Chapter 283 5, for the Greater Good

"Be careful, Gilbert, let go of that damn mouse." The old man looked dissatisfied at the rash young man in front of him.

"Can the mice here grow so big?"

The rough boy with the yellow hair picked up the squeaking rodent, which was the size of two fists.

"Everything is bigger here than anywhere else."

The old man stared at him displeasedly, "The last time my colleagues and I came, his arm was bitten off by a wild dog the size of a lion, and he still can't get it back."

"Maybe it was made by Grindelwald." Gilbert threw away the mouse indifferently, and volley kicked it into the sewer: "Who is stronger, he or the mysterious man?"

"You can call him Mysterious Man, but call Grindelwald's name directly, which is enough to explain a lot of problems." Another middle-aged man with a bag came over from the stone steps and said rather humorously.

Gilbert pouted, his eyes focused on the distance.

That was the entrance to the top floor of Nurmengard. With the light of the magic wand, a row of crooked and wild English characters could be seen engraved on the dark entrance of the tower like flying snakes.

[For the greater good. 】

"For the greater good, what is the greater good?" Gilbert asked.

"The most evil wizards usually have the most evil purposes, such as the Mysterious Man, except for Grindelwald. In fact, in the records about him, it is rare to see this dark wizard's obsession with wealth and power. It is more about the unfathomable exploration of the soul. And why he launched the tragic wizard war fifty years ago is still a huge mystery." The old man in charge said in a dull tone of a history teacher.

"If you lose, you lose. Dumbledore defeated him. Who cares what purpose he has." The middle-aged man said indifferently.

"Well,"

The elderly mentor who was at the forefront was noncommittal: "That being said, I believe that something must have happened in the last moments of this dark wizard's life, which led to the lack of a lot of historical materials, preventing us from seeing the whole picture of that era. "

"So that's what you did, Professor Witter, to bring us to the place where he was last held captive?"

"After all, we are researchers in the history of magic, and there is nothing wrong with the evidence."

The three of them walked into the abandoned tower one by one, and the crows that had been squawking were silent. What breaks the silence at this moment is only the rhythm of the drums, which is as gentle as the heartbeat, and the sound of footsteps marching in response to the drums. The ground is overgrown with weeds, and there is a layer of white mist that comes from nowhere. A large row of slabs and bricks had collapsed, and the intermittent moonlight shone in through the cracks and gaps in the roof, making people feel uneasy.

"By the way, is he really dead?"

Dark clouds covered the moon, and Gilbert shuddered, feeling that the place was eerie, and the courage to kick the mouse just now was gone.

"Not sure, Albus Dumbledore just said that he was imprisoned, but did not explain his final destination." The middle-aged man in the team shrugged and grinned: "Are you scared, intern?"

"Then he is still alive!" Gilbert said in horror.

"Mark, don't scare him."

The leading old professor said a little unhappy, "I have been to this place no less than five or six times, and there is no one there. The Austrian Ministry of Magic has stopped transporting supplies here since 1945. Even the gods will starve to death." In this long river of time."

"Then you still come." Gilbert couldn't help rolling his eyes while heaving a sigh of relief.

The surroundings were as dark as a mass of thick ink, and on the empty ceiling, only spiders were crawling.

The man touched his head, but he didn't feel the flesh, only a rusty iron cage. His hand bounced off like an electric shock.

Some fragmented images flashed through his mind, which were the bald woman leaning on the wheelchair, the red-haired man with despair, and countless smiling wizards lying unconscious on the ground. Did those things really happen, or was it just a horrible dream? Thinking of this, his head immediately ached.

At the same time, several pairs of footsteps sounded on the floor below him.

"Hey what's that?"

The voices in the attic were insistent, and there were some rolling sounds of metal cages.

"I didn't see this last time I was here. Is it like a... birdcage?"

"It's a bit thicker than a birdcage. It feels like a cage. Look, Mr. Mark, there's a hole underneath."

"Really, what is this for?" Someone asked suspiciously.

"I think it's like a hat."

"Stop kidding, what psychopath would put a cage on his head!?"

The man who heard the sound got up from the ground little by little, and the nests of several web-weaving spiders were pierced by the man's head, and they ran away along the man's neck one after another.

The headache was unbearable, he covered the iron cage on his head, and pressed hard, some dry and weathered mud fell off under his feet, but he didn't break free from the cage, and only pressed to death two unlucky spiders that passed the iron bars.

"Nightmare. Nightmare"

He said hoarsely, leaning on the wall, stepping on the stone floor tiles and walking out little by little.

In the fluorescently illuminated corridor, several wizards wearing pointed wizard hats bent over, holding up shiny wands, staring at a birdcage-shaped helmet that just appeared on the ground.

"Has anyone else been here?"

The middle-aged man took out a magnifying glass from his backpack, stared carefully at the metal birdcage on the ground, and muttered to himself: "There is no magic power fluctuation. There is no trace of casting a spell, it doesn't look like a magic product."

"The area around Nurmengard has been deserted for decades. Besides archaeologists like us, who else would come here?" The boy shrugged and asked.

"Maybe it was left by the staff of Nurmengard. If you want me to say, isn't the outer circle still in operation?" The middle-aged man retracted the magnifying glass, picked up the strange-shaped birdcage hat from the ground, and blew on it. The dust on it suddenly smiled and said, "Don't you say it's a hat, Gilbert, why don't you wear it."

"I don't want it, only fools want it." Gilbert immediately refused with his arms around his shoulders.

"I'll add credits to you." The middle-aged man maliciously took out a camera from his backpack and shook it seductively.

"Then why don't you wear it yourself!?"

"I graduated a long time ago." The middle-aged man smiled.

"Don't talk." The bearded old scholar frowned and said, "Whoever left it behind, don't touch this thing lightly for the time being. Let's take it back and study it."

"It's a pity," the middle-aged man pouted, and threw the heavy birdcage to Gilbert: "No, take it, I'll go to the side to take pictures."

After speaking, he straightened up, took the camera and went around to take pictures and samples. The leading old man took out a piece of parchment, wrote and drew on the wall, and occasionally took out his wand to tap on the wall, muttering words.

The mentor and the seniors were all busy with other things. The intern Gilbert held the birdcage-shaped helmet with the length of his own forearm, looked at the entrance and exit under the birdcage, and suddenly a strange desire came to his heart.

He wanted to stick his head in there and try.

This desire is as uncontrollable as seeing a bubble and wanting to crush it, seeing a nail wanting to pull it out, seeing a can and wanting to crush it.

Finally, after a few seconds of mental struggle, he gritted his teeth and decided to give it a try.

Taking a deep breath, he lowered his body and stuck his head in.

The moment Gilbert put on the strange birdcage, he was in a trance.

Immediately, everything around him changed.

In the originally empty Gothic corridor, there appeared a large number of figures, countless in number, each wearing ancient black military uniforms, some leaning against the wall, some hanging from the ceiling, and some even lying on the ground. At his feet, he stared straight at himself with puffy eyes.

But without exception, each of them wore that weird, cage-like helmet on their heads.

Seeing this horrifying and strange scene, Gilbert let out a cry of surprise, and took off the cage on his head in a cold sweat.

"Professor Witt!!" he yelled in horror.

"What's wrong?"

The old man turned his head, and the middle-aged man who took the photo also turned his head, looking at him puzzled.

But Gilbert didn't speak anymore, and after removing the birdcage, the astonishing scene just appeared completely disappeared. The hall was empty, only some broken carved Roman columns, and rusty and broken chandeliers, and there was no one figure to be seen.

The old man waited for a while before the student could speak, and frowned dissatisfiedly: "Don't be surprised, hurry up and take pictures for records, maybe we can find the lost historical materials of the wizarding world fifty years ago."

After speaking, he continued to write and draw. The middle-aged man shrugged and continued to take pictures and collect samples.

Only Gilbert stood where he was, his heart was thumping, and he was a little unsure if everything he saw just now was his own hallucination.

He looked at the long birdcage-shaped helmet in his hand, hesitated again and again, and put it back on tremblingly.

That's right, he just saw that weird thing resurfaced in front of his eyes, a large number of modern soldiers wearing birdcages, they were motionless, they looked almost dead.

But it's different from the last time I wore it.

In the not-so-wide corridor, he saw a strange man walking down the stairs slowly. He was as skinny as a skeleton, wearing a torn robe that could not see his true face clearly, with high cheekbones and a large head. Locked tightly in a birdcage-shaped cage, with a rusty lock hanging around his neck. Long white hair leaked out of the cage and dragged to the ground.

The guy was staring at him without blinking.

Gilbert panicked completely, took off his helmet and threw it aside, but this time, even after he threw away the weird helmet, the man with white hair dragging on the ground did not disappear, and he was still standing on the sidewalk downstairs. On the steps, leaning on the wall, staring at himself firmly.

"Professor Werther! You...you...look!?" The boy tremblingly raised his fingers.

"What's the matter?" The tutor was very dissatisfied with the students interrupting their research from time to time.

But following the young man's fingers, he also saw the tall, thin man who appeared silently on the stairs. The guy looked like a skeleton covered in pale human skin, locked in a cage from the neck up. inside.

"Who are you?" The old man immediately raised his wand, pointing at the weirdness in front of him.

The middle-aged man's camera fell to the ground, he pulled out his wand without hesitation, and pointed straight ahead.

"Who am I?" The skinny weird man looked at his palm, as if he was also asking himself this question.

"Are you a staff member of Nurmengard?"

The old man protected the two students, raised his wand, and slowly stepped back.

"Work. Work is done. I still have work to do." The man raised his drooping eyelids a little bit, and repeated: "I still have work to do."

Accompanied by his inexplicable words, from the shadow of the wall of the empty hall, several people whose heads were also locked in cages slowly climbed out. They are skinny and skinny, and they look like zombies crawling out of a coffin.

"Owner."

"Owner."

"Owner."

They cried out in low voices as they crawled.

More and more figures crawled out from the darkness. This weird scene made Gilbert terrified, since there was no one here just now.

He hid firmly behind his mentor, rubbing his way out little by little.

"Owner.!"

"Master, help me."

A guy with a cage on his head crawled to the man's back, looked up at him, and begged.

In the mist, I saw the skinny man raised his palm. In the night, his five fingers grew, branched, and turned into antlers. He pressed the head of the man who begged him.

Those antler spikes pierced through the cage, piercing countless holes in the man's head.

It was unknown whether the skinny guy hadn't eaten for too long or was already on the verge of death. After his head was pierced, he didn't shed much blood. And that guy not only showed no pain and fear on his face, but showed a strong sense of relief.

"Go. Go"

With a plop, the man wearing the birdcage fell to the ground. The old man had a premonition that something was ominous, and frantically urged his students, the three of them stumbled and ran out, pushing each other.

The man with white hair dragging on the ground didn't stop him either, he just stood quietly on the ground and watched the three run away.

I don't know whether it was because of panic or the unevenness of the ground. Gilbert, who was running wildly, suddenly fell to the ground, and he hadn't had time to get up. On the wall, the shadow of the fork suddenly expanded.

The antler-like palm of the white-haired man suddenly extended. In the blink of an eye, he caught up with the other two who were running away, stabbed in from the back of their heads, and stabbed out from their foreheads.

The instructor and the senior didn't even yell, and fell to the ground with a plop.

"Professor Witte! Senior Mark!!"

Gilbert cried out. Looking at the corpses of his teacher and senior, he thought of the possible identity of that man. He was so trembling that he almost fainted, and he was so frightened that he couldn't control himself.

"Master. Master"

From the shadows, more and more people wearing birdcage helmets crawled out, and they hugged the white-haired man's skinny thighs with densely packed palms.

"Master, kill me, kill me"

"Let me go."

"kill my master"

"help me"

"Grrrrrrrrrrrgrindelwald!!?"

Gilbert called out the man's name with chattering teeth, and a fishy liquid flowed out from his crotch, spreading slowly on the ground.

The white-haired man looked at him, and his empty eyes regained some spirit. He walked out of the dense palms, ignoring the pleadings of the soldiers wearing birdcages crawling out of the shadows, and slowly came to Gilbert.

His long white hair dragged through the urine, and he squatted down.

"poor child."

Grindelwald pressed Gilbert's shoulder and said in a slow but gentle tone: "Don't be afraid, I will wake you up."