Chapter 63 The Rose and the Snake 3
The morning light at Malfoy Manor carried a cold and gorgeous silence that was completely different from that of Knockturn Alley.
The sunlight shines through the towering stained-glass windows, casting colorful yet cold spots of light on the floor.
Abraxas Malfoy stood in front of the huge French window in his study.
The traces of a sleepless night were concealed by his perfect appearance. Only in the depths of his gray-blue eyes were there a lingering gloom and a hint of cold scrutiny.
His left hand unconsciously rubbed a new, extremely subtle silver ring mark on his right index finger.
This is the "host mark" forcibly branded by the system elf named "Hermes" last night. It feels cold to the touch, like an invisible chain.
In my mind, the system panel emitting a faint blue light was like a maggot on the tarsal bone, lingering:
[Newbie Mission: Please give a bouquet of fresh red roses to the capture target (Tom Riddle/Voldemort) within 23 hours and 17 minutes, with the message: 'You are the only starlight in my darkness.']
[Penalty for mission failure: Experience the pain of "heart-wrenching and bone-crushing" (compensatory version).]
[Current coordinates of the target: Knockturn Alley's 'Night Owl' stronghold (marked).]
[Quest Item: Red Rose x1 (already delivered to the host's study desk).]
Abraxas's eyes swept over the bouquet of red roses that appeared out of thin air on the desk.
The flowers bloomed gorgeously, deep red like solidified blood, with even morning dew rolling on the plump petals, emitting a fragrance that was so rich that it was almost sweet.
The bouquet of roses itself seemed like a perfect irony to his crazy lie last night - the only starlight in the darkness?
He only felt that Voldemort's existence itself was an abyss that could swallow up all light.
His fingertips still retained the cold touch of Clarisse's memory bottle at the auction house last night, and... the chill that spread from the depths of his soul after he said that name.
System, binding, mission, heart-wrenching... These words were like cold poisonous snakes, entwining his sanity.
He hated being manipulated, and even more so, he hated handing the initiative over to that dangerous madman.
But the four words "Cruciate", even the compensated version, are enough to make any rational wizard shudder.
"Hermes," Abraxas' voice echoed in the empty study, cold and flat. "The mission failed. What exactly does the 'compensation' of punishment refer to?"
[Compensatory version: Pain intensity is 70% of the original spell, and duration is shortened to 30 seconds. Host, please rest assured that this system is committed to providing the most 'humane' experience.]
The emotionless mechanical voice of the system elf rang in my mind with a strange hint of "cheer".
[Warm Tip: The target has noticed the system's existence and has shown a high degree of 'interest' in the novice mission. Estimated cooperation: -200%. It is recommended that the host wear defensive accessories.]
Cooperation degree -200%?
Abraxas could almost imagine Voldemort's expression when he saw the content of this task - the rage and cold mockery surging in his scarlet pupils.
Defensive accessories? Ordinary defensive magic would be useless against Voldemort.
His eyes darkened and fell on the Malfoy family ring on his left ring finger, which was low-key but contained powerful protective magic. This might be his only hope.
He stroked the delicate snake carving on the ring with his fingertips, and the touch of the cool metal slightly calmed his troubled mood.
After a moment, he withdrew his gaze, his eyes replaced with his usual indifference and alienation, and pushed open the door of the study.
The footsteps were as light as a feather, blending into the cool morning light.
Like a wisp of morning wind, he passed through the fading crowd, avoiding all prying eyes and finally turned into a hidden side alley leading to Knockturn Alley.
Deep in Knockturn Alley, the entrance to the "Night Owl's Den" stronghold is hidden at the end of a narrow alley filled with rotten garbage, shrouded by powerful Confusion and Expulsion Curses.
Even if ordinary wizards pass by, they will subconsciously ignore this place.
But at this moment, Abraxas' figure appeared quietly at the entrance of the filthy alley like a ghost blending into the shadows.
He changed into a more low-key dark green traveling cloak, the hood covering most of his face, revealing only his hard jaw and tightly pursed thin lips.
In his hand, the bouquet of bright red roses looked particularly dazzling and...ridiculous in the dark and dirty environment.
He took a deep breath, but the pungent smell of decay and inferior potions in the air could not suppress the heavy feeling in his heart, as if he was heading to the execution ground.
The countdown on the system panel ticked relentlessly: [07:42:15].
Time is running out.
Without hesitation, Abraxas walked straight towards the seemingly ordinary, moss-covered brick wall.
He raised his right hand, and the newly appeared silver ring mark on his index finger heated up slightly. An invisible wave that only the system and he could perceive spread out.
On the brick wall, a twisted "V" mark, like a burning flame, flashed by, and the thick brick wall slid silently inward, revealing a deep entrance that was only wide enough for one person to pass through.
A cold, damp smell mixed with the smell of blood and some kind of dark magic hit me in the face.
The interior of the stronghold is more depressing than imagined.
The light was dim, with only a few ghostly green magic lamps embedded in the walls providing illumination, making the long corridor look like the intestines leading to hell.
The air seemed stagnant, thick with malice. He could sense several cold gazes sweeping over him from the darkness, filled with scrutiny, vigilance, and undisguised hostility.
The scent of a Death Eater.
He gripped the silver snake-head staff in his sleeve tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.
At the end of the corridor is a heavy oak door carved with ferocious snake patterns.
Abraxas could clearly feel the powerful, cold, and tangible dark magic pressing down from behind the door. The target was within.
He stopped and looked at the bunch of red roses in his hand, which looked extremely enchanting under the dim green light, and pulled the corners of his mouth in self-mockery.
The only starlight in the darkness? He was about to dedicate this "starlight" to darkness itself.
The oak door opened silently. Inside was not the gloomy dungeon or bloody altar as imagined, but an elegantly decorated study.
A huge ebony desk and bookshelves towering to the ceiling, filled with thick, ancient magical tomes and parchment scrolls.
A pale magical flame burned in the fireplace, silently dispelling the chill in the room, but it could not dispel the coldness that penetrated deep into the bone marrow.
Voldemort sat in a large, high-backed chair behind the desk, wearing impeccably tailored black robes that accentuated his pale complexion.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
