Ciel's gaze fell on the trait derived from ancient shadow magic—[Shadow Legion]—his eyes showing thoughtful expression.
"I see. Unlike the domineering lightning will, shadow will's characteristics mainly manifest in erosion and assimilation. Lives that fall into my shadow magic will be controlled by shadow magic, fighting for ."
"Theoretically, as long as my shadow magic devours enough lives, it could even create a legion composed of shadow creatures!"
He couldn't help recalling the vision he'd seen when receiving ancient shadow magic insight—after that Titan giant using shadow magic cast his spell, the entire world seed shrouded in shadow. He had seen what appeared to be an extrely magnificent legion in the shadows, each creature emanating a trembling aura.
Now thinking about it, that should have been the lives assimilated by the Titan giant's shadow magic.
"If soday my shadow magic could reach that level—no, even just one-tenth of it—in this era, it should be enough to call it invincible, right? Even wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort, facing endless Shadow Legions and omnipresent shadow magic erosion, would probably risk falling."
After a mont, his mind returned from fantasy, shaking his head. Compared to that morable scene, his currently controllable Shadow Legion mbers consisted of only one obsidian gargoyle. Building such foundation would require trendous effort.
But now there were more important matters to handle. His gaze beca sharp again as he looked at the obsidian gargoyle: "Who sent you to assassinate ?"
The obsidian gargoyle revealed Borgin's na without hesitation. He wasn't surprised at all: "As expected."
His eyes grew increasingly cold. Though Borgin's repeated targeting hadn't actually hard him—even making him a wealth-scattering benefactor by allowing him to advance his Patronus tree seed to Epic level and obtain shadow will through the obsidian gargoyle—if soone else had faced these mysterious thods, they would have vanished long ago.
Leaving Borgin alive ant unknown future sches. And if he stopped targeting Ciel himself and began targeting those around him, with Borgin's thods, that would be truly unpredictable.
Since the conflict had reached this point, there must be resolution.
Without him needing to say more, the obsidian gargoyle sank back into shadows, taking him toward Knockturn Alley.
anwhile, at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, Borgin had been patiently waiting for results since dispatching the obsidian gargoyle. In his view, with the gargoyle deployed, there would be no accidents—ancient shadow magic's strangeness was unimaginable to modern wizards.
But for so reason, Borgin suddenly felt increasingly uneasy. He narrowed his eyes, gripping his wand tighter, green light slowly seeping from its tip as if ready to cast a killing curse.
Just then, Borgin sensed movent behind him. He imdiately displayed agility completely inconsistent with his aged body—a clean roll and turn, his wand shooting green light: "Avada Kedavra!"
Though using the Killing Curse would cause trouble if discovered, as long as no one found out, there'd be no problem. The brilliant green light flashed past a shadow without hitting any life.
From the shadows, the obsidian gargoyle slowly erged, crimson eyes quietly watching Borgin. Seeing his Killing Curse target was the obsidian gargoyle, Borgin paused and relaxed—was he too tense? With the gargoyle deployed, what could go wrong? Fortunately, the gargoyle lacked ordinary life characteristics, so the Death Curse had no effect.
Borgin approached the gargoyle: "Finished? I'll prepare the sacrifice imdiately—"
But the next second, a shadow swept past like a sword. Borgin's hair-raising feeling peaked as he instinctively leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the attack while crying out in pain—his wand hand had been severed by that shadow, wand and severed limb falling together.
Borgin's face alternated between green and white as he stared at the obsidian gargoyle in disbelief. His trusted weapon was attacking him? What was happening?
Cold sweat beaded Borgin's forehead as he stepped back, seeking escape. Fortunately, having controlled the obsidian gargoyle for years, though he hadn't mastered ancient shadow magic himself, he wasn't completely ignorant like other wizards.
"Just let reach the inner door where I have backup wands and combat magical items, plus a quick escape route..."
Countless thoughts flashed through Borgin's mind until he suddenly felt his retreating feet sink into a swamp, intense stinging pain following. Turning around, Borgin discovered that while his attention was focused on the obsidian gargoyle, an ancient shadow magic vortex had silently appeared behind him, his feet already stepping into it.
Borgin's eyes widened—he'd been watching the gargoyle the entire ti without noticing anything. Where had this shadow vortex co from?
Countless shadow arms dragged Borgin into the shadows. Only as shadows completely filled his vision did he finally understand: "It's you! You also know ancient shadow magic?!"
Then Borgin began pleading: "You can't kill . I'm a Moser Club mber collecting magical items for them. Delivery ti is approaching—kill and you'll face enormous trouble—"
But before finishing, Borgin was completely dragged into shadows. Under pervasive shadow magic erosion, his life signs rapidly disappeared, finally becoming part of the shadow magic.
Only then, sensing his controllable units had increased by one and confirming Borgin's death, did Ciel slowly erge from shadows. After all, he was dealing with a Black rchant who'd entrenched himself in Knockturn Alley for years—caution was paramount.
Fortunately, this calculated attack went smoothly without complications. But recalling Borgin's final words, he showed surprise: "Borgin was actually a Moser Club mber?"
This secret was probably unknown to anyone in British magical society. Even Lucius, who frequently dealt with Borgin, had never ntioned this.
"Could it be that Borgin's years of collecting magical world treasures in Knockturn Alley were actually for the Moser Club? Perhaps there are similar people in magical communities worldwide, with most black market items ultimately flowing to the Moser Club through various channels."
"No wonder the Moser Club can afford to host such elaborate duelling championships with rare treasures as prizes each ti."
He felt wary. Just this glimpse of the iceberg suggested the Moser Club's power was unimaginable.
But then he rembered sothing, lightly slapping his forehead: "How could I forget—I just acquired ancient shadow magic. Borgin has been eroded by shadow magic into a Shadow Legion mber. I can just ask him directly."
With his ntal command, Borgin's figure erged from shadows. Apart from lacking colour and having shadow-black eyes, he seed little different from before, though his expression was much more vacant.
Obviously, his shadow magic couldn't yet completely preserve everything from Borgin's life, but he only needed information about the Moser Club.
"Tell about the Moser Club."
Following his command, Borgin imdiately began recounting everything he knew about the Moser Club in a flat tone. According to Borgin, he'd been approached by Moser Club representatives decades ago during a transaction involving a rare item.
Though Borgin initially tried to resist, he was almost instantly subdued by the representatives' incredible magic, nearly dying on the spot. But they seed to appreciate his business talent, only taking the item and offering him a chance to beco an outer mber collecting items for the club.
Initially resentful about being controlled, Borgin eventually recognised this power's terrifying nature after seeing the rewards for working with the Moser Club, settling into service.
The obsidian gargoyle was sothing Borgin had obtained from the Moser Club through his contributions—and such ancient magic artefacts were only considered ordinary items within the club, far from ranking among true treasures.
Even as a Shadow Legion mber, Borgin's voice trembled with soul-deep fear when ntioning certain things: "The Moser Club even claims to possess Titan giant blood."
Hearing this, his pupils contracted sharply, his expression becoming incredulous. In this state, Borgin wouldn't lie to him. So the Moser Club's power might be far more vast and ancient than he had imagined.
After deep consideration, he realised Borgin's threat wasn't as serious as claid. The Moser Club basically ignored outer mbers, previously only contacting them once every ten years for deliveries.
Only because of the duelling championship in three and a half years had the three-year collection deadline been set. Before then, he needn't worry about the Moser Club.
Three years was enough ti for trendous growth. By then, whether the Moser Club would even investigate an outer mber's death—or if they did, whether he would fear them—remained uncertain.
More interesting was another matter Borgin ntioned: "You just said that every ten years, Moser Club mbers collect goods, but each ti you only submitted barely qualifying inferior goods while secretly keeping the real treasures. Where are those?"
Borgin replied without hesitation: "All stored in Gringotts underground vault number 23. Entry requires my presence and a password—the date I was chosen by the Moser Club with scrambled order."
Hearing this, he showed admiration. Ancient shadow magic, while far inferior to ancient weather magic in pure destructive power, had surprisingly effective applications—perhaps even stronger than the Imperius Curse in so ways.
His expression also showed interest. Borgin's vault number 23 was quite forward among the vaults, not far from Bellatrix Lestrange's personal vault number 13.
A thought ford in his mind: 'Hufflepuff's Cup is in there.'
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