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0710 The Vagrant (LARGE-CHAPTER)
🕑 Added 2025-05-09 10:42:04 +0000 UTCA bone-chilling wind suddenly wandered through the desolate, forgotten courtyard, carrying with it the faint scent of decay and abandonment. The waist-high weeds bent reluctantly in the breeze as the cold air diluted what little warmth remained contained in the increasingly pale, weakening sunlight.
Louise, her eyes momentarily blinded by countless specks of irritating grass fluff, shuddered several times and instinctively hugged her arms tightly around her torso.
The "thud, thud" knocking sounds emanating ominously from the mysterious white building continued with increasing urgency, each impact more desperate than the last, carrying a hysterical quality that sent shivers down Louise's already trembling spine.
Bryan stepped out of the corridor and walked toward the tower-like round building. His flying robes made a rustling sound as they brushed against the dense grass. For some reason, looking at Bryan's suddenly taller silhouette, Louise felt a strange illusion that there was a thick barrier between this man and the surrounding environment, as if he came from another world.
Kingsley glanced at Louise, his right arm maintaining an oddly stiff posture, and quickly followed Bryan's lead.
"Hey, wait for me—" Louise snapped back to the unsettling reality, called out nervously and ran awkwardly through the tangled vegetation to grab Bryan's sleeve again.
As she had subconsciously anticipated, this isolated, lonely building standing at the center of the vast courtyard indeed appeared to be a confinement cell. The claustrophobically narrow interior space and the small door and window hollows strategically set away from direct sunlight maximized the overwhelming sense of isolation and suffocating claustrophobia inside.
When their vision shifted abruptly from the harsh brightness of the courtyard to the oppressive dimness of the interior space, even Bryan's perceptive view blurred disorientingly for a few seconds.
Thud, thud, thud— When she finally saw what was creating the strange, rhythmic noise and who was responsible for making it, Louise, already startled by the persistent, haunting sound, couldn't help but display unmistakable confusion and utter bewilderment on her increasingly pale face.
The cylindrical room was fully visible from their vantage point at the entrance. Most of the uneven floor space was covered with withered weeds that had been pulled from the surrounding courtyard.
Scattered across this makeshift indoor "grassland" were numerous miscellaneous items, such as a coat soaked in foul-smelling muddy water and then left to dry in the sun, a severely dented rectangular iron box that appeared to have been repurposed as a crude food container, a hammer though its head and handle were now completely separated from each other.
Half-kneeling on the grass bedding was a disheveled figure who, judging by the wild, unkempt gray tangled hair around his face, appeared to be an elderly man whose approximate age was impossible to determine beneath the layers of dirt.
Like the beggars Louise had seen outside the industrial area of Cokeworth who had long ago lost any reliable source of income, every inch of his exposed skin was covered with nauseating dirt.
Louise finally understood what had been generating the mysterious thudding noise that had drawn them deeper into this place.
The beggar within the cell was clutching a worn-out hunting rifle, frantically pounding its wooden stock against the cracked cement floor with mechanical but surprisingly powerful movements.
At first glance, it was clear the old man had gone mad. His expression was rigid, but those turbid pupils embedded in his dirty face were bloodshot. With bulging eyes that seemed ready to burst from their sockets fixed on the ground, he repeatedly lifted the heavy rifle butt and slammed it down hard.
"What are you doing..."
Louise stood frozen, and asked blankly. Her hesitant voice was soft, almost equal to a whisper. Her uncertain question wasn't expecting the seemingly insane beggar to logically explain his absurd, repetitive behavior, but was merely a stunned self-mutter born of overwhelming confusion.
However, the disheveled beggar in the confinement cell was extraordinarily sensitive to noise and immediately caught Louise's unclear voice amid the rustling of wind-blown weeds.
The beggar suddenly raised his head, aiming his bloodshot eyes at the three uninvited guests who had dared to intrude uninvited into his residence.
The unsettling light in those haunted eyes, which had clearly already lost all connection to human reason and rationality, transitioned from extreme, animalistic terror through momentary confusion to savage viciousness in the span of just two breaths.
Then, in Louise's blank gaze that still struggled to properly grasp the unfolding situation, the beggar with a ferocious, inhuman expression suddenly and resolutely raised his gun, pointing the black barrel oozing with the unmistakable aura of imminent death directly at Bryan Watson!
"Look out!!!" Louise only managed to cry out these desperate words in a voice filled with terror and piercing shrillness. She didn't even have time to push Bryan, whose arms remained casually hanging at his sides with inexplicable calmness, out of the line of fire—
Bang!
Under the broad daylight, a gunshot echoed across the wilderness, startling countless birds that had been pecking at grass seeds!
Whoosh— The gentle wind that had been meandering lazily through the courtyard suddenly turned fierce and unnatural. Dust and debris kicked up by the foul, swirling wind hung in the air like a translucent curtain, blurring the increasingly pale sunlight.
Less than ten feet in front of Bryan, a shimmering barrier had appeared seemingly from nowhere.
This transparent, ethereal barrier resembled both rippling water caught in a moment of perfect stillness and air that had somehow fundamentally changed its properties to become incredibly viscous.
A hot, round iron pellet still emitting a faint reddish glow from the explosive force that had propelled it was suspended at the center of the barrier, floating peacefully like a fallen leaf on water's surface, gently rippling with the slightly fluctuating barrier that contained it, but completely unable to advance even a fraction of an inch further toward its intended target.
Thud— Staring in disbelief at the bullet and the transparent ripples magically binding it in midair, Louise's trembling arms, which had been frantically attempting to push Bryan out of harm's way, "fell" down helplessly with a dull thud, her face turning pale as if instantly drained of all blood.
'Nonverbal and wandless magic—' Kingsley looked with great admiration at Bryan Watson, whose hands were empty and whose expression remained unchanged.
Kingsley wasn't entirely sure if Bryan's extraordinary magical barrier was a standard Shield Charm or some more advanced form of protective ancient magic that few wizards could master, but even if it was just a basic Shield Charm, this unprecedented display of nonverbal and wandless magic executed with flawless precision was far beyond his capabilities.
Kingsley glanced sideways at Louise, whose mouth had silently fallen open in speechless shock. After only a moment's hesitation, his wand slid smoothly into his palm. "Expelliarmus—"
With a whooshing sound, the hunting rifle immediately left the vagrant's control and sailed gracefully through the air, landing firmly in Kingsley's outstretched hand.
The disheveled vagrant in the confinement cell now looked no less comically bewildered than Louise. He remained frozen in the awkward position of holding up his now-absent gun with a stupefied expression of utter confusion spreading slowly across his dirt-covered face as his mind struggled to grasp what had just happened.
But as seconds ticked, the idiotic shock etched on the vagrant's face gradually disappeared. Growing terror rose in those turbid, unfocused eyes, as if he were suddenly recalling some horrifying memories. This primal fear was so intense that his skinny, skeletal body began to tremble. At some point, the vagrant suddenly emitted a haunting, raven-like strange howl and abruptly shrank back against the wall.
The vagrant desperately hid his head in the crook of his arm, shivering continuously and making pitiful whimpering sounds that evoked genuine sympathy even in Louise's thoroughly shocked state.
"This unfortunate person—" Kingsley said hesitantly, his deep voice unusually tentative as he carefully considered his words.
"I think your guess is correct, Kingsley—" Bryan nodded slightly, his gaze as deep as an abyss analyzing the vagrant's condition. "He has suffered torture, probably from the Cruciatus Curse—"
Bryan and Kingsley both left Louise's side. Bryan stood in front of the trembling vagrant, bending slightly at the waist to better observe him.
"Mr. Pastore?" He inquired softly.
The vagrant gave absolutely no response to his name, refusing to look at either Bryan or Kingsley.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Bryan gripped the wand that had slid into his palm and gently pointed it at the vagrant's head. Accompanied by a milky glow tinged with light blue that rippled outward, Onisto Pastore's body suddenly stopped shaking. His entire body unconsciously straightened out, slowly floating in mid-air, only his vacant eyes remaining open.
Bryan didn't concern himself with how this action had further crushed Louise's worldview at the doorway. He looked down, staring into Pastore's eyes, and in the next second, his pupils suddenly emanated purple light!
In the Spiritual World
Pain—endless, excruciating pain shattered all clear cognition and rational thought like fragile crystal beneath a blacksmith's hammer.
The view in front of Bryan's consciousness momentarily darkened to absolute nothingness, and when lighting gradually returned in swirling patterns, Bryan found himself standing alone in a world of infinite, incomprehensible chaos.
Above him stretched a dark red, gloomy sky that occasionally flashed with bolts of unnatural black lightning that seemed to consume light rather than emit it. Below where he stood suspended in the void was a violently turbulent sea of fractured memories and emotions, and the howling wind around him was hauntingly composed of countless human wails and heart-wrenching lamentations that spoke of unbearable suffering.
Bryan's expression remained cold and sternly focused, showing no emotion at the nightmarish landscape. He stood perfectly still in the swirling void, quietly looking down at the surging, chaotic ocean far below his feet with investigative precision.
This churning, turbulent sea represented Pastore's shattered mind consciousness, and every individual drop of flowing water symbolized thoughts and memories that had flashed through his mind since birth.
However, under the merciless lashing of black thunder and the violent self-collision of the water flow, all coherent thoughts once carefully stored in these "water droplets" had been systematically shattered beyond recognition or recovery.
Bryan observed the violent, unpredictable sea surface for a long time, studying its patterns and disruptions. Eventually, he slowly raised his head to look directly at the culprit responsible for creating such devastating chaos in the once-ordered consciousness ocean.
Taking a step forward through the void, Bryan instantaneously appeared at the edge of the consciousness sea. This vast sea area floated eerily in the boundless void of Pastore's mind, and beyond its hazy boundaries existed absolute, terrifying darkness that would consume everything.
A monstrous, roaring whirlpool, comparable in size and ferocity to the mythical Charybdis, churned violently and devoured the entire consciousness sea. Every passing second, this vortex endured thousands upon thousands of punishing lightning strikes from above, causing the already violent whirlpool itself to emit agonized wails.
Bryan frowned slightly in concentration. He looked up at the dark red sky canopy and at the black lightning generated seemingly from nothingness. After pondering thoughtfully for a moment, he slowly raised his right hand, fingers extended towards the sky in a supportive, protective gesture.
Golden flames suddenly emanated from his outstretched palm, gradually changing form.
Like an unfurling protective umbrella, the shimmering golden canopy expanded cautiously to encircle the surrounding mindscape with tremendous caution and precision. Even with Bryan's careful approach, this fragile patch of conscious world where he stood trembled with the systematic expansion of the magical flames, and everything within view shook violently as if experiencing a localized earthquake.
Bryan's frown deepened as he recognized the danger. He had to precisely control the intensity of the flames to prevent his power from accidentally destroying a Muggle's already fragile, damaged spiritual world.
Time seemed to pass for an immeasurably long while in this dimension beyond physical reality. Finally, a spectacular, massive fire curtain appeared above Bryan's head. This golden, translucent fire curtain completely shielded the violent vortex churning below him, but Bryan's expression did not relax in the slightest as he observed its effects.
Those malicious lightning bolts descending from the crimson sky penetrated the protective barrier he had painstakingly created—no, not just penetrated, but simply could not be interfered with by any conventional magical mean. They passed through his shield as if it didn't exist at all.
These black lightning bolts were not formed by any recognizable magical power, but were persistent mental attacks brought by the pure malice contained in the repeatedly used Cruciatus Curse and are fundamentally different dimensional forces.
Whoosh— Having confirmed that his approach was useless, Bryan waved his hand to disperse the golden flames. He looked up thoughtfully at the black lightning bolts emerging from apparent nothingness, narrowing his eyes as if carefully considering alternative approaches.
If this were occurring in the material world beyond Pastore's mind, several dozen minutes would have already passed without Bryan's knowledge. Bryan, who had been silent and observant all this time, finally took decisive action again.
He pressed his right index and middle fingers of his right hand together against his own forehead. A transparent, luminous substance, resembling clear flowing water filled with starlight began to flow extremely slowly from where his fingers touched his forehead.
This extraordinary process seemed to be incredibly difficult and taxing even for Bryan, extracting this previously untapped power he had never fully used before from his spiritual form. The mystical "water" flowed very slowly and, following its natural instinct, continuously attempted to return to Bryan's spiritual body rather than manifest outside.
But with Bryan's persistence and will, the transparent substance gradually formed a protective "celestial cover" and finally managed to shelter approximately half of the destructive vortex beneath its glow.
Bryan was exhausted by this unprecedented mental effort. This apparent fatigue was not due to any lack of raw magical power, but because utilizing the pure power of the soul itself was significantly beyond Bryan's current level of capability and experience.
However, the immediate effectiveness of soul power against malicious psychic attacks was immediately apparent. Those black lightning bolts struck the transparent, luminous canopy like rain, but far from penetrating its barrier, they couldn't even cause the slightest ripple on its surface.
The tortured whirlpool below, which had been continuously lashed by these attacks for an untold period, could finally catch its metaphorical breath and begin to stabilize.
The previously frantic speed of the vortex's churning noticeably slowed under this protection, allowing some recognizable regularity and pattern to emerge from the piercing wails amid the still-roaring water. Bryan, who had temporarily stopped forcing the soul power to leave his spiritual body due to the strain, narrowed his eyes in concentration, listening carefully to the emerging sounds with attention.
"Bastard! Stop it immediately, you sadistic bastard, leave my innocent Valeria alone, please don't do that to her—stop! I'm begging you!" A voice cried out from the swirling waters.
Listening intently to those repeatedly pleading, desperate cries, which were cruelly accompanied by cold cruel laughter and a young woman's sobbing, a flash of fury passed through Bryan's narrowed eyes.
"Mr. Watson!" Kingsley's deep voice cut through Bryan's concentration, pulling him back to physical reality.
Although considerable subjective time had passed in the spiritual world of Pastore's shattered consciousness, in the outside physical world, only a few short seconds had elapsed.
Kingsley observed as Bryan stepped back and straightened up from his hunched position, and correctly guessing the nature of the magic he had been using, immediately asked, "What did you discover—"
"Unfortunately, very limited useful intelligence, Kingsley—" Bryan responded solemnly.
The gleam in Bryan's eyes gradually faded as he shook his head with a solemn expression. "As I previously suspected, Mr. Pastore here was repeatedly tortured with the Cruciatus Curse over a long period of time. A typical Muggle's mental strength is extremely fragile compared to wizards; his consciousness has been completely shattered beyond conventional healing."
Kingsley's concerned gaze fell heavily on Pastore's lifeless, vacant face, his eyes mixed with both sympathy for the man's suffering and simultaneously his mood darkened at the implications.
"This condition sounds similar to what the Longbottoms experienced. St. Mungo's Healers spent over ten years attempting to restore them to normal without achieving any meaningful success—"
"But it wasn't entirely fruitless—" Bryan said thoughtfully.
Bryan had also heard of the horrific torture Neville's parents had endured at the hands of Death Eaters. His eyelids twitched slightly as a sudden, promising idea formed in his mind. However, he quickly recognized that now was not the appropriate time to thoroughly consider this complex matter. He raised his right hand decisively and snapped his fingers with a sharp click.
A burst of cruel, sadistic laughter suddenly echoed hauntingly through the oppressive small room. The voice was young but filled with cruelty— the same voice Bryan had just extracted from the depths of Pastore's consciousness, belonging to the unidentified dark wizard who had mercilessly tortured him into madness.
Even though Pastore's consciousness lay in ruins, the fear and burning hatred for this particular voice remained deeply rooted in the depths of Pastore's damaged conscious sea, almost permanently engraved into the very essence of his soul.
Facing Kingsley's slightly confused, questioning gaze, Bryan explained,
"I guess the owner of this young voice isn't Field Wittelsbach, but undoubtedly, he should occupy a core, influential position in the magic research group where Fraser was involved. If we're lucky in our investigation, he might even be the same person who sent that cursed package to Hermione—"
"Aeschylus," Bryan said calmly.
Bryan mentally formulated a plan to have Kingsley arrange for his most Aurors to take this extracted "recording" of the torturer's voice and compare it with the collected memories of those smuggling operators. If they were fortunate in their investigation, this might finally identify the mysterious person who had secretly entered Britain and sent cursed package to Hermione.
Even if this particular lead were proved to be fruitless, he would immediately have Kingsley send the unfortunate, broken Mr. Pastore to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for specialized treatment.
If no new clues emerged from conventional methods, then while patiently waiting for the complete results of the investigation into those "masters of curses," he could try working with Dumbledore to extract additional, deeper clues from Pastore's fractured memories using more advanced magical techniques.
And precisely at this moment—
"Angus Aeschylus—" a trembling female voice suddenly broke the tense silence.
Since witnessing Bryan Watson stop that deadly bullet, Louise's understanding of reality and her worldview had suddenly collapsed like a house of cards in a strong wind.
She stood dumbly at the doorway, watching with disbelieving eyes as Bryan casually waved what appeared to be a small wooden stick like a stage magician to inexplicably calm the violent vagrant and make him float supernaturally in mid-air against all known laws of physics. She listened to the mysterious conversation between Bryan and Kingsley—
Muggle, Cruciatus Curse, shattered consciousness,
cruel laughter echoing in her ears—
The overwhelming, intense sense of existential absurdity nearly made Louise faint where she stood. She leaned against the doorframe, struggling to remain standing, staring deeply at the two apparent wizards who seemed to have completely ignored her presence throughout their inexplicable conversation.
Some fragmentary thoughts and connections began emerging in Louise's whirling mind, and simultaneously, she vividly recalled certain strange, previously unexplainable things she had observed.
'Angus Aeschylus?'
Bryan and Kingsley looked at each other, then both sharply turned their gaze toward Louise.
Looking at the pale-faced girl frozen at the doorway, Bryan sighed slightly in his heart. He could fully imagine what psychological devastation her mind must be experiencing at this moment.
Bryan's face remained calm and composed, and the slight compassion he momentarily felt in his heart quickly dissipated. Since Louise had persistently insisted on seeing the truth despite numerous warnings, she would now have to bear its cruelty.
"I'm sorry, Louise—" Bryan turned to face Louise and calmly asked, "This name you just mentioned—"
Though the smuggling list sent by the Aurors was long and detailed, both Bryan and Kingsley knew every name on it by heart. They both immediately realized that the full name Louise had unexpectedly uttered matched one from that list. "Does it hold any special personal significance?"
"So—" Louise didn't directly answer Bryan's probing question.
She stared directly at Bryan Watson, her gaze no longer containing any trace of the previous shyness and feminine tenderness she had displayed earlier, but instead was unfamiliar, cold, and accusatory. "The mysterious magic Fraser was so obsessively pursuing actually does exist in reality, doesn't it?"
Louise tightly clenched her trembling fists, her shoulders slightly trembled as she glared at the silent pair. "Please answer my question truthfully, Mr. Watson!"
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