After a two-hour flight, Moriarty and his party left Paris, flying until even the shadow of the Eiffel Tower disappeared from view. It was only then that the French Aurors arrived, far too late.
At nine o'clock at night, the temperature dropped sharply, and the heart-wrenching cold swept through the port city of Marseille. Yet the romantic French Muggles were unaware, still moving about as usual.
Wizards didn't feel the cold either. When the cold wind blew, they only needed to cast a simple warming spell on themselves.
As for vampires — those dark magical creatures — they naturally wouldn't catch a cold. Their body temperatures had always been lower than that of humans, practically frigid all their lives.
Isaac was babbling again about vampires, trying desperately to attract the attention of a girl sitting in front of him.
But the girl was clearly fed up. She closed her eyes in annoyance. If not for the cold, she would have covered her ears; instead, she could only tuck her hands deeper into her cuffs.
Tonks, feeling pity, tried to cast a warming spell for her, but Isaac stopped her. It seemed Isaac had a plan: he was waiting for the girl to get too cold to endure, so that he could offer her the warmth of his embrace.
The purebloods behind them watched this small drama unfold with amusement. Leon commented sarcastically, "I can assure you, Mr. Lucius didn't die at the hands of the old Jew! Want to know why?
The trait of being a 'licking dog' is hereditary. If the grandson's a licking dog, then the grandfather must have been one too!
I can already picture what the old Jew looked like when he was young — exactly like Isaac, fawning over some Muggle girl, or maybe even an elf girl. Definitely not a proper female vampire! A tragic love-hate story…
But in the end, the licking dog gets nothing! The old Jew retires, a miserable failure in love.
So? Do you really think Mr. Lucius — the noble pureblood lord — could have lost to the old licking dog? Impossible!"
"Excellent analysis." Moriarty smiled and clapped. "You can open a detective agency in London after graduation — you'd do quite well."
Leon looked proud but merely waved his hand as if downplaying it.
"Sir," Marcus flew over from the front, "Isaac says we're about to enter Yves Island. Let's prepare."
Moriarty's expression grew serious. "Everyone, stay alert."
Ten minutes later, they reached the island. Thirty minutes after that, they arrived before Château d'If.
Isaac chanted a vampire spell, and Château d'If tore apart like a painting, revealing a black castle. Strangely, the doors were open, lights blazing inside, and two old men in black cloaks stood at the entrance.
"Grandfather?" Isaac ran up happily. "You're waiting for me at the door? No way—is it Easter?"
"He really acts like a kid," Tonks murmured.
"It's simply a child's nature. Though in truth, he's older than your grandmother," Moriarty replied casually, his sharp gaze fixed on Isaac and the old Jew.
When Isaac reached the old Jew, he spotted another old man beside him and cried out in shock, "It's you—the devil!"
The devil?
A vampire calling someone the devil?
Moriarty's eyes sharpened.
The old Jew's smile briefly disappeared. He coughed lightly. "Isaac, don't be rude."
The old man known as the devil twisted his neck slowly, shooting Isaac a warning glance before turning to look at Moriarty.
Moriarty scrutinized him: white hair, a high nose, sharp facial lines, bright red lips, a long purple trench coat with a high collar...
Wait — white hair?
During the summer vacation, also in France, Moriarty had killed a white-haired vampire. At the time, an old vampire had warned that their master would not let Moriarty go.
Could it be...?
Moriarty's thoughts raced as the white-haired old man stepped forward.
"Moriarty Slytherin?" His voice was hoarse, rasping like coal grinding inside his throat.
"My name is Kaor Quinlan.
Months ago, you killed my grandson at the underground exchange! I also warned you: stay in England, or face the consequences."
Now it all clicked.
In pursuit of George, Moriarty had traveled from Greece to France, killing countless vampires along the way—including a white-haired ghost.
As for the warning?
The vampire executives had sent a letter.
Two crucial paragraphs stood out:
> "The reason my family is targeting elves recently is the legend of a headless vampire ancestor — the old Jew."
> "If Moriarty Slytherin never steps outside the UK again, he can avoid disaster. Should he come to France again, he must visit Chilaner Gorge — Quinlan."
It was both an explanation and a warning.
From that letter, Moriarty first learned about the headless vampire ancestor.
And that vampire leadership was divided into two factions:
The Old Jewish Family and the Quinlan Family.
But now — the old Jew was standing beside Kaor Quinlan, implying they had united?
Sensing Moriarty's cold gaze, the old Jew smiled kindly but said nothing yet.
Kaor Quinlan took two steps forward, speaking coldly:
"I know why you've come to France.
Yes, it was I who killed Lucius.
Lucius' blood was drained by several viscounts of our clan. His head — chopped off by me personally.
You're here on behalf of England's purebloods, seeking revenge? Excellent!
I just so happen to be one of the few Vampire Grand Dukes in France.
Isn't fate marvelous?"
He grinned maliciously.
"The Quinlan family has a blood feud with you. Meanwhile, Britain's purebloods have a blood feud with the Quinlan family.
You brought thirty-five people—"
He sniffed the air.
"Purebloods, all of them. Your so-called 'etiquette' is doubly amusing to me. But never mind!
I too—
have brought thirty-five vampires—the Quinlan Family's finest!"
"Whoosh!" A rustle echoed from within the castle.
Thirty-five black shadows emerged and landed silently behind Quinlan.
Quinlan stopped just ten meters from Moriarty.
"Let's get acquainted here — according to your wizard dueling customs: a grand team duel. Thirty-six purebloods vs. thirty-six Quinlan vampires!
The Jewish Marquis and his family will ensure the duel's validity and prevent interference."
The old Jew stepped forward and nodded slightly. "Mr. Slytherin, I confirm that Archduke Quinlan's offer is valid. However, I must regretfully inform you that, due to internal vampire affairs, I can only serve as a witness.
Moreover, the death of Lucius was entirely unrelated to the Old Jewish Family."
"Yes, it was solely the Quinlan family!" Quinlan interrupted impatiently. "Lucius rushed back to England and I killed him. Simple as that.
So, Moriarty — have you decided? Yes or no?"
Quinlan's gaze sharpened like a blade. The accumulated killing aura from centuries of bloodshed erupted, pressing down like a bloody gale.
The purebloods clenched their teeth, tense and ready.
Moriarty slowly raised his right hand.
With a "snap!", the Slytherin Staff appeared.
He slammed it onto the ground. With a soft crack, water-element magic surged!
A raging cold current collided head-on with Quinlan's bloodwind, shattering it instantly.
Moriarty narrowed his eyes.
This Vampire Grand Duke's power likely surpassed that of the four Hogwarts Heads, and was only slightly inferior to Dumbledore!
Quinlan laughed.
"This chill—so you're the one who froze the Eiffel Tower? Very good! I can't wait to drink your blood.
I'll ask one last time: Yes? Or refuse?"
"Don't agree!" Isaac suddenly broke free from the old Jew and shouted, "Don't accept! He's called the Devil for a reason! 638,447 lives recorded—killed by his hands alone!"
Exposed, Quinlan glared at Isaac coldly. "Little brat, go back and pretend you saw nothing."
"Never!" Isaac declared stubbornly. "Your killing aura hurt my beloved!"
He ran to the girl—who had already fainted from fear—and picked her up, hiding behind Moriarty.
The old Jew looked helplessly on.
Quinlan chuckled coldly; clearly Isaac's reputation had spread among vampires.
He wanted to attack—but was restrained by the old Jew's presence. Though a Marquis ranked beneath a Duke, the old Jew had powerful backers.
"Go back, Isaac," Moriarty said calmly. "Take your beloved home. You're not needed here."
"So you agreed?" Quinlan's smile turned savage.
"Do I have a choice?" Moriarty replied with a strange smile.
"Unfortunately — no! Hahahaha!"
Quinlan strode forward, his vampires stirring behind him.
"Indeed," Moriarty said softly. "I never intended to choose. I only want your life."
"Wonderful! Here I come!" Quinlan hissed, baring pointed blood-red nails.
Bloodlust and madness flashed across his face as he lunged at Moriarty.
Moriarty advanced as well, staff in hand.
The purebloods cried out in alarm, "Sir—!"
Ten meters — not a far distance.
The two were about to clash...
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