章 410: 0409 Search Continued

The first rays of dawn penetrated the ancient forest. The sunlight, brimming with infinite vitality, broke through layers upon layers of dark green leaves, casting mesmerizing shadows on the dew-dampened ground below. This was the best moment of the day.

In this isolated primeval forest, far removed from the bustle of human settlements, the cool morning air was charged with an indescribable energy. The occasional birds soared gracefully over the vast canopy. Their clear, melodious chirping didn't disturb the forest's tranquility but rather enhanced its serenity, adding a sweet note to the symphony of nature.

The night's deep sleep had worked wonders, dispelling the bone-deep fatigue that had plagued him after his grueling half-month sea journey and his subsequent struggle against the formidable defensive magic of Azkaban. As the gentle, warm sunlight caressed his cheek, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of eyes that sparkled with renewed vitality.

With practiced efficiency, Bryan spent the next half hour attending to his morning routine. For breakfast, he consumed a simple yet nourishing meal of dried fruits and nuts. As the last remnants of sleep fell away, Bryan began to pack up his tent. With a few skillful movements of his wand, the tent folded in on itself, shrinking down to the size of a small pouch which he tucked away in his robes.

He scanned his surroundings with a slightly vigilant gaze. The forest, while breathtakingly beautiful, could harbor unknown dangers. Satisfied that no immediate threats lurked nearby, Bryan raised his wand and tapped it gently against his forehead. A sensation like a cold stream flowed down his body, and gradually, as if he were a chameleon adapting to its surroundings, his figure blended into the rocky mountain backdrop until he disappeared completely from view.

Last night, Bryan had ruthlessly swept away the gathering place of dark wizards in albania. In the coming days, this event would undoubtedly cause a stir in Europe's underground world.

His actions had set in motion a chain of events with far-reaching consequences. The dark wizards still in the area might initially flee in fear. However, Bryan knew that this would be short-lived. Soon, they would gather their forces to seek revenge. This was almost a certainty, Each of the dark wizards he had killed had mentors, friends, or followers who wouldn't turn a blind eye to this massacre. In the world of magic, exterminating an entire lineage was more than just a crime - it was a blood feud, a debt that could only be repaid in kind. Moreover, the wizards native to this country wouldn't let such an insult to their sovereignty go unchallenged.

Yet, the consequences wouldn't be limited to the dark underbelly of the Wizarding world. Dark wizards, despite their nefarious practices, were still part of the wider wizarding community. The International Confederation of Wizards, upon receiving news of this incident, wouldn't sit idly by. They would likely dispatch their own investigators, adding another layer of complexity to the situation.

Bryan wasn't afraid of these consequences. He had acted with full awareness of what his actions would provoke. However, he knew that in the coming days, this serene forest would undoubtedly become a hive of activity, buzzing with various factions all pursuing their own agendas. Time was of the essence - he had to investigate what he came for before the situation became even more turbulent.

Tracking wizards in the forest was a far simpler task than tracking magical creatures. Magical creatures were part of the forest ecosystem, which helped conceal their tracks from all but the most skilled trackers. Wizards, on the other hand, were intruders in this land. Despite their best efforts, they always left obvious traces of their passing.

Even experienced wizards, well-versed in concealment spells and stealth techniques, couldn't completely erase their presence. To a true expert like Bryan, these very attempts at concealment were a form of exposure, like a bright flag signaling their presence.

Two hours of meticulous tracking later, Bryan found himself deep in the heart of the forest. The term "rarely visited" would have been a gross understatement for the sheer isolation of this place. The surrounding trees were colossal giants, each nearly a hundred feet tall, their trunks wider than a man could embrace. Their canopies formed a dense roof far overhead, allowing only dappled sunlight to reach the forest floor. The ground itself was a thick carpet of fallen leaves. Each step Bryan took caused a wave-like undulation in the leaf litter, the disturbance spreading out in a large area around his feet.

The air here was heavy and oppressive, filled with a deadly miasma that seemed to cling to everything. Intermingled with this ominous presence was a strong scent of alcohol, an inappropriate note in this ominous atmosphere. The source of this unexpected aroma soon became apparent as Bryan passed by a large patch of fruit trees. The fallen fruits from these trees had accumulated over time, forming a thick layer of decaying fruit pulp on the forest floor. Through some quirk of nature, this fruity mess had undergone natural fermentation, unexpectedly brewing into a strange fruit wine. The result was a small, bizarre fruit wine lake, its surface viscous and bubbling slightly with ongoing fermentation.

Logically, such an abundance of easily accessible food and drink should attract a large number of forest creatures. Oddly enough, the area around the fruit wine lake was eerily devoid of life. On the viscous surface of the lake, Bryan could see only the bleached skeletons of some unfortunate small animals, but no living creatures.

What had led Bryan to this strange and ominous place were some unusual traces along the lakeshore. The soft, rotting ground was marred by thick imprints that looked unsettlingly like those left by an impossibly large python slithering by.

Compared to other areas of the forest, the plant life here, while still impressively tall, was not as densely packed. The towering trees had clearly monopolized the available nutrients, leaving little for the shrubs and bushes. As a result, grass, smaller woody plants, and vines struggled to survive in this harsh environment, creating an unusually open and sparse forest floor.

The deadly miasma that permeated the air lent an eerie quality to everything in sight. The dim, filtered light and swirling mists created vague, shifting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. It was all too easy to imagine dementors, lurking just out of sight, waiting to pounce on him.

Bryan was cautious and chose to float in mid-air rather than risk leaving tracks or disturbing the environment.

From this vantage point, he looked down at the forest floor, his keen eyes picking out details that others might miss. The tracks on the pile of rotting leaves became increasingly chaotic and overlapping as he progressed. It seemed he was approaching the lair of the mysterious python, but Bryan, didn't rush headlong into potential danger.

Instead, he changed direction, floating towards a particularly tall redwood tree. His gaze traveled up its massive trunk to its crown, and what he saw there caused his brow to furrow in concern. The treetop was withered and lifeless, a stark contrast to the vibrant green of its neighbors. This wasn't the result of any natural disease or parasite; the tree had mysteriously lost all vitality in a season when all other plant life was thriving.

As Bryan's eyes swept the surrounding area, he realized that this wasn't an isolated incident. Many trees in this part of the forest were in the same condition. Floating closer, Bryan reached out to brush his fingertips over the charred-looking trunk of the redwood. As he did so, a strange light flickered in his eyes.

These trees hadn't died due to any natural cause. Instead, it was as if their very life force had been extracted by some unknown power, leaving behind only these withered remnants.

While wizards weren't without means to achieve such effects, similar results were typically achieved through dark magic. The effects of such magic were usually brutal and obvious, like draining a reservoir by blowing up its dam. However, the situation before him was different, more subtle. It was as if someone had found a way to open the dam's channel gates in a much gentler.

As Bryan continued his exploration, the signs of unnatural decay became more noticeable. He came across numerous animal skeletons. Most of these remains were pitch black, as if the flesh had been eaten away by some kind of potent venom. Other bones were completely shattered. These unfortunate animals had likely been constricted to death by the giant python.

Everything Bryan observed was confirming a certain possibility, one that he had considered but hoped wasn't true.

Ahead on the winding path, partially obscured by the ever-present mist, loomed a truly massive banyan tree. This botanical behemoth was a world unto itself, its sprawling canopy and aerial roots covered an area nearly half the size of a Quidditch field. At the base of the main trunk, which was wider than many houses, was a cavernous tree hollow large enough to comfortably house a small giant.

Bryan's sharp gaze swept the surroundings once more, his senses on high alert. His grip on his wand tightened imperceptibly, ready to cast a spell at a moment's notice.

Someone or something had attempted to conceal their magical traces, but to Bryan's senses, there were still obvious signs of disturbance in the ambient magical field. These traces were similar to the tracks left by the giant python he had found earlier on the shores of the fruit wine lake and on the rotting leaf-covered ground.

The magic residue here was highly toxic, extremely corrosive, and radiated an aura of intense danger.

Steeling himself, Bryan cautiously entered the tree hollow. The scene inside made him frown, his brow furrowing in concentration as he took in every detail.

Unlike the decay-filled atmosphere outside, the air here wasn't saturated with the thick scent of rot and fermentation. The fallen leaves carpeting the ground were surprisingly dry, as if someone or something had taken the time to tidy up this space.

At the far end of the spacious hollow, there was a small area where the fallen leaves were piled noticeably thicker than in other areas. This anomaly immediately caught Bryan's attention. He floated over, his eyes fixed intently on the leaf pile. After a moment of careful observation, he made a subtle gesture with his finger. In response to this silent command, a small object zipped through the air and into his waiting hand.

It was a scale, and not just any scale. Its size and unique patterning left no doubt - it must have been shed by the giant python that had been active in this area.

Bryan examined the scale closely, turning it over in his hands and muttering a few quiet incantations. After a thorough inspection, he carefully tucked the scale into a pocket of his robes for later study.

Continuing his meticulous search of the hollow, Bryan soon made another discovery. In the very center of the space, partially hidden by the leaf litter, was a small plant seedling. It was clear that this seedling had only recently broken through the soil's barrier, perhaps just a few days ago.

Bryan pondered this new finding for a moment. Then, with a movement of his wand, he conjured a small gust of wind. This magical breeze gently compressed the leaves around the seedling, revealing the soil beneath.

The moment the soil was exposed, Bryan's brow furrowed involuntarily, his expression a mix of concern and disgust. The earth near the seedling was much darker than the surrounding area, with a strange, sticky wetness that glistened ominously in the dim light.

Overcoming his initial disgust, Bryan reached down and touched some of the soil with his finger. He brought it close to his face and inhaled deeply, immediately regretting the action as a rotten smell assaulted his nostrils. His heart sank as he recognized the unmistakable scent of decaying human flesh and blood, corroded and destroyed by powerful magic.

A grim question formed in Bryan's mind: Was this the remains of Cliodna, or perhaps the unfortunate British Ministry of Magic employee she had taken from the Soul Eater's Den?

The answer, he realized with a sinking feeling, was all too obvious.

"Hah—" Bryan let out a long, weary sigh as he brushed the soil from his hands. His gaze drifted to the lingering magical residue in the air. His eyes, usually sharp and determined, now showed a hint of melancholy and confusion.

"You two..." he murmured softly, his words meant for ears that could no longer hear, "how did you end up with each other?"

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章 411: 0410 Approaching

Bryan felt as if he had returned to the old days, the days when he would run all over Europe to complete commissions.

Although the trip to Albania had been fruitless, it didn't mean this journey was meaningless. On the contrary, he had gained a lot. The large tree hollow in the primeval forest was clearly where Voldemort, who had once terrorized the British wizarding world, had been hiding after losing his powers.

For over a decade, Voldemort had been lurking in that forest, but now he had left, and his whereabouts were unknown.

Truth be told, Bryan cared little for Voldemort's current location. He understood all too well the futility of hunting down the weakened dark wizard before they had successfully identified and destroyed all of his Horcruxes.

But Bryan still used the aura on that snake scale to track him down.

He could ignore whatever tricks Voldemort was up to, but....

In his previous conversation with Dumbledore, Dumbledore's intentions had been clear: he was prepared to allow Voldemort to regain his powers. In their earlier discussions, they had almost confirmed that Voldemort would use Harry. This meant that, at this stage, Voldemort was likely plotting how to get his hands on Harry.

What Bryan cared more about was why Cliodna, that woman, had gotten involved with Voldemort.

Although he had suffered at her hands, Bryan knew well that this Druid priestess wasn't an evil person. On the contrary, because of her faith, she should be seen as a kind person welcomed by others. Voldemort, on the other hand, was called the most evil wizard in history. The two were completely different.

Yet, somehow, against all logic and reason, their paths had converged. This unexpected union filled Bryan with a sense of foreboding. He couldn't shake the feeling that events were spiraling rapidly out of control, leaving him powerless to intervene.

At the same time, an unsettling notion took root in his mind - the idea that perhaps all of this was predestined, that the wheel of fate was turning along a predetermined track, and his presence here was merely another gear in the grand machinery of destiny.

Dumbledore certainly wouldn't want him to confront Voldemort now, but Bryan couldn't pretend not to see this. He had to investigate and find out what circumstances had led Voldemort and Cliodna, two people from completely different worlds, to join forces.

They hadn't chosen Apparition, the most convenient way to leave the Albanian forest, but instead took remote paths far from the mundane world.

After careful consideration, Bryan guessed that Voldemort's current physical condition must still be incredibly fragile, leaving him unable to withstand the intense pressure and magical strain that Apparition would place on his weakened form. This realization brought a glimmer of hope to Bryan's troubled mind. If Voldemort was indeed this vulnerable, it would make the task of tracking him considerably easier.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trekking through the unforgiving wilderness - sleeping under the stars, foraging for food- Bryan emerged from the dense forest into the land of human habitation. For the first time since beginning his pursuit, the faint magical aura emanating from the snake scale led him to a settlement populated by people.

The village sprawled across a series of gently rolling hills, surrounded by vast stretches of farmland. A narrow, winding road snaked its way through the countryside, eventually leading to a town that lay dozens of miles in the distance, barely visible as a smudge on the landscape.

As Bryan crested the final hill, the setting sun painted the sky in a breathtaking array of vibrant oranges, deep crimsons, and soft purples. The fiery orb slowly sank towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the tranquil landscape and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.

Standing on this elevated vantage point, his keen eyes scanning the terrain before him, Bryan's gaze was drawn to a once-grand building that stood proudly atop the highest hill in the vicinity. Though time and neglect had clearly taken their toll on the structure, there was no denying its former splendor. Even in its dilapidated state, it exuded an air of faded nobility and long-forgotten importance.

Little Hangleton.

A rusty sign at the village entrance told him where he was.

As Bryan stood motionless at the village entrance, his eyes fixed on the ancient sign, the relative silence of the countryside was suddenly shattered by the approaching rumble of machinery. A battered farm vehicle, its engine clanking and sputtering in protest, lumbered up the road behind him. The driver, clearly impatient to reach his destination, leaned on the horn, producing a harsh blast that echoed across the hills.

Startled from his trance by the unexpected noise, Bryan turned to face the oncoming vehicle. He offered an apologetic smile to the weather-worn farmer who sat hunched behind the wheel, then quickly stepped to the side of the road, allowing the cumbersome machine to pass.

As the last rays of sunlight began to fade from the sky, Bryan realized that the hour had grown late. The time for the evening meal was fast approaching, and his stomach growled in anticipation, reminding him that it had been far too long since his last proper meal.

All around him, the villagers who had worked in the nearby fields throughout the long day were now hurrying back home for dinner. The air was filled with the sound of cheerful chatter as friends and neighbors exchanged pleasantries and discussed the events of the day. Occasionally, a burst of loud laughter would erupt from one group or another.

It wasn't long after Bryan had entered the outskirts of the village that he began to notice something distinctly unusual about the behavior of its inhabitants. As a stranger in these parts, he had expected his arrival to garner some degree of attention from the locals. What he had not anticipated, however, was the intensity and nature of their scrutiny.

Almost without exception, every villager who caught sight of Bryan would immediately stop whatever they had been doing, and stare at him intently Their eyes were mostly filled with vigilance and wariness, with a hint of curiosity. After he passed by, these villagers would gather and whisper among themselves, pointing at his back.

After enduring this bizarre treatment for some time, Bryan decided that a more direct approach might be necessary if he hoped to unravel the mystery of the villagers' strange behavior. Pausing in the middle of the dusty road, he turned his attention to a young girl who was busily collecting laundry from a clothesline in a nearby yard.

"Excuse me, miss—"

The young girl was completely caught off guard by Bryan's sudden address. She was so startled that she almost dropped the clothes in her hands and darted into her house. But when her eyes caught the handsome face of the gray-haired young man, she suppressed her fear and, blushing, spoke tremblingly.

"Oh, what?" she stammered, her fingers clutching tightly at the fabric in her arms.

"I was wondering if there's a place to eat nearby?"

Noticing the girl's lingering nervousness, Bryan decided to offer a bit more context, hoping to put her at ease. He bowed slightly, maintaining his polite demeanor, and pointed down at his mud-caked shoes. "I've walked a long way today, perhaps it's time to stop and reward my stomach with a hot meal—"

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, her initial fear giving way to a mixture of understanding and shy interest. She took a deep breath, one hand moving to rest over her rapidly beating heart, and then pointed Bryan in a specific direction. "There... there's a pub called The Hanged Man that provides food and drinks for travelers,"

Armed with this information, Bryan set off in search of the establishment. It took him roughly ten minutes of wandering through the winding streets of Little Hangleton before he found himself standing before the village's sole pub.

The Hanged Man was a short, weathered building that had clearly seen better days. Its front was marred by peeling paint and crumbling masonry, while a creaking sign bearing the pub's grim name swung lazily in the evening breeze.

As Bryan pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the pub's gloomy interior. A thick layer of dust seemed to coat every surface, from the scarred bar top to the mismatched collection of tables and chairs that were haphazardly scattered throughout the room. The air was heavy with the acrid smell of stale tobacco smoke and spilled ale.

Given the hour, Bryan had expected to find the pub bustling with activity as villagers gathered to relax after a long day's work. Instead, the place was eerily quiet, with only a handful of patrons occupying the barstools near the far end of the room. These men, clearly deep in their cups, were muttering incoherently to themselves or to no one in particular.

Bryan could be sure that something had happened in this village because when he pushed open the door and entered the pub, still surveying the decor of the hall, those drunken men suddenly sobered up quite a bit and eyed him warily.

"Welcome—"

Although business was poor, the nearly bald pub owner's greeting was stiff and not at all welcoming,

"Esteemed guest," he continued, the honorific sounding more like an accusation than a courtesy, "what do you need?"

"Phew—"

Choosing to ignore the less-than-welcoming reception, Bryan made a show of brushing the dust from his travel-worn clothing. He inhaled deeply, then released a long, weary sigh.

"Honestly, right now I'd rather get something to eat to appease my growling stomach. Of course, if you happen to have any Ogden's Old Firewhisky, I wouldn't mind a few sips—"

"Ogden's Old Firewhisky?"

The pub owner and his few familiar customers looked at each other in confusion, not understanding what this young stranger was talking about.

Realizing his slipup, Bryan quickly retreated. "Oh, please don't mind what I said—" he interjected, flashing an apologetic smile as he set his battered suitcase down on the nearest table. "I simply need something to eat. Anything you have available will do just fine."

After a moment's hesitation, the pub owner went to the kitchen, leaving Bryan alone with the suspicious gazes of the other customers boring into the back of his skull. He pretended not to notice their scrutiny, instead focusing his attention on the worn tabletop before him.

Three minutes later, the pub owner brought two ham sandwiches to Bryan on a chipped plate, said "Enjoy your meal," and quickly ran back to the bar.

Bryan pretended not to notice the drunken customers staring at the back of his head non-stop. He buried his head in the sandwiches on the plate. Perhaps because he was wolfing them down too quickly, Bryan choked after just one bite of the second sandwich. He coughed violently several times, his face turning red.

"Cough, cough, sorry—" Bryan managed to sputter between gasps, waving frantically towards the bar. "Could I get something to drink?"

A glass of sweet liquor was hastily provided, and Bryan gratefully gulped it down. As the burning liquid coursed down his throat, he felt his breathing ease and his complexion gradually return to normal. He patted his chest, taking a few deep breaths to fully recover from his near-choking experience. As he did so, Bryan couldn't help but notice that the other patrons in the pub had abandoned all pretense of discretion and were now openly staring at him, their postures tense and guarded.

A wry chuckle escaped Bryan's lips as he surveyed the room. The absurdity of the situation – a stranger choking on a sandwich while being watched like a dangerous criminal – was not lost on him. Deciding that a direct approach might be the best way to address the palpable tension in the air, Bryan cleared his throat and said to the pub owner.

"Can I ask you something, sir?"

"What?"

The owner's fist on the bar suddenly tightened, and he responded vigilantly.

"Just a simple question—" Bryan shrugged, nodding towards the wary customers, "I was wondering, I mean, I've been to many places in my travels, but I've never encountered a village quite as... cautious... towards outsiders as Little Hangleton. Is this some sort of local custom or tradition I'm unaware of?"

"No—"

Before the pub owner could speak, one of the outspoken customers among those sitting together said,

"It's because of old Frank!"

Then this villager was immediately warned with a glare from the pub owner.

"Old Frank?"

Bryan's smile became even more friendly,

"Why not tell me more about this Mr. Frank? Ah, sorry, I've been in the wild for too long and have forgotten my manners. Barkeeper, please give each of these kind gentlemen a glass of sherry, on my tab!"

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