Chapter 40

By the time I made it out of the main part of the ruins, the number of potential threats had decreased dramatically. The ruins, while large, weren't endless. But, of course, reality had to slap me in the face, as usual. It's like it took pleasure in giving a swift kick to anyone as fortunate as me — a guy born into an influential family, with a whole slew of smart, sometimes even brilliant friends and allies, and on top of that, having met one of the ancient legends of this world.

Who was it among my ancestors who said, "A Stahlwolf should never fear wolves"? I'd like to see them hold that attitude when four creatures the size of Shire horses, each more imposing than the famously fearsome Direwolves, come charging out of nowhere. These monsters were massive, probably bigger than a Shire, with fangs that could rip me apart. Clearly, they were looking to make me their breakfast — too small for lunch, fortunately.

Despite their menacing beauty, I wasted no time firing a Bombarda Maxima at them... then I ran for it.

Yeah, they were faster, and if we were on open ground, trying to outrun them would have been suicide. But here, the ruins still had a few remaining structures, some of them as tall as the wolves themselves. Ducking behind one, I heard the unmistakable sound of something crashing into it moments later.

No, that wasn't the wolves. They were impressive, but I was pretty sure teleportation wasn't one of their skills.

The next thing I noticed was the sound these creatures made — an eerie, pulsing howl. The sound waves manifested as semi-transparent rings that followed each other in rapid succession. Intelligent magical creatures capable of actively using magic? That was a rare sight, rarer than discovering a new sentient magical species.

Well, this wasn't the time to hold back. I aimed at one of them and fired an Avada Kedavra. Bombarda Maxima had barely scratched them, which told me weaker Dark Magic wouldn't cut it. If I didn't go for the big guns now, I'd be exhausted before they were down. So, the universal problem-solver it is.

Damn. It didn't die? Fine, at least it was out of commission... but the fall and the pained whimper of their packmate seemed to enrage the others. Abandoning their sonic attack, they howled in fury and charged at me from both sides of my cover.

Alright... Avada Kedavra could only take down one at a time, and there were two left. Time to pull out something I don't use unless absolutely necessary.

Gripping my wand with both hands, I dropped to my knees and thrust it into the ground — thankfully, most of the ruins were still made of earth. Ideally, I'd use a staff for this spell since physical contact was essential... but you work with what you have.

"Lacus Nox Tenebrarum... Vincula Legandi." From my wand, a faint black wave spread, turning the earth and stone into a thick, dark liquid that began to bubble ominously.

The wolves, already flanking me from either side, were immediately bound by tendrils of darkness that erupted from the pool of liquid night. The original idea behind the spell was for another wizard to finish off the captured enemies since I couldn't release my wand without catastrophic consequences. That's the danger of Dark Magic — if I let go, the spell will turn on me.

Still, I wouldn't have cast it if there wasn't a way out.

"Devorans Tenebras est Sacrificium." I uttered quickly, noticing that the wolves were already starting to fight their way free of the bindings.

The tendrils transformed into formless creatures resembling shadowy serpents that latched onto the wolves, draining their magic, and then, slowly, their life force.

I couldn't afford to relax just yet. I had to wait until the wolves were completely incapacitated before casting another spell to destroy the Lake of Darkness. These two spells were the work of the Blacks, passed down to my family — specifically to the Wolfs — after an ancient marriage. There was a time when the Blacks weakened, and the Wolfs seized the opportunity to marry one of their daughters.

It's not like the Blacks opposed marrying other families. The example of the Gaunts is a prime illustration of that, and quite a memorable one at that.

They wisely preferred to absorb others into their lineage, gifting them their surname, rather than scattering their offspring and knowledge by marrying them off into other families. And fine, British families were nearby, within reach if needed, but those farther away... Well, you can count on one hand the continental families that can boast of having Kings of Black Magic in their lineage — an unofficial title for the Blacks.

And yes, Black Magic, not just Dark Magic...

The wolves finally died.

Good.

Time to bid farewell to the otherworldly spirits before they start getting ideas about feasting on my flesh.

"Signantes Supermundanae," I whispered, carefully enunciating each syllable as I swiftly withdrew the tip of my wand from the lake, which had almost reached my feet.

A small violet flash transformed into a glowing substance of the same color, which fell onto the lake and began consuming it, replacing the dark mass. Once the process was complete, the liquid disappeared, leaving only a perfectly smooth crater.

Though I made a mental note — best not to touch the edges of that crater unless you're fond of your skin.

The formless serpentine spirits evaporated as well, their anchors in the material plane now destroyed, returning them to whatever Otherworldly Plane they had come from.

"Phew..." I wiped the sweat from my brow, standing up again. That took a lot out of me. Not just from the magical toll of the spells, but from the proximity to such dark and volatile forces.

"Oh, Black family magic?" Orna, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke again, vibrating in my hand.

"Recognize it?"

"They're an old family. I'm a couple thousand years older, but I know of them. Not quite Peverell-level, but worthy heirs nonetheless," the sword mused, appraising them.

"As far as I know, they aren't related," I replied, recalling the Black family tree that I'd been forced to memorize back in the day. The Blacks were a family you needed to know about, no questions asked.

"I've never understood you humans and your obsession with bloodlines. Isn't passing down knowledge enough?" I could almost feel the equivalent of a shrug from the sword. "From what I know, the Blacks learned that lesson well. By the way, which family do you belong to?"

"Stahlwolfs," I answered, keeping an eye on the wolf I'd hit with the Avada Kedavra earlier.

"Hmm... never heard of them. Perhaps bastards?" Orna muttered to himself as I sighed in relief, seeing that the wolf had indeed succumbed to the Killing Curse.

"Maybe the name 'Wolfs' rings a bell?" I asked as I picked the sword up from the ground.

"Ah, yes... the bastards indeed! Descendants of Brunhilda, the Saxon She-Wolf...."

"And of Siegfried himself, yes," I grinned.

As I've come to realize, many of the mythic figures from various legends were real people, and often powerful wizards. The heroes of Arthurian legend in Britain, Siegfried and his companions in Germany, Roland and Joan of Arc in France, and even Koschei the Deathless in Russia — those are just the most famous examples.

Siegfried, during his legendary travels, ventured into Saxony, where he was already well known for slaying Fafnir, which was no small feat. The creature was an ancient Animagus who had long forgotten his human identity and had terrorized the region for years.

Naturally, one renowned figure wanted to meet another. The rest followed the typical epic formula: shared battles, and after one such victory, the two young warriors got a little too heated and... well, you can guess the rest. Siegfried went on his way, and Brunhilda ended up pregnant.

Everyone understood the situation, but no one said a word. After all, speaking out against popular, powerful, and influential figures was a fool's errand.

As family archives tell it, Siegfried wasn't oblivious to the situation either. He sent a one-time gift — part of the Nibelung treasure, which included not just jewels but also tomes of magic, some of which eventually found their way to the Stahlwolfs.

I saw one of those treasures once... and it left a lasting impression on me, despite how cheesy that sounds. After all, those treasures are only slightly less legendary than the Deathly Hallows.

"What the — " My musings were cut short as I stumbled on flat ground, nearly reaching the edge of the forest beyond the ruins. My head suddenly felt heavy, as if I hadn't slept for days. A strange lethargy began seeping into my body.

"Behind you, German!" Orna's shout barely gave me enough time to spin around, casting the strongest Protego I could manage in my current state.

It wasn't enough.

I was slammed into the trunk of a tree with brutal force. The attack, an orange glowing arrow, had pierced through my shield as if it were nothing. It finally dissipated against one of my protective amulets, which crumbled to dust in response.

Oddly, it didn't hurt as much as I expected. It was more unpleasant and humiliating than painful. And, I was clearly overexerted.

Squinting through my exhaustion, I barely managed to spot a Fomorian archer, standing near the place I'd hidden from the wolves. My vision swam, forcing me to close my eyes to stop the dizziness.

"Damn it..."

"You survived an arrow from Zelind, son of Balor," a voice — female, unfamiliar — mocked me. I couldn't place it, and when I tried to open my eyes again, I immediately regretted it, as a splitting headache tore through my skull. "Do you wish to live, or are you one of those who prefers to embrace death?"

"What a cliché situation... but I'll take it," I rasped, relaxing and even yawning. I didn't understand how I was so exhausted that I was about to fall asleep right here...

Whoever she was, she gave me the same overwhelming presence that Medea did, so there was no point in worrying. She'd probably take care of that archer in a heartbeat and claim it was all part of the plan.