Crouch seemed to sense something.
He slowly turned his head, his gaze falling upon Barty Jr.'s face.
Then he froze.
The poor man likely thought he was hallucinating. His dead son—a person he had personally confirmed to have breathed his last—was now standing in his dimly lit parlor, staring at him with a hollow, expressionless face.
"Who—are you?" Crouch asked, his voice trembling.
Barty Jr. did not answer. He simply took a step forward, advancing toward his father.
Crouch seemed to finally realize the imminent danger. He scrambled to draw his wand, fumbling blindly at his waist, his hands shaking violently with a mixture of terror and disbelief.
He finally managed to pull it free, but it was too late.
Barty Jr. was already looming over him, his pale, grayish hands clamping down brutally on his father's throat.
"Stop—no—" Crouch managed to choke out a few broken, desperate syllables.
Perhaps Barty Jr. had overestimated his newly acquired strength, or perhaps Crouch had tapped into a desperate burst of survival instinct in his final moments. With a violent, thrashing struggle, the older man actually managed to break free from the lethal grip.
Crouch stumbled backward, panting heavily as he raised his wand. "Stupe—"
Before the incantation could fully leave his lips, his eyes widened in sheer horror, and his hands flew to his own neck.
Pitch-black, spiderweb-like veins were rapidly spreading outward from the exact spots where his son's icy fingers had gripped him.
Thud!
The wand clattered to the floor, and Crouch collapsed stiffly beside it. The breath of life had vanished from him entirely.
Barty Jr. looked down at his own hands and let out a low, cruel laugh.
Without missing a beat, he stepped forward, bent down, and scooped up the still-warm wand. His top priority now was to report his failed mission to his master.
---
The Christmas holidays were drawing to a close.
For the vast majority of students, it had been a rather wonderful break. Aside from the towering mountains of holiday homework assigned by the professors, everything was perfect.
Maurise, meanwhile, had seamlessly resumed his usual rhythm.
On the final day of the holidays, he was holed up inside the workshop of his Ship in a Bottle.
'Just a little more...'
Maurise stared intently at the 'Gate Between Worlds' magic circle drawn on the floor, a rare surge of tension tightening his chest. Success or failure hinged entirely on this moment.
'Magic circle, activate!'
Just as before, the moment he injected his mana, a localized black hole tore open in the center of the array, and thick white mist began to billow out continuously.
This time, however, Maurise didn't immediately channel his own magic to manually forge a Gap Energy Crystal.
He simply let the mist churn and accumulate, allowing it to quickly fill every corner of the room.
Once the ambient concentration reached an optimal density, Maurise waved at the skeletal figure standing patiently beside him. "Attempt number seventy-seven."
Incidentally, this particular skeleton was the only one among his army of fifty to have successfully evolved into a Tier 3 Undead. Maurise had temporarily dubbed it "Skeleton One."
Receiving the command, Skeleton One raised a bony hand and began to cast 'Energy Convergence'.
Yes, it was actively casting a spell.
Lately, Maurise had been experimenting with engraving the complex spell model for Energy Convergence directly onto his skeletons' consciousness. Unfortunately, the success rate up until now had remained a frustrating zero.
Following Skeleton One's precise movements, the ambient white mist in the room began to swirl, forming a concentrated vortex that funnelled directly toward the center of its skeletal palm.
Time ticked by, second by agonizing second.
Finally, five minutes later, the swirling white mist in Skeleton One's palm rapidly compressed.
With a soft clink, a solid bead dropped from its hand.
"It worked!"
Maurise shouted in elation. He strode forward, plucked the bead from Skeleton One's grasp, and examined it meticulously under the light.
Flawless.
It was, without a shadow of a doubt, a perfectly standard Gap Energy Crystal.
This breakthrough meant Maurise could finally liberate himself from the grueling, mind-numbing labor of manually condensing the crystals himself.
Although the current efficiency was pitifully low, this was merely the beginning. If he could eventually have dozens, or even hundreds of skeletons simultaneously harvesting energy crystals for him, and then funnel those very same crystals back into empowering his undead army...
The progression would snowball exponentially.
The mere thought of it made Maurise let out a long, deeply satisfied breath. His mood was absolutely soaring.
After instructing Skeleton One to continuously harvest the crystals, he left the workshop and made his way up to the main deck. He stretched his arms high above his head, feeling as though the dreary winter sky had miraculously brightened.
The Ship in a Bottle was currently bobbing gently near the edge of the Black Lake. Although the air was biting cold, this particular section of the water hadn't iced over.
Suddenly, Maurise noticed a strange, dark silhouette splashing about in the lake. Squinting closer, he realized it was actually a person.
'Who on earth would be swimming in the lake in this freezing temperature?'
Just as he was puzzling over the sheer absurdity of it, the swimmer popped their head out of the water and gave him a wave.
It was Viktor Krum.
Maurise mentally steered the Ship in a Bottle closer and tapped his wand casually against the railing.
A sturdy wooden ladder extended out of thin air, phased seamlessly through the glass wall of the bottle, and settled steadily on the surface of the water right in front of Krum.
Krum looked up at the ladder, didn't hesitate for a second, and hauled himself up with crisp, powerful movements.
As the Bulgarian Seeker stepped onto the deck, Maurise realized he was wearing absolutely nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.
"Are you not cold?" Maurise asked, genuinely curious.
Krum shook his head, wiping the freezing lake water from his face with a calloused hand. "No," he grunted. "I am used to it. I am training my body."
'Ah, winter swimming.' Maurise's initial assumption had been that the guy had accidentally slipped and fallen overboard—the Durmstrang ship was moored right nearby, after all.
"It is very warm inside this bottle," Krum remarked suddenly, looking around.
"Indeed," Maurise nodded, gesturing toward the cabin. "It is enchanted with comprehensive temperature-regulating charms. Would you care to come inside and sit for a bit?"
Krum accepted the invitation.
As the two walked into the cozy living room, Maurise tossed Krum a thick, dry robe. "I have some food here. You might enjoy it—it is all Muggle fare."
Krum didn't stand on ceremony. He pulled the robe tight around his broad shoulders and asked casually, "You are quite fond of Muggle things?"
"I am," Maurise brought over two plates loaded with delicate pastries. "Especially their culinary arts. I am a pure Muggle-born wizard, you see."
"Muggle-born?" Krum paused, clearly taken aback.
He had subconsciously assumed Maurise hailed from a prestigious pure-blood family. After all, the boy was a master flying broomstick designer. Muggles certainly didn't partake in Quidditch.
Maurise suddenly recalled that Krum attended Durmstrang—a school notorious for strictly refusing admission to Muggle-born students.
"Do you hold prejudices against Muggles?" he asked directly, his tone perfectly flat and conversational.
Krum answered with absolute sincerity, "Not at all."
"That is good." Maurise shrugged.
In the wizarding world, there were far too many rigid fools who firmly believed Muggle-borns were inherently inferior. In his eyes, such a worldview was both laughable and deeply pathetic.
Maurise speared a piece of cake with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, deciding not to dwell on the heavy topic.
Krum, meanwhile, had gravitated toward the several bookshelves lining the corner of the living room.
"Those are just assorted texts I have picked up," Maurise mumbled around a mouthful of cake. "They all possess some degree of practical utility. If you are bored, feel free to flip through them."
Krum smiled.
"I enjoy reading immensely," he said happily, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the shelves.
He was deeply curious to see what sort of literature a genius like Maurise Black read in his spare time. It was bound to be incredibly profound, perhaps detailing long-lost magical theories or advanced alchemical texts.
With high expectations, he reached out and carefully pulled the very first book from the outer edge of the shelf.
He looked down at the cover. It read:
'One Hundred Tips for Witches to Become Beautiful and Elegant'.
"?"