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HP: Fairy Tale Wizard - 156
🕑 Added 2025-11-04 13:18:24 +0000 UTCChapter 156: Rainy Night and You
London remained perpetually shrouded in misty fog, as always.
Mist clung to street lamps like rotting cotton. Dim yellow halos diffused across wet stone pavements before shattering against continuously falling raindrops. Fine rain flowed ceaselessly, moistening brick-laid paths and flowing into underground sewers buried far below.
"Patter, patter."
"Patter! Patter! Patter! Patter—"
The sound of accelerating footsteps disturbed the city's peaceful night. Beneath dim street lamps, a fleeing witch's silhouette flashed across the light's edge. High heels slipped on moss-covered stone. Her black skirt absorbed rainwater, dragging like lead weights.
Why didn't she use magic? Perhaps because her broken wand was already lodged in the drain grating ahead.
Her shadow gradually lengthened, stretching until it merged with the alley's deep darkness.
A metallic cold gleam flickered at the back of her neck. Not the docile clock hand from a watchmaker's window, but a forcibly broken bronze clock hand from what appeared to be a tower clock. The jagged break resembled fangs—massive, like something torn from a structure that had stood for centuries.
"Clang—clang—clang."
Clock sounds echoed from nowhere. Three heavy reverberations drowned out the witch's piercing screams.
The bronze hand plunged vertically into her heart. Its tail end still carried the scent of gunpowder.
She watched deep black substance flowing from her chest, trying to cover her eyes with worn hands. But facts disregarded her will. Coldness slowly crept from her ankles to her spine, gradually freezing her consciousness.
The street lamp suddenly shattered with a sound between laughter and scorn.
In darkness, the man pressed her back against the damp brick wall, twisting the clock hand deeper. Broken glass fell like raindrops between them, each piece reflecting the clock imagery, gradually dispersing in the woman's pupils and a pair of eyes making no attempt to hide malice.
An exquisite leather shoe stepped on the witch's robe, wiping away sewage from its clean areas.
In the misty fog, he bent down, gathering the spilled black liquid. Those fluids, like children meeting their mothers, eagerly leaped into his embrace.
"Ah, London's called the fog city, but the fog shouldn't be this thick, should it?"
Sterling extended his hand, feeling the slight blurriness even at this close distance. Looking at the distant station sign, he could only faintly make out its general outline. Wanting to see characters or patterns was simply impossible.
He raised his umbrella, slowly walking into London's continuous rainy night.
"Say, do you think London's rain is abnormal, too?" A small fluffy head poked from the gap in Sterling's beret, smoothing its ruffled feathers. "I remember two English-accented men on the train mentioning that London's rainy season this year has lasted nearly half a year already."
"Now people are even calling London the rain city."
"Don't know, chirp. But according to natural laws, abnormal weather is either natural disaster or human tragedy, chirp."
"You could be more direct," Sterling said, glancing at Robin and stuffing it back into the hat.
If Nicolas Flamel hadn't suggested it might have positive effects on his "journey," he wouldn't have brought Robin from Utopia. It was unlucky indeed. Voldemort's emotion-intensifying magic, when affecting all of Hogwarts, had damaged Robin's emotional module, causing chain reactions that plunged it into hibernation. After Sterling found it, Fawkes only delivered the repaired version a second before they boarded the Hogwarts Express.
Silently placing a slight Levitation Charm on his trunk, Sterling "carried" his luggage from the waiting area.
Standing at the eaves' edge, watching the continuous rain curtains, Sterling dampened a fingertip with rainwater. Azure magic immediately climbed upward.
"Water," "Magic."
The astrology analyzer immediately provided rough composition data. It didn't further decompose the specific structure of this "magic" because Sterling's first instruction was efficiency. Roughly analyzing first, then following threads to find the truth, might take less time than a complete analysis.
Of course, these two methods didn't conflict. He could proceed simultaneously.
Sterling sealed the raindrops, wrapped tightly in magic, into a carried test tube. After capping it with a cork, he placed it in his bag.
"Indeed, magic's power. Could weather charms do this?"
"Wrong, chirp. Weather charms can't last this long. If the range was this wide, even Dumbledore would struggle, chirp."
"Oh, then could Mr. Flamel?"
"Of course, chirp! Mr. Flamel is the most perfect, far surpassing Mr. Dumbledore, chirp!"
Sterling lightly laughed, then stepped into the rain curtain.
The umbrella in his hand was actually just decorative. Relying only on an umbrella against rain with the wind constantly changing direction? Raindrops would teach caution soon enough.
The umbrella in his hand was actually just decorative. An ordinary umbrella couldn't withstand rain with wind constantly shifting direction. It would fall apart within minutes.
Therefore, Sterling had quietly placed a Shield Charm around his body. Defensive magic that blocked physical and some magical-level impacts naturally withstood rain.
"BREAKING NEWS—Vicious Serial Killer Returns to London? Scotland Yard Baffled! Who's Next?"
Oh? This was the "Jack the Ripper" Professor Dumbledore mentioned?
Sterling showed some interest, pulling out several pounds from his pocket and taking a newspaper still smelling of fresh ink from the smiling elderly vendor's hands.
Quickly skipping uninteresting sections, he soon reached the main column: an interview about the investigation progress from last night's incident.
Useless nonsense, tedious pleasantries. Oh, finally something useful.
"Last night, London experienced another horrifying murder case. An unidentified female body was discovered by patrol officers at dawn. Her death was bizarre, shocking Scotland Yard."
"According to preliminary examination, the victim's chest was pierced by some sharp object. The wound showed spiral tearing. Internal organs suffered severe damage, accompanied by unidentified black liquid."
"More horrifying still, the suspected murder weapon appears to be a bronze clock hand approximately eight inches long. The victim was found with the weapon still embedded in the body, its surface covered in congealed blood and unidentified oil stains."
The following criticism of Scotland Yard was skimmed by Sterling. These programs had long bored old Englanders. The grudge between Scotland Yard and the media wasn't new.
"Additionally, near the crime scene, investigators found a personal item belonging to the victim. The object looked like a wooden stick with mysterious patterns carved at one end. It was broken in half."
Oh, the Ministry's probably going to intervene now.
Sterling raised an eyebrow, looking at the final photo. That broken "stick" was undoubtedly a wand.
A wizard had died.
