"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 389: Why Don't We Tell Dumbledore?
The cardinal's voice rang out, burning with fanatic passion.
"We are not here to breed docile lambs, but to forge God's hounds—Chosen Lycanthropes. They will possess the unparalleled strength and resilience of werewolves, stripped of their wild, uncontrollable nature. Their claws will shred every heretic; their howls will become new hymns in praise of our Lord!"
Within the shimmering vision on the water's surface, a knight screamed in agony as holy light engulfed him. His body twisted and swelled, silver armor fusing with sinew and bone, until he stood—half man, half wolf, clad in radiant, light-forged plate, golden flames burning in his eyes.
He was no mindless beast, but a living idol of sacred destruction.
Agnese watched, her entire body chilled to the core—a shudder that was equal parts fear, revulsion, and a morbid, inescapable fascination.
—
The cellar's air was dry and stifling.
On the walls, the silver runes personally branded by Douglas shimmered faintly in the gloom, weaving a delicate, icy web across the stone.
Yet this peace felt to Remus Lupin like the deadly calm before a storm, pressing down on him until he could barely breathe.
He eyed the layers of intricate, dizzyingly complex warding spells, his anxiety only growing heavier. "Douglas," Lupin rasped, "This is already far beyond what we expected. The Sacred Shields, Project Adam... it's the prologue to a war.
Why aren't we telling Dumbledore? He has the right to know—and the power to help—"
"Because this is Italy, Remus."
Douglas cut him off, tapping the tip of his wand lightly against Lupin's sleeve. A faint dusting of silver powder shimmered into view, radiating a subtle but unmistakable holy aura.
Lupin blanched instantly.
"Leftover residue from a Sacred Word mark. Don't worry—this place shields you from it."
Douglas tucked away his wand, picked up his cup of black tea, and took a sip—the temperature was perfect.
"Every country, every Ministry of Magic, has its own main quest. And the Italian Ministry? Since the day it was founded, it's had only one enemy."
He smiled thinly.
"The Vatican, right across the street."
A cold, mocking glint flashed in his eyes.
"Don't underestimate the Italian Ministry of Magic. They've been locked in open and secret war with the Vatican for centuries. They've stepped in more traps and bled more than you or I could ever imagine.
This time, the Vatican's just borrowed a few Muggle tricks in genetic engineering and thinks it can overturn the world? Naive."
A wry smile tugged at his lips, as if recalling something darkly amusing.
"Did you know, back in 1888, the Vatican tried something called the Sacred Word Purification?"
"They wanted to cast a massive mind-control spell, make every Muggle in Rome turn on wizards. A brilliant move—cutting us off at the root, right?"
"Guess how it ended?"
Lupin shook his head. He'd never read of this in any history book.
Douglas gently blew the steam from his tea.
"The Italian Ministry paid with the lives of six entire Auror Directors to suppress that madness. Then they wiped everyone's memories— including their own surviving Aurors."
He paused, tone casual, but Lupin felt a chill run down his spine.
"The whole episode vanished, as if it never happened. That approach is nothing like our Ministry, with its endless hearings—they're a different breed entirely."
Lupin gave a rueful smile, murmuring, "That's not entirely fair. The Ministry sacrificed plenty fighting You-Know-Who... well, some people did.
Has the Vatican really never given up? Are they still plotting against all wizards? What do they actually want?"
Douglas's voice dropped, grave.
"If the 1888 incident was just the Vatican testing the waters—since they didn't lose much in the end—then the roots of Project Adam are in Grindelwald. During that war that swept across Europe, the Vatican tried to seize the moment, restore the glory of divine rule. Instead, Grindelwald ground them into the dirt."
He traced a slow circle on the tabletop with his finger.
"St. Peter's Basilica nearly became Nurmengard's Italian branch. In the end, all they could do was declare neutrality in disgrace, forced to watch as Grindelwald ran rampant across the continent."
Lupin looked puzzled. "So, is this just revenge?"
"No." Douglas's eyes sharpened. "It's about learning. Grindelwald taught them two things. First—divine authority is worthless in the face of absolute power.
Second—wizarding power is fading. We're not the ancient monsters who could move mountains and seas anymore.
The Vatican saw this. So they stopped praying for miracles. Now, they want to use Muggle science—genetic engineering—to create their own miracle. One that can tear wizards apart."
The air in the cellar grew suffocating.
Suddenly, Douglas stood, dusted imaginary lint from his robes, and flashed that irrepressible, cocky smile.
"Don't worry about the Italian Ministry. Their score-settling with the Vatican is way above our pay grade. We've got our own Dark Lord without a body to deal with back home—no time for other people's civil wars."
He stretched, bones cracking.
"Now that my cover's blown, Apparating won't set off any alarms—at most, it'll force the Italian Ministry to get involved too.
Come on. We've got our own main quest. I just wonder when Fenrir Greyback and his little pack will show up to the party."
With that, he led a still-stunned Lupin toward the exit.
—
When they re-entered the catacomb filled with skulls, Douglas grabbed Lupin's arm.
Lupin barely had time to react before a surge of power yanked him violently backward.
Space twisted and compressed, the crypt's contents blurring and shattering in his vision.
When his feet finally found solid ground, they were back in the valley where the Sacred Shield knights had laid their ambush.
The air still reeked of burnt magic and holy light, mingling with the metallic tang of rain-soaked earth.
Lupin immediately drew his wand, scanning the area warily.
"Why'd we come back here?"
"First," Douglas shrugged, "let's see if they left behind anything interesting. Saves us running around like headless chickens."
He winked.
"Second, the most dangerous place is often the safest. If you wouldn't expect me to double back immediately, neither will our enemies."
He crouched, pinching a bit of charred soil between his fingers.
Closing his eyes, he let his magic fan out, invisible as a spider's web.
"They cleaned up well. Professional work," he muttered. "But... they took some things, and left behind a bit of trash they shouldn't have."
His words seemed to hang, heavy, in the air.
Douglas's gaze finally settled beneath an unremarkable stone.
There, a wolfsbane plant—one that should have withered for winter—was growing, twisted and defiant.
Its petals glimmered with a faint, ominous golden light.
"Looks like Project Adam's testing ground is... closer than we thought."
Douglas straightened, but his eyes didn't linger on the strange plant. Instead, he looked toward the far side of the valley—at the yawning black mouth of a cave.
"What I'm really wondering," he murmured, "is what happened to the Ashclaw Pack. Why did the Vatican choose this place for their ambush?"
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