grew" out of the earth!
From the outside, this house looked even more terrifying than the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. Behind the grease-stained, broken windows, countless ghostly shadows flickered, and faint wails of female ghosts could be heard. Under the decaying eaves hung rows of dried bats.
On the gable of the wooden house, a pumpkin vine clinging to the wall had produced a massive pumpkin. As if sensing life approaching, the pumpkin slowly rotated 180 degrees in mid-air. The whole gourd sprouted a grotesque mouth and ghostly eyes. Facing Bryan, its saw-toothed mouth dripped with glistening liquid, resembling saliva.
'Booorring... just a toy to frighten children.'
Bryan just glanced at the pumpkin before losing interest. He leapt over the spruce and slowly approached. Instead of pushing open the door, he walked to a signboard standing next to it.
The signboard, like everything else associated with this place, exuded an aura of decay and malice. Its surface was covered in a thick layer of sickly green mold, giving it the appearance of rotting flesh. At the top, written in what appeared to be fresh blood, were the words:
"Soul Eater's Den!"
Below this gruesome title were posted approximately thirty commission requests. These were not the innocent job listings one might find in a village square, but rather a catalog of dangerous pursuits. Most of the commissions involved trading in materials that would make an ordinary wizard's blood run cold. There were requests for valuable parts from magical creatures, many of which were undoubtedly protected or endangered species. Others sought rare potion ingredients that could only be found in the depths of this primeval forest, ingredients whose uses were surely 'evil'.
There were also some bounties, asking for help in hunting down enemies.
Bryan's eyes scanned the board, but finding nothing that piqued his interest, he soon lost attention.
With a casual push, Bryan opened the door to Soul Eater's Home. The poorly maintained hinges protested loudly, emitting a high-pitched screech that set teeth on edge.
As the door swung open, it revealed an interior that opposed the expectations set by the building's exterior. The house, which appeared to be an inn, was actually more like a bar.
While from the outside, Soul Eater's Home had appeared to be a decaying two-story structure, the space within was far more expansive than seen from outside. The main hall stretched out before Bryan, was fairly spacious about the same size as Leaky Cauldron in London's wizarding district.
However, any similarities to that beloved wizarding pub ended there. Where the Leaky Cauldron was warm and inviting, Soul Eater's Home was a den of depravity and danger. The atmosphere inside was thick with a cocktail of odors so potent and noxious that it seemed almost solid.
The air was filled with various strange odors: the acrid smell of pipe tobacco, the scent of brewing potions, and the stench of rotting animal innards. These odors combined to create a miasma of toxicity that assaulted the senses. Anyone unfortunate enough to breathe this air for an extended period risked more than just discomfort; the complex mixture of magical residues and noxious fumes could potentially disrupt the flow of magic within a wizard's body, leading to disorientation, hallucinations, or even unconsciousness.
The lighting within the hall did little to improve the ambiance. Dim oil lamps flickered erratically, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to take on lives of their own. The inconsistent illumination made it difficult to focus on any one area for long, adding to the overall sense of unease and disorientation.
Despite the late hour and the remote location, the noisy hall was far from being empty. There were at least a fifty or so lawless individuals with diverse styles of dress. These dark wizards, in groups of two or three, went about their business—trading, arguing, drinking contests, boasting—more or less.
Small groups huddled together, engaged in hushed negotiations over rare and undoubtedly illegal magical artifacts. Others argued loudly, their hands never straying far from their wands as they disputed the terms of contracts or the division of ill-gotten gains.
In one corner, a rowdy drinking contest was underway, the participants drinking concoctions that sparked and smoked ominously. The winner of such a contest was likely to be the one who survived with the least permanent damage to their internal organs.
The moment Bryan opened the door and took his first step into the bar. The previously raucous tavern fell silent instantly. Inquisitive gazes turned towards the doorway, focusing on the figure wearing ordinary black robes but whose face was concealed by a vortex of magical energy.
Bryan frowned, not because he was the center of attention, but because the floor of this bar seemed like it hadn't been cleaned for centuries. The original color of the floorboards could no longer be seen, covered in a mixture of soil, leaves, bloodstains, and grease. These substances had accumulated on the floor like glue, stuck to his shoes.
After shaking off a large chunk of grime from his soles, Bryan adjusted his robes and walked calmly towards the bar counter.
Meanwhile, the customers in the hall continued to scrutinize Bryan. Their prying gazes were filled with malice, and among the whispers, there were laughing sneers.
"What would you like, Mr. Viper—"
The bartender was very tall, and a large crimson scar on his forehead, seemingly left by a burn, made him appear even more dangerous.
Evidently, he had also heard Bryan reveal his identity earlier in front of the Goat Head.
Without waiting for a response, the bartender continued, his tone leaving no room for argument:
"To enter the camp, you must spend at least ten Galleons. Otherwise, you're not welcome here."
The bartender stared coldly at Bryan as he slowly approached the counter, and spoke in a muffled voice.
Bryan heard the bartender's warning but paid no attention to it. His focus was drawn to a figure sitting on a three-legged stool by the back window, brewing a potion in a cauldron in front of him.
The figure hunched over a bubbling cauldron, his focus entirely on the concoction he was brewing. He was one of the few in the hall who had not been disturbed by Bryan's arrival, continuing his work with single-minded determination.
As Bryan's gaze settled on this potion brewer, he found himself unable to discern the man's age. This was not due to any magical spell, but rather because the wizard's entire face, including what remained of his hair, had been horrifically altered by what could only have been a backlash of dark magic.
His facial features were reduced to terrifying, dark red muscle tissue, and his lips seemed to have had a large chunk cut out, exposing black gums and the few remaining yellow teeth.
Of course, this wasn't what attracted Bryan's attention.
The potion brewing in front of this ugly wizard had a mother-of-pearl shine, with spiraling steam rising from the bubbling liquid.
A girl sat on the floor next to the three-legged stool, her body seemingly powerless as she leaned against the ugly wizard's leg.
The girl appeared to be in her late teens, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old. Her long, chestnut hair cascaded down her back in smooth, shining waves, a stark contrast to the filth and decay that surrounded her. Even in this dimly lit, smoke-filled room, her beauty was undeniable. In fact, the dirty setting seemed to enhance her appeal, making her appear like a captured angel amidst a horde of demons.
The young woman's body was limp as she leaned heavily against the leg of the disfigured wizard cheeks pressed against his thigh. As she gazed up at the hideously deformed face of the potion brewer, her expression was one of utter adoration.
There was no fear in her eyes as she observed the nightmarish face above her. Instead, her gaze held a mixture of longing, devotion, and a desperate need to please. Only in the very depths of her clouded pupils could one detect the faintest glimmer of her true self – a tiny spark of terror and pleading, like a drowning person's last gasp before slipping beneath the waves.
"Oh, come on, baby!"
The potion in the cauldron had finally reached the right consistency. The ugly wizard excitedly scooped out a large amount with a wooden ladle. After sniffing it under his nose, he smacked his lips in satisfaction. Then, with a ferocious grin, he poured it all into the mouth of the girl, whose body contained not a trace of magical power.
"Mmm—"
This love potion was clearly spiked. The struggle in the girl's eyes instantly disappeared. She hugged the ugly wizard's leg, unconsciously making sounds filled with passionate heat.
"Hehehe—"
As the ugly wizard withdrew the ladle, he casually tore off one strap of the girl's floral print dress. Even in the yellow lamplight, a large expanse of skin was revealed, dazzling to the eye. About half of her chest was also exposed.
The ugly wizard's laughter was full of smugness. He tossed aside the wooden ladle, one hand cupping the girl's chin while the other claw-like hand reached to topple her—
"I advise you not to do that in front of me."
The rules of the underworld are generally similar. In such an environment, staring at someone for a long time is a blatant provocation. Except for the ugly wizard immersed in his own world, everyone else had noticed this behavior. They watched the scene with great interest, already anticipating what would happen next.
Only the bartender was unwilling to see this unfold. After Bryan spoke, he immediately warned him again,
"I must remind you, Viper, that anyone who has tried to cause trouble here has, without exception, become fertilizer for the pumpkin. Do you want to end up the same way?"
The bartender's harsh voice did not slow Bryan's steps. He walked steadily to the ugly wizard's side. The gaze behind his magical vortex lowered, glancing at the Muggle girl's hair and features, then settled on the still somewhat surprised face of the ugly wizard. He spoke calmly,
"Otherwise, I'll twist your head off and hang it on the tree outside."
"Are you trying to meddle in others's businesses?"
The ugly wizard's eyes widened, still somewhat stunned. But as he came to his senses, his voice carried obvious mockery and contempt, as if educating a young novice wizard who didn't understand the rules.
"You want to meddle in others's affairs?"
The ugly wizard withdrew his hand reaching for the girl. He stood up from the stool, grinning as he repeated his question, this time again with undisguised sarcasm,
"Who do you think you are? Oh, you're called Golden Viper. I've heard that name before. You have some reputation in the pits of Knockturn Alley, but this is Albania. This is the Soul Eater's Den. Your name might not carry as much weight here. Look behind you, oh, you little fool full of justice—"
The ugly wizard looked at Bryan with pity and said,
"I'll carve your brave but foolish deed on your skull and hang it on the front door as a warning to outsiders—"
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