Chapter 310: "Dark Council"

As Harry made his way back to Hogwarts, high above the British countryside in an ancient castle, an important meeting was underway. The dimly lit chamber glowed with the eerie light of hovering orbs of cold fire, casting long shadows across the room.

Voldemort sat at the head of an ornate table, flanked by Magnus Blutreich of the Schwarzwald Zirkel and Vladimir Dracul XII of the Carpathian Covenant. Their respective inner circles stood at attention beside their leaders. The alliance's plans were progressing smoothly—Ministry infiltration, political maneuvering, strategic positioning—and this meeting was part of their regular discussions to refine their schemes.

After reviewing their primary objectives, the topic shifted to a growing concern—a thorn in their side.

"What of our vigilante problem?" Voldemort asked, his crimson eyes locking onto Vladimir. "The one who killed Macnair and your guards. Have you resolved it?"

A confident smile spread across Vladimir's aged features. "By now, he should be dead. I sent nine of my elite warriors to his hideout tonight. They are my finest—experts in tracking, combat, and stealth. We should hear of their success any moment."

Magnus raised a skeptical eyebrow, his silver hair gleaming faintly in the cold firelight. "Such confidence, despite the previous failures?"

"This time—" Vladimir began, but the chamber doors burst open with a resounding crash.

A young vampire stumbled in, pale even by undead standards. He was trembling as he approached the table where his lord sat.

"Marcus?" Vladimir's smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. "You were assigned to the hunting party. Why are you here alone? Where are the others?"

Marcus fell to one knee, his voice trembling. "My lord... they're dead. All of them. That monster killed them."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop further as Vladimir rose slowly from his seat, his ancient face twisted in fury. "What? Everyone? Dead? How? Speak—tell me everything."

Marcus spoke quickly, his words tumbling over each other as he recounted the night's events. He described how they had tracked their target to a hillside, how he had been stationed as a lookout, ready to strike if their prey tried to flee. Then, everything had gone wrong. Wards had sprung up, trapping them, and a knight had emerged. He detailed the swift, brutal efficiency with which their target had cut down his comrades.

"A knight?" Magnus interrupted, leaning forward, his sharp features intent. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Marcus whispered. "The armor, the way he fought—it was unmistakable. But this knight wasn't like the stories I've heard. He wielded magic—elements bent to his will. Fire, lightning, earth... they moved as though they were extensions of him."

Voldemort's lip curled, his voice icy. "A knight? Why have I not heard of them, and why are you so afraid?" Skepticism tinged his words, though his crimson eyes flicked toward Magnus, who was well-versed in ancient lore. "Explain."

Magnus sighed, his tone laced with irritation and unease. "Knights are relics of a forgotten time. Humans who trained their bodies relentlessly without magic, achieving feats of strength and endurance rivaling wizards. But their methods were painstakingly slow. They were replaced by wizards, who could achieve power far more quickly. I believed them to be extinct."

Vladimir nodded, his voice low and grave. "Not entirely extinct, it seems. My Covenant's oldest records speak of them. Knights once roamed ancient kingdoms, facing entire armies single-handedly. The greatest among them—the Sky Knights—harnessed life energy, allowing them to surpass mortal limits. They could resist spells, move with inhuman speed, and endure strikes that would fell most men. A fully trained knight could live over a century and still fight as if in his prime."

Voldemort's expression remained impassive, though his eyes narrowed in thought. "Decades of training, and now we face one who is both knight and wizard? Unusual. And deadly."

Magnus gestured dismissively. "Perhaps that explains his strength against vampires. While knights fell easily to wizards, they were said to be formidable foes for creatures like werewolves and vampires, who rely on physical superiority. He may simply be exploiting their natural weaknesses."

Voldemort's fingers tapped against the table as he turned his gaze to Marcus. "Are you certain it was a knight? You saw the battle clearly?"

"Yes, my lord," Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Vampires see well in darkness. I watched from the treeline. He never sensed me. But the others..." He shuddered. "They didn't stand a chance."

Vladimir slammed his fist onto the table, the sound reverberating through the chamber. "Eight of my best! Eight! And this... knight cut through them like wheat!"

The room fell silent, the weight of Marcus's account sinking in. Their foe was far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

"This changes everything," Magnus said quietly, his weathered features grave. "A knight who can wield magic... I've never even heard of such a thing. Mastering either takes years, but this man has achieved both. He's no ordinary foe."

Vladimir scowled, his ancient face etched with frustration. "What I don't understand is why he's targeting us. He seems like a lone hermit—someone without ambition or allies. How did we make an enemy of him?"

Voldemort's crimson eyes gleamed with cold malice. "It doesn't matter. He has killed too many of our forces. He's an enemy now, and there's no turning back. Between this knight and that cursed Blue Eyes, the wizarding world has changed while I was away. How have so many powerful individuals emerged from obscurity?"

Magnus folded his arms, his tone measured but resolute. "We'll only learn the truth once we capture and interrogate them. For now, we need to focus on neutralizing this new threat."

Vladimir turned to Marcus, his gaze piercing. "My kin demand vengeance. They've been humiliated. I cannot let this insult go unanswered. Marcus, tell me—what else did you see? Every detail is important."

Marcus trembled but obeyed, his voice halting. "He was precise. Calculated. Every movement had a purpose—there was no wasted energy, no taunting or theatrics. He trapped them first with anti-Apparition wards and boundary shields, then…" He swallowed hard. "Then he executed them. Like it was nothing more than a task."

Voldemort's expression darkened, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the table. "Professional. Methodical. This is no vigilante playing at hero."

Magnus nodded grimly. "And now he knows we can track him. He'll be even more cautious."

Vladimir began pacing, his ancient features twisting with a mix of fury and calculation. "We need overwhelming force. No more small teams, no more probing attacks. This time, we crush him entirely."

"I agree," Magnus said. "My Zirkel can provide combat specialists and ward-breakers. Combined with your vampires—"

"And the werewolves," came a guttural voice from the shadows. Fenrir Greyback stepped into the dim light, his feral grin baring jagged teeth. "My pack is eager to prove themselves. On the full moon, they'll be at their strongest. Let them join the hunt."

Voldemort raised a hand to silence the rising voices. "Numbers. Be specific."

Vladimir's lips curled into a predatory smile. "Twenty of my best warriors."

"I can provide twenty transformed werewolves," Greyback added, his tone dripping with eagerness. "The strongest of my pack."

"And the Zirkel will send three combat masters," Magnus said. "Capable of breaking through any wards he might set."

Voldemort's gaze flicked to Magnus. "And three of my Death Eaters?"

"Yes, my Lord," Magnus replied with a respectful nod. "A force of nearly fifty. Perhaps excessive for one man—but after our losses, we cannot risk another failure."

Still kneeling, Marcus spoke hesitantly, his voice barely audible. "My Lords… even with such numbers, do not underestimate him. The way he fought… it was like watching death itself."

"Then we'll respond with greater death," Vladimir snarled. "In two weeks, under the full moon, we'll end this."

Voldemort's expression remained distant, his voice soft yet commanding. "So be it. Crush him completely. Leave no survivors, no loose ends. When we move on the Ministry, I want no hidden knights waiting to interfere."

The alliance leaders nodded, their resolve hardened by vengeance. As the meeting adjourned, the room emptied, each faction preparing for the upcoming assault. But in the shadows, Marcus lingered, unable to shake the image of that silent, armored figure—relentless, unstoppable, and utterly without mercy.

The next full moon would bring either triumph or slaughter. Marcus only prayed he wouldn't be chosen to see which it would be.