Chapter 136: Tactics
"They can't be found?" Fudge was stunned. In the chaos of the day's events, his mouth was now moving faster than his brain. "These people actually dare to not come to work? Do they not want their jobs anymore?!"
"You are absolutely right, Minister. Their audacity is appalling," Umbridge said, plastering on a smile as she pulled out a chair and sat down with what she imagined was ladylike grace.
Scrimgeour frowned. "Minister, is there anything else?"
"Yes, yes. Rufus, I need you to help me invite these people here. I hope to have a face-to-face conversation with them. That, at least, does not violate any regulations, does it?" Fudge said, his tone full of implication. He might be afraid of Dumbledore, but that didn't mean he was afraid of everyone else. And Rufus Scrimgeour himself was one of the most powerful figures at the Ministry; it wasn't impossible that he had a hand in this.
In this, Fudge, ever the political creature, was being overly sensitive. Ralvin and his group had never even considered involving these middle-aged political animals. It was Scrimgeour who had noticed something was amiss from their actions—not that Ralvin's group had made any effort to be subtle, having brazenly plastered the banners and letters all over Fudge's office.
"—Of course it doesn't violate regulations," Scrimgeour said slowly. "But we will need time to contact them."
"As soon as possible! Go now," Fudge ordered.
Scrimgeour stood and walked toward the door, his tall figure casting a long shadow over Fudge, who was seated behind his desk, and Umbridge, who sat beside it. He trod over the scattered letters on the floor.
"By the way, Minister," he said without turning, "if the gentlemen you are looking for are unable to return for some time, I will be sure to report back to you."
Fudge was confident. Even with Dumbledore backing them, these people wouldn't dare ignore a benevolent invitation from the Minister of Magic. They would surely drop everything to come and speak with him. Such was the pride of the Minister's office. A confident smile spread across his face, as natural and self-evident as the daily sunrise.
But in the British Isles, the fog is thick, and on cloudy, rainy days, you can't see the sun at all.
Sunlight streamed through the glass windows into the private room in Paris. All around, various "masterpiece" crafts that had been "unearthed last week" were displayed in ornate wooden cabinets. A group of wizards, the oldest in their mid-twenties and the youngest in their teens, were discussing their surroundings.
Someone remarked that there were so many Muggles; the number of people in this one tourist area far exceeded the total wizarding population of Britain.
"So," Ralvin said, "the more I learn about Muggles, the more I feel that perhaps, back in the day, the Statute of Secrecy was meant to protect the Muggles."
His words plunged the room into silence. These were all people who had often chatted with Ryan during their school years, and from those conversations, they had all gained a general understanding of the modern Muggle world. The flaws of the wizarding world, by contrast, were glaringly obvious.
The wizarding world had too few people. This was its most fatal weakness.
When Voldemort and his Death Eaters killed wizards, the death of a hundred of them would cause immense panic, because the entire wizarding population of Britain would have been reduced by a significant fraction. But if a Muggle terrorist group killed a hundred people, it would only cause a political panic; the Prime Minister and his cabinet might resign due to public anger. After the dignitaries stepped down, the common folk would start discussing it: "This terrorist group isn't very effective, is it? Killing only a hundred people is just too peaceful! Think of what our own governments did during the great wars... now that was a bloodbath. And what happened in the end? We're all one big family now."
With the Muggles' terrifying birth rate and massive population base, it was inevitable that they would produce geniuses of extraordinary caliber. Even if a true genius was one in a million, or one in ten million, at any given time, there would still be hundreds of them around the globe. In contrast, the wizarding world might not produce a single wizard of legendary potential in two or three centuries. The difference was stark.
"As the Muggles' medical standards improve, their population will only continue to grow. Perhaps within our lifetimes, we will see ten billion people crowded onto this small planet," Ryan said. He noticed that his seniors' faces went blank at the number. Ten billion was a figure too vast for them to comprehend, especially when attached to the word "population."
It meant a sea of humanity. It meant countless geniuses emerging like a galaxy of stars, twinkling in the long river of history. It meant that the knowledge and experience accumulated over generations would undergo a world-shaking transformation and explosion in just a few short decades.
It meant that it would be a brilliant era.
Those living within it might not see it, but when their descendants opened the history books, they would clearly see the monumental, unpredictable changes that had occurred, and the countless bright meteors that had illuminated human civilization.
Of course, a massive population also meant a massive need for resources, materials, food, and shelter... and that, Ryan thought, was the wizards' opportunity. He often thought back to the plan he had written, word by word, in the Room of Requirement: A Proposal for the Future Development of the Magical World.
Make ordinary people aware of wizards.
Make ordinary people admire wizards.
Make ordinary people dependent on wizard-made products.
Make wizards the most special members of the human race.
After all, if Muggle tycoons and aristocrats could achieve this, there was no reason wizards, with magic at their disposal, could not. At most, it would require some... magical methods.
And finally, since the world always needed a ruling class, there was no reason it couldn't be wizards.
"Ten billion people!" Ralvin exclaimed, his gaze drifting out the window. The crowd he could see from here numbered only in the thousands, yet it was already a dense, impenetrable mass. Ten billion. At that time, would wizards, clinging to their principle of seclusion, truly be able to remain hidden, even with Memory Charms and Muggle-Repelling Charms? Ralvin already knew the answer.
Seeing that everyone was still reeling from the number, someone tried to change the subject by criticizing the crafts in the room as shoddy and slapdash, attempting to assert the superiority of wizarding art.
But another person immediately refuted him, pointing out that Muggle factories could produce tens of thousands of such crafts in a single day. The artistic value of a single piece was negligible, but the industrial power it represented was unimaginable.
"But we can do that too! Ryan's Communicator is just like that! It's called... industrialization!" the first wizard retorted, unwilling to concede. A magical production line did, after all, now exist in their world.
"But we only have one Ryan," came the sobering reply. "Even Headmaster Dumbledore never thought of doing something like this..."
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