The glass dome of the Silverhand Manor glittered with countless bright stars.
Old Jack entered with Chudai and Sophie at his side.
A server approached, carrying a silver tray laden with fresh sashimi from sea fish.
"That's the werewolf councilor," Lippi whispered beside Oz. "And those with him are the heads of the Werewolf Capture Unit and the Werewolf Registration Office."
"Don't be fooled by how minor their departments sound," She added quickly. "Now that the werewolves are under control, those two positions basically hold the authority to restrain the entire werewolf community."
"Lord Johnny Silverhand plans to open the first werewolf magic school in their district," Lippi continued excitedly. "Old Jack's been appointed as the first headmaster."
"Look over there—that's the Rozier family, pure-bloods of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
"And that one," Lippi pointed subtly again, "I've seen him at the Department of International Magical Cooperation—he's the German Director of Magical Foreign Affairs."
"They must be discussing a massive business deal."
Lippi's envious murmuring didn't stop for a second. As a decorated undercover operative, her career was practically set, yet his habit of quietly muttering envious remarks persisted—a quirk Oz had long grown used to.
"Who's that?" Oz suddenly asked, noticing a man with unnaturally pale skin. Her instincts told her this one was no ordinary guest.
The man had ashen cheeks, black hair streaked with silver, and a sharp, handsome face shadowed by cold austerity.
But the most striking thing about him was his eyes—deep and glimmering with a dark golden hue.
Lippi followed her gaze—and froze. "He's here too? That's impossible."
"Stop speaking in riddles," Oz said, instinctively reaching for a cigarette before deciding against it. "You know him?"
"Of course. He's a big name."
Realizing how useless that sounded, Lippi quickly added, "During my time undercover, I heard his name mentioned more than once among the most secretive circles."
"A paranoid, dark family—Edgar. Ludwici Edgar."
...
Johnny Silverhand stepped forward slowly, and the moment he appeared, every eye in the hall turned to him.
"I'm very glad to see so many familiar faces at this banquet."
He descended the stairs from the second floor, the emerald ring on his finger gleaming in the candlelight, his silk robes flowing like a ribbon of starlight.
Some guests hadn't come—some couldn't show their faces, and others dared not.
The crowd was full of shrewd minds; they all knew exactly what John was implying.
A few guests' expressions stiffened, their fingers whitening around their glasses.
John noticed, of course. With a quiet laugh, he said, "In the past month, something happened that shocked us all."
"I believe you've all heard—some who should have died, and some who should have stayed gone, have returned to this world."
Among the pure-bloods, the representatives of the Rozier family remained perfectly calm.
The faces of the Crabbe and Goyle families were marked with fear.
"Ahaha~ We're able to gather here tonight, to speak freely and drink together," John said, taking the crystal glass of golden liquor from a passing waiter. "So, our first toast should be to our good friend, Lucius."
He raised his glass and nodded toward Lucius, who stood across the room in an elegant robe of deep velvet green.
"Without this friend of ours, certain unpleasant things might have spilled onto our streets—murder, plunder, and chaos that would've torn order apart."
"So let's toast to Lucius! For his patience, his endurance, and his courage to resist!!"
The guests lifted their glasses toward Lucius.
Lucius smiled, doing his best to hide his satisfaction and maintain composure. He gave a dignified nod, raising his own glass high.
"For the second toast," John continued, "to those friends who have faced threats, openly or in secret—those who have held firm to their hearts and never wavered. As I've said before, courage is as precious as wisdom. Those who dare to say 'no' to oppression are the true warriors."
"Let us drink to the steadfast warriors whose resolve has bound us all together tonight."
After the Death Eaters' reappearance, even some pure-blood families had suffered persecution.
Families like Goyle and Crabbe were forced to bear the Dark Mark on their descendants, binding them against their will.
Others of influence were also threatened—each in their own way, each forced to choose a side.
They hadn't left, of course—none of them were willing to abandon such a vast and lucrative alliance.
Still, no one disliked hearing praise for themselves.
The second glass of wine went down smoothly.
Those with weaker tolerance were already feeling a little dizzy, though the drink's warmth faded as quickly as it came.
"Intelligence," John said, resting his hand on the armrest, "is the key to a family's legacy and the lifeblood of its business. That's why I like clever people. Clever people can see the situation clearly—they don't let emotions cloud their judgment."
"Their wisdom allows them to make the best choices. But even a wrong choice can be corrected—mending the pen after the sheep are lost is never too late."
John's gaze swept across the hall. He could see the flicker of fear on several faces.
"Ahaha~" With a quiet laugh, he broke the tension and said meaningfully, "So, this third toast—let's drink to the wise ones who wish to turn back. Because repentance and the courage to choose rightly both demand intelligence—and bravery."
The third toast was raised, signaling the true beginning of the banquet.
Lippi noticed that many families whose names had appeared in Death Eater meetings were now eagerly seeking a chance to speak with Lord Johnny Silverhand himself.
The clever ones who wished to repent were scrambling to earn forgiveness.
As Tommy's longtime friend, Lippi could tell from the way he handled the inquiries that Tommy was in an exceptionally good mood.
Meanwhile, the host of the night—John—was making his way toward a quieter corner.
There, the black-haired man sat in silence. When he saw John approach, he stood politely and gave a courteous nod.
"Ah~ Mr. Edgar," John greeted with a faint smile. "Thank you for coming all this way from abroad."
Ludwici Edgar looked like a scholar—somewhat reminiscent of Ardal, though his features were far less severe.
His skin was pale, his build slender rather than strong, and a pair of rimless spectacles rested on his nose, giving him the air of an old academic.
"I admire your honesty—and the influence you wield," Ludwici said quietly, tilting his head as his gaze swept over the grand banquet hall. "To gather so many powerful figures, not just from this country but from abroad—it's as difficult as founding a new order of Alliance."
He had mentioned another presence—one that made John's eyes narrow behind his mask.
"So, it seems you already know why I sought you out," John said softly, glancing briefly over the crowd.
Ludwici didn't follow his gaze. Instead, he said, "I would prefer somewhere more private to speak."
"Why, of course," John replied with a polite nod. "My study should do nicely."
The two of them quietly slipped away from the banquet.
Once inside the study, Ludwici looked at John and said calmly, "What I'm about to tell you is not a gift for Johnny Silverhand."
John sat down, fingers interlaced beneath his chin, listening in silence.
"It's from a father… to his son's friend."
For the first time, emotion stirred in Ludwici's eyes, breaking through his scholarly calm.
"Thank you, John Wick," he said, bowing deeply. "For everything you did for my son."
John drew in a long breath. The cold detachment on his face faded away.
"Mr. Edgar, it was my mistake that led to all of this."
"No," Ludwici said firmly. "He chose you—as his light. That means everything that followed was of his own free will."
"This is the fate of the Edgars. Just like my father, who chose Grindelwald, and brother, who chose Voldemort—every step was a choice he made himself."
He spoke with sincerity. "So please, don't blame yourself."
John fell silent.
Ludwici reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of parchment.
"The list of the Saints who once swept across Europe."
It was an old document, preserved from the study of Ludwici's father—Grindelwald's former lieutenant.
"I've removed the names of the dead and the imprisoned," Ludwici continued. "What's left are those who vanished or went into hiding."
"Grindelwald has already gone to Germany. More than twenty wizards have joined him as followers."
"That's what makes him so terrifying—his plague-like charisma, that power to ensnare minds and hearts."
Ludwici had heard it countless times from his father, tales of Grindelwald's overwhelming allure.
His brother, too, had once fallen under that influence—seeking in the second Dark Lord a light of his own.
John accepted the list. This was something of great importance to him.
Ludwici had come all this way for the sake of that list. Once he handed it over, he was ready to leave.
"One more thing," he said, pausing at the doorway of the study and turning slightly to the side. "My coachman saw Karkaroff near Durmstrang. He was fleeing in a panic—Voldemort might have been chasing him."
When it came to traitors, Voldemort always settled the score.
Yet, for some reason, Karkaroff hadn't been killed.
Upon hearing this, John stopped him.
"Mr. Edgar," he said, his tone calm but his eyes deep with unreadable calculation, "would you be interested in running a school?"
Durmstrang—the alma mater of Grindelwald.
One of the top three magical academies in Europe.
Perhaps it was time for someone new to take charge.
________
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