1939
An Unknown Month
Siberia
Konstantin Ilyich Romanov, the Minister of Magic for the Soviet Union, staggered across the icy tundra, clutching his abdomen.
He glanced at his watch. Through the frost covering the dial, he could barely make out the time: 12:03 a.m.
The midnight sun illuminated the Arctic Circle, where even at this hour, a faint and blurry sun glared in the sky.
The biting wind, at over minus 40 degrees Celsius, howled through the air, and the dense snowstorm obscured everything around him.
His foot slipped on a patch of ice, and he collapsed onto the frozen ground. Wrapped in a fur coat, the Minister of Magic groaned in pain, his breath condensing into thick, white clouds.
Suddenly, he turned his head back in terror, as though an unseen ghost was pursuing him. But behind him, there was nothing—just the relentless wind and snow.
Ahead, on the vast, frigid expanse, stood a strange, shipwreck-like structure in the distance. It was solitary and desolate, as if it had been abandoned by the world.
Konstantin Ilyich Romanov was a towering man, over two meters tall, dressed in a thick bear-hide coat. His broad face was ashen, and his once-prized calf-leather boots had been reduced to a single, tattered shoe after his long flight.
His right foot, now exposed to the bitter cold, had only two toes left intact. The rest were frostbitten beyond repair.
But none of that mattered. The real agony—the fatal wound—was the gash in his abdomen.
He hesitantly lifted his hand, revealing blood oozing between his fingers. The drops froze into crimson crystals before they hit the ground. Beneath the torn fabric of his coat was a massive wound, so deep that his writhing innards were visible.
Time was running out.
Summoning what little strength he had left, Konstantin hauled himself to his feet, his mind consumed by the importance of his mission. He trudged toward the shipwreck-like structure with all the determination he could muster.
Ten minutes later, he reached the building, a weathered and tilted structure made entirely of marble. Despite its ruinous state, it hinted at a grandeur long past.
Konstantin threw himself toward the entrance, raising his wand. A heavily snow-covered iron door creaked and then swung open with a resounding crash.
He stumbled and fell inside, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
The cold iron door slammed shut behind him, sealing off the entrance.
He lay sprawled on the ground, panting heavily in pain.
The structure was vast and empty, ancient beyond reckoning—at least a thousand years old. Once, it had been a grand meeting hall, now filled with broken stone chairs and adorned with towering pillars carved with images of dragons, phoenixes, and even deities.
But Konstantin had no time to admire these relics.
The cold that had numbed his abdominal wound outside gave way to searing agony as his blood circulation began to normalize within the structure. The pain was unbearable.
Shaking, he removed his hand, revealing a bullet wound that had torn through his internal organs. He knew there would be no rescue in this desolate place.
With trembling hands, Konstantin pulled a small tin flask from his chest pocket. It contained vodka. Though he didn't usually drink it, he needed something—anything—to dull the pain and steady his nerves enough to complete his task.
But just as he opened the flask, a soft chuckle echoed from above.
"You think bringing me here would make me believe you?"
Konstantin's head shot up. Through the swirling snow visible in the gap at the top of the building, a man's crowned head stared down at him.
The figure was indistinct, shrouded in the storm, but his crimson eyes shone like searchlights in the blizzard.
Clang!
The tin flask slipped from Konstantin's hand, rolling far away.
His pale face grew even whiter as he fell backward, leaning against a stone wall. Staring up at the man, his breathing quickened in terror.
He had not anticipated that the person hunting him would already be waiting at his destination.
Step.
The red-eyed man, crowned and dressed in a black suit, leaped gracefully from a height of over ten meters. His shoes struck the frozen marble floor with a sound like metal meeting metal.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The man walked toward Konstantin slowly, hands in his pockets. As he moved, he removed the crown from his head, revealing a pale face with eyes that shone painfully bright.
"You've already found the place, what more do you want?" Konstantin croaked, his hand trembling as it hovered over his wand.
"Heh heh heh, the abandoned site of Durmstrang, the final location where forbidden magic was burned over a thousand years ago. Who better than me to understand the lies of history?"
The man in the suit casually approached, and just as Konstantin made a move to grab his wand, the man's boot stepped down on his wrist.
The wand was yanked from his hand and kicked away, sliding across the slick ice far out of reach.
"Wands, a fool's weapon. Too inefficient."
With that, the man in the suit slowly squatted down.
He smirked. "Tell me, where is the last key?"
Konstantin gasped several times, looking at the man's red eyes with a strained smile. "Don't even think about it. You can't get into the library."
"Oh, is that so?"
The man paused thoughtfully for a moment. Then, he suddenly stood up and tucked his wand away. "By the way, I got a toy from a Muggle. It's quite fun. Want to try it?"
Konstantin was confused about what the man meant, until the man pulled out a silver revolver.
It was a Colt revolver, 9mm caliber.
The man in the suit seemed to be handling it for the first time.
He examined the gun in his hands, pointing the muzzle at himself, squinting one eye as he peered into the barrel as if there was something amusing inside.
"How do you take it apart?"
"How do you take it apart?"
Click.
The chamber popped out, and the gun came apart.
"Ha!"
The man grinned with satisfaction as he held the gun.
"One bullet, two bullets, what was it again? Two of what!"
He struggled to remember for a moment, then—
BANG!!
A loud gunshot echoed through the crumbling building as the man had accidentally discharged the weapon.
"Oooh waah!!"
The man seemed startled by the noise, trembling before he caught the gun again.
After taking a few moments to steady himself, he patted his chest and sighed, "Bullets, that's what I was trying to remember. What a marvel of invention. At this rate, these Muggles will one day replace wizards, don't you think?"
"Shoot me if you want. You can't scare me." Konstantin Romanov closed his eyes and said, "Still the same—if you die, you can forget about the library."
The man's relaxed expression grew slightly more serious. He bent down and pressed the revolver against Konstantin's chin, whispering:
"You don't need to worry about that. Tell me—where is the key?"
Konstantin Romanov remained silent, tightening his lips.
"Really stubborn."
The man smiled faintly, then said with a hint of regret, "Goodbye."
He released the safety and began to slowly pull the trigger.
Konstantin remained motionless, giving up any resistance.
Click.
The hammer fell, but the gun did not fire.
Konstantin's tightly shut eyes remained closed, the expected explosion of his head never came.
"Ha, sorry about that." The man laughed.
He lifted the silver revolver to inspect it.
"The gun's broken. Looks like fate's giving you another chance."
He checked the gun, then pressed the barrel back against Konstantin's head.
"Now, tell me—where is it?"
"You devil. Go to hell."
"Go to hell? Hmm."
The man thought for a moment before decisively pointing the gun at his own chin.
Click!
The hammer fell again, but nothing happened.
Sighing, he raised his hand in defeat.
"God doesn't intend for me to die directly. I still have a chance to hang on a little longer."
With that, he once again aimed the gun at Konstantin.
"Sacrificing your precious life for the wishes of a bunch of dead people is not worth it. Now tell me, where is the key?"
Konstantin closed his eyes and scoffed. "Will you really spare me if I tell you?"
"Hmm, of course. As long as you tell me, I won't kill you."
Konstantin Ilyich Romanov nodded, opened his eyes, and calmly said, "I'll wait for you in hell."
The man in the suit froze for a moment. "What a shame."
He lowered his finger, and with a loud bang, blood sprayed across the icy marble floor.
The bullet, with some inexplicable force, blasted a large hole through his abdomen, along with the hand he was clutching it with.
Konstantin crumpled to his knees, his forehead touching the ground, but his eyes never left the man.
The man in the suit shook his head. "You thought I'd let you die quickly? Sorry, but enjoy the last moments of pain before your soul leaves your body."
With that, he put away his weapon, placed the crown on his head, and kicked open the large iron door behind Konstantin. He strode out into the snowstorm.
Konstantin, blood pouring from his body and mingling with an unknown substance, could only watch as the cruel, strange man disappeared.
His vision began to blur, and his thoughts grew hazy.
But the last thought remained firmly lodged in his mind.
Even if he died, it wouldn't stop that man. On the contrary, he would never give up.
There was still the final guardian. He had to remind him. Leave Europe, quickly.
A faint blue light appeared at his fingertips, his blood mingling with his magic. He slowly drew a pentagram on the ground, fighting through the pain to write. He had to send the last message.
Finally, he finished writing the words.
Just as he was about to activate the magic circle, a cold laugh echoed behind him.
"England, I understand now."
Konstantin turned around, screaming in horror. "You... you're not...!?"
His words were a jumbled mess. Using his last bit of strength, he lunged toward the magical message on the ground, striking it with his fist.
But the man was faster. With one powerful kick, he knocked the Soviet Minister of Magic aside and crouched in front of the words.
The blood-soaked ground was covered with French writing.
[He's back, to England, Ho.]
The rest was a blur of bloodstains, unreadable.
The man turned again, and saw that Konstantin, now limp on the ground with his mouth agape and eyes vacant, had died. There was no sign of life left.
(End of Chapter)
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