I became Voldemort Chapter 276: Pathetic Minister

Voldemort's gaze fell upon the Elder Wand in his hand, his eyes filled with fury and unwillingness.

"I haven't lost yet! How dare you abandon and choose him?!"

He roared in rage, utterly refusing to acknowledge his defeat.

In truth, he wasn't entirely wrong. Though Voldemort had been fooled by Cyrus's trickery and suffered an injury, the damage was negligible. Wielding the Resurrection Stone and having transcended his human form, he could recover fully within a few breaths. That is, as long as the Elder Wand still obeyed him.

But now, at this critical mont, the wand had betrayed him.

He could not accept this outco. His magic was unquestionably more powerful—shouldn't the Elder Wand submit to the stronger wielder?

After all the preparations he had made, even going so far as to ensure Grindelwald held Dumbledore at bay, there would never be a better chance to kill Cyrus than today. Yet now, he knew he was powerless.

If the wand in his hand had been an ordinary one, Voldemort might still have resolved to keep fighting. But the wand he held was the Elder Wand—and now, it had chosen Cyrus.

Voldemort knew full well that no one could use the Elder Wand to harm Cyrus anymore.

Even so, Voldemort refused to simply give up the wand. If he couldn't wield it, at the very least, he couldn't allow it to fall into Cyrus's hands. Moreover, if given the opportunity, he might still regain mastery over it.

He coldly retracted the wand as a shroud of dark mist enveloped him.

"Hah... This will be all for today, Cyrus. Those annoying Aurors are on their way," Voldemort said, concealing his weakened state. Though the Elder Wand in his hand had beco no more than an ordinary wand, if he wished to leave, Cyrus would still find it nearly impossible to stop him.

Outside the Ministry of Magic, high above London's skies, one of the two black dragons engaged in combat suddenly dissolved into a murky swamp, vanishing like polluted water under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of Muggles.

The other dragon, having lost its opponent, circled the air briefly before diving back into the depths of the earth, several hundred ters below. It returned to Cyrus's body, and the two versions of Cyrus rged into one.

The battle was over.

Nearby, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had also ceased their duel.

The two wizards stood amidst flas—one red and the other blue—distinct yet refusing to blend.

When Cyrus erged from the Death Chamber and approached them, he saw the power of ti slowly fading from their forms.

Strand by strand, their hair turned white again. Through the flickering flas, they gazed at each other as though a century had passed in an instant, each watching the other grow old.

Grindelwald's eyes glistened with unshed tears, yet his expression seed one of relief. He was the first to lower his wand.

Seeing this, Dumbledore also slowly lowered his wand.

In the next instant, the air was filled with the crackling sound of hundreds of Apparitions, like a barrage of firecrackers.

A large group of Aurors burst into the scene, their expressions tense and anxious.

Tap tap tap tap!

Leading the charge was the limping Rufus Scrimgeour, his face as gray as a stone slab.

"Dumbledore, where is the Dark Lord?"

"He has already fled," Cyrus answered calmly.

Hearing this, Scrimgeour seed like he wanted to say sothing more, but before he could, Cornelius Fudge shoved through the crowd and rushed forward, his face contorted so tightly it looked like a six-hundred-pound pig.

"The Ministry is in ruins!"

His scream was as shrill as a pig being slaughtered.

"I must have been out of my mind to agree to let you use the Ministry as the tournant venue—" He didn't dare look directly at Cyrus or Grindelwald but sohow found the courage to point his finger at Dumbledore's forehead as he scolded him. "Dumbledore, look at what's beco of the Ministry now!"

He looked up, the sunlight over London streaming straight into the massive crater.

"Cornelius, what's most important right now is Voldemort—"

"Don't say that na!"

Fudge scread, cutting him off.

"There's no such thing as the Dark Lord!"

His beady little eyes bulged round with anger. "Don't think I don't know! The so-called Dark Lord is just an excuse you've concocted to cover up your cris! I haven't seen a single hair of this so-called Dark Lord!"

"Look at what you've done!"

"You've blown up the Ministry to smithereens! Destroyed countless magical artifacts in the Departnt of Mysteries that hadn't yet been fully understood! The Ti Room is gone—there's not even a grain of sand left! And this—" He gestured furiously to the now hollowed-out ceiling. "There were two black dragons fighting endlessly over the skies of London! Do you think Muggles are blind?! Do you know how many people witnessed that battle?!"

Fudge continued jabbing his finger at Dumbledore's forehead as he ranted.

Cyrus noticed that Grindelwald's expression was growing more and more furious, but he restrained himself from acting.

"Do you know how many Dentors and other magical creatures, originally held as safeguards in the Ministry, escaped!"

" This whole devastation was seen by Muggles!"

"This is an utter disaster! How do you expect to face the International Confederation of Wizards—"

"Excuse ," Dumbledore finally interjected, "but I happen to be the Supre Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Additionally, the Vice President is standing right here."

Dumbledore's gaze turned toward Babajide Akingbade.

The old wizard imdiately understood, stepping out from the crowd and speaking softly, "Don't worry, Minister Fudge. The International Confederation of Wizards will assist in handling this incident. Additionally, Mr. Newt Scamander has brought along the Thestrals. Their magic will make Muggles forget all of this."

With the matter addressed, Fudge naturally had nothing more to say.

Throughout the entire exchange, Cyrus rely sneered and watched the drama unfold.

Fudge didn't dare direct his anger at Cyrus, but he was bold enough to lash out at Dumbledore. The truth was, Cyrus and Grindelwald would not tolerate such rudeness, and it seed that good people were destined to be the targets of a gun.

As for Voldemort, Dumbledore had tried several tis to stress that the Dark Lord had returned, but Fudge kept brushing him off.

'Sigh~ What a pathetic Minister they have chosen~'

Cyrus didn't understand whether Fudge truly believed that so many people were deceiving him, or if he was just choosing to bury his head in the sand, fooling himself in the process.

_______

Read 12 Chapters ahead: