In the past, Wade had often wondered: for top-tier wizards like Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Grindelwald, could Muggle weapons actually kill them directly?
No matter how powerful a wizard is, they all share the same weakness—strong offense but weak defense.
Take Professor McGonagall, for instance. She was a highly skilled witch, a master of Transfiguration, and eventually became Headmistress of Hogwarts. Yet she was nearly taken out by just four Stunning Spells.
And those three—no matter how powerful they had been or how many formidable spells they had mastered—all ultimately died to the Killing Curse.
Especially Voldemort—he died twice, and both times were due to his ownKilling Curse being reflected back at him.
Originally, Wade believed that modern weapons with high-intensity, wide-coverage firepower could force such high-level wizards into a state where they couldn't apparate away calmly.
That would make it highly possible to kill even someone at the very top of the magical hierarchy.
What he didn't expect, however, was that the first time he witnessed such imagined firepower, it would come from Grindelwald himself.
The surrounding walls were leveled, beautiful tall buildings were blown into ruins, and what had seemed like dense human silhouettes moments ago were rapidly erased by fire and explosions.
Even two tanks and a missile launcher that had been hidden behind buildings were destroyed.
Countless lives vanished like dew under the scorching sun. Yet perhaps because there were no visible corpses or blood, Wade didn't find the scene gory or cruel—only breathtakingly spectacular.
How is this any different from a swarm of miniature drones delivering a barrage of fire?
He had no idea if anyone could have survived such a level of attack—unless they had taken shelter in a fortified underground bunker beforehand.
When Grindelwald made a comment about Muggle weapons, Wade fell silent for a moment, then couldn't resist asking curiously, "All these paper planes… were they prepared long ago?"
After all, these weren't ordinary folded planes. Some could carry loads far beyond what natural buoyancy would allow, and others could nimbly dodge bullets—it was clear that alchemical techniques had been used.
Even if the principle was simple, not just anyone could make them.
If this had been a case of "ten years forging a sword for one stunning strike," it would've made sense—the Alliance only had so many alchemy apprentices capable of grinding out such work. These planes were disposable, after all, not reusable or recyclable.
But Grindelwald wore a faint smile and countered, "Wade, if Muggles wanted to mass-produce something identical, how would they do it?"
Wade hesitated for a moment and said, "Assembly line production?"
That's the same method used by the Aslan Magic Workshop, allowing them to produce enough items in each batch to quickly capture market share and promote new products to wizards around the world.
Grindelwald nodded and said, "Exactly. It's the same for us. These adorable little things didn't take nearly as much time to make as you thought."
—What is assembly line production?
Delaine was thinking to himself but didn't voice his thoughts. Instead, he silently memorized the unfamiliar term and planned to look it up later when he returned.
He came from a very typical pure-blood family—while he had always hoped that wizards would one day rule over Muggles, he had never bothered to truly understand the other group.
But now, seeing the person he admired study Muggle knowledge, and witnessing how paper airplanes—once just tools for sending messages—became terrifying weapons when combined with Muggle technology, he finally began to quietly change his perspective.
Grindelwald suddenly chuckled and said, "Looks like those rats can't hide any longer… Günther, go deal with them!"
As the paper airplanes were exhausted, those who had been in hiding finally revealed themselves—black vehicles emerged from underground, roaring as they attempted to encircle the wizards from both sides.
Cylindrical turrets extended from the sides of the vehicles and emitted a faint humming noise.
Delaine's eyes sharpened in an instant. He pressed his left ear to issue commands and Apparated in a flash to the front lines. He directly faced those steel beasts as he raised his wand.
Wade noticed that nearly every member of the Alliance was equipped with Communication Beans. They quickly split up and each engaged their designated targets.
Boom!
The turrets on the vehicles roared and sprayed out clouds of golden dust that shimmered in the firelight.
The Silvraxis bells hanging on the wizards' waists simultaneously emitted a soft glow and began to gently jingle.
Wade was observing the battle when someone beside him suddenly asked, "Have you learned Protego Diabolica yet?"
He turned sharply to see that it was Grindelwald speaking.
Although he had already guessed why that particular spellbook had appeared on the shelf, Grindelwald asking so directly still caught him off guard.
He was silent for a moment but ultimately chose to seize the opportunity and said, "…Actually, there are still a few parts I don't quite understand."
"Mm, go ahead," Grindelwald replied in a calm tone.
On the battlefield not far away, the golden dust seemed to form into miniature tornadoes, continuously swirling into the bells tied to the wizards' belts.
Aside from a few unlucky ones who accidentally inhaled the powder and collapsed, most were unaffected. They walked toward the enemy while casting spells.
—It wasn't that the wizards didn't want to run, but that walking briskly ensured greater spell accuracy.
Some vehicles were flipped over by rapidly expanding rocks; others got stuck in sudden, conjured swamps; and some drivers, suddenly controlled by Confundus Charms, crashed their vehicles into one another.
Wade withdrew his attention from the battle and asked, "Aside from the Patronus Charm, I've never seen a spell that can automatically distinguish friend from foe… It's both a shield and a deadly demonic flame."
"But how is that distinction made? Is it based on the caster's thoughts at the exact moment the spell is cast? Are those thoughts the result of deliberate reasoning, or subconscious instinct?"
Grindelwald smiled and said, "If it followed instincts that even we don't fully understand, then by the time the spell finished, I'd probably be the only one left standing."
He watched dispassionately as a few clumsy wizards flailed their arms dramatically and shouted incantations to cast spells, then said flatly:
"You've learned Occlumency, but only how to block—you're still unable to create false memories."
"As long as you clear your mind and leave only one most definite thought in your head, that becomes the direction in which your flame will burn."
Wade froze for a moment, then realized something, and the corner of his eye twitched slightly as he barely restrained himself from making a sarcastic remark.
—How do you know I've learned Occlumency?
—So, you old man tried to use Legilimency on me when I wasn't paying attention?
On one hand, he felt lucky he had learned Occlumency early and made a habit of clearing his mind every night before bed. On the other, he was once again sharply reminded of the difference between Grindelwald and Dumbledore.
This dark wizard was already incredibly powerful, yet seemed to have absolutely no concept of "it's immoral to mess with kids."
After a brief pause, Wade skipped over his suspicion and asked, "Protego Diabolica and Fiendfyre are both difficult-to-control dark magic, right? This one might even be harder."
"Once the spell is cast, the flame continues to consume people nearby even without magical energy to sustain it—its power increases by doing so... so if it gets out of control, the casualties would be enormous."
"How do you fully control or suppress it?"
Grindelwald gave him a faint, amused look and said, "Control it, fine… but now you want to learn how to counter my flame as well?"
Wade's eyes flicked away, a little embarrassed, but he pressed on thick-skinned: "…Is it possible to learn? If not, forget I asked."
"If I'm going to teach you, of course it's the whole system," Grindelwald replied. "The secret to controlling it lies in courage and resolve—you must not fear your own flame, and you must not hesitate."
"Even if you see a comrade you once trusted reduced to ashes within the fire, you must still believe—the one who was wrong wasn't you, and it certainly wasn't your spell. Once the decision is made, then anyone burned by the flames is simply the enemy. Nothing more."
Wade looked at Grindelwald's cold, sharp profile and couldn't help but think—he must have experienced that himself, hadn't he?
Watching someone he knew well, confident and unaware, walk into his flames... hearing their screams, their begging, their death—and only then realizing they had never truly been an ally.
In the distance, Delaine shattered a few bottles. A green smoke with an ominous aura exploded like rapidly expanding clouds, engulfing an entire vehicle.
The people inside rushed out screaming, their skin was quickly rotted and covered in blisters. They clawed desperately at their faces with both hands and soon stopped breathing.
Though he looked like an elite warrior, Delaine turned out to be a master of potions.
Several vehicles floated into the air under Levitation Charms, then slammed down heavily and suddenly broke apart, exposing the dazed soldiers inside.
Those who had charged out in their vehicles finally realized that steel and armor could not protect them. On the contrary, their machines had become tools of their own slaughter—and they all began to flee from them.
Bang bang bang...
Amid the sporadic gunfire, several wizards suddenly collapsed.
The soldiers who fired the shots themselves looked astonished—why hadn't the missiles and machine guns worked earlier, yet now, these weaker bullets had taken down the enemy?
Then they quickly understood—not every wizard was monstrously powerful! Those techniques for deflecting bullets weren't nearly as effective when the wizards were scattered!
More gun barrels spewed fire.
But the screams and casualties clearly didn't dampen Grindelwald's enthusiasm for teaching. He watched coldly as his own people died—and as those who survived grew rapidly under immense pressure.
He was the leader of the Alliance, but not their babysitter. He had no interest in using his aged, weary body as a shield to shelter them like infants behind city walls.
Nor did he care what Wade was thinking. He simply continued speaking:
"When you begin to doubt or resent your magic, it will betray you—as will any form of magic. But with Protego Diabolica, the backlash will be especially brutal."
"As for how to suppress it... there's actually only one way..."
The environment around them was extremely chaotic, and Grindelwald lowered his voice at this moment. Wade instinctively leaned in closer to hear better.
...
Up on the hillside, if it weren't for the fact that a baby's body lacked the strength, Voldemort suspected he might have jumped in shock several times.
Fortunately, every time he was about to do so, his soft bones forced him to stop, and his motionless posture ended up looking remarkably composed and steady.
Barty Crouch Jr., sitting beside him, was quite different. He was drenched in cold sweat again and again, his face growing paler, and the hand holding his wand was slightly trembling.
Watching the battlefield below, he couldn't help but imagine himself on the receiving end of that assault—and each time, he realized how hard it would be to survive in that meat grinder of a warzone.
That opening barrage of gunfire alone could probably turn a person into a sieve...
Aren't those paper airplanes just little things the Ministry of Magic uses to send messages?
How could they be so powerful... and why hasn't it ended yet? How many paper airplanes did they even have?
What is that golden dust... The Muggles looked so confident, but it didn't seem to help much...
And if, while defending the master, someone sniped at me from behind—block one shot, then another—how many times could I really hold up?
The reason the Alliance wizards hadn't suffered mass casualties was because they were surrounded by allies who could cover each other's blind spots. Their spells worked together in synergy—where one plus one equaled more than two.
But in the past, Barty Crouch Jr., because of his personal beliefs and his father's identity, hadn't truly formed close bonds on either side.
He had never cared before—after all, the Voldemort he admired had already proven that, with enough power, you didn't need friends. Everyone would bow down regardless.
But now, it seemed that—at least before reaching that level of power—having a comrade was actually very important. Especially when facing the kind of powerful, cunning, and underhanded weapons Muggles possessed...
"Barty," Voldemort suddenly said.
"Master?"
"Look at that person—standing next to Grindelwald."
Baby Voldemort pointed with his wand as he spoke.
Barty Crouch Jr. quickly located the person he was referring to—Grindelwald wasn't wearing a hood, and his white hair stood out clearly among the mass of dark-robed wizards.
The person next to him wasn't very tall but was standing very close to Grindelwald, their positions indicating a rather intimate or significant relationship.
And notably, he hadn't made a single move throughout the battle. It was clearly not because his status surpassed Grindelwald's, but more likely that his magical ability wasn't as strong, which was why he was being protected.
"Looks like he's someone important to Grindelwald—probably a descendant," Barty Crouch Jr. guessed. "Not very tall... maybe also not very old."
"Hmm. Remember him," Voldemort said. "If we're going to deal with the Alliance in the future, he might be a good entry point."
"Yes, Master."
Barty replied and glanced again at the cloaked figure.
Even though the face wasn't visible, if he ever encountered the Alliance again and saw a young wizard of similar height being treated as important, he'd probably be able to identify him.
After all, if Grindelwald intended to make this descendant his successor, he couldn't keep him hidden forever...
—
On the battlefield, Wade—who had remained so relaxed he hadn't cast a single spell—suddenly clenched his fists tightly and his expression became tense in an instant, as if his scalp were about to explode.
After answering a few of Wade's major questions, Grindelwald suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder and asked:
"Wade, are you planning to escape today?"
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