NOVEL NEXT Chapter 183: Silver Wand
On a battered wooden desk, he found a small leather pouch and two pieces of parchment. The pouch contained a mix of silver Sickles and copper Knuts, along with a handful of gold Galleons, totaling just over 200 Galleons. For a werewolf leader, Fenrir's financial situation wasn't impressive.
The first parchment was a detailed list of goods—an inventory of magical and intelligent creatures with their corresponding prices. Alex's eyes widened as he scanned the document. "An adult unicorn sells for 1,000 Galleons, and a juvenile for 1,500? Even a healthy unicorn hide is valued at 600 Galleons," Alex muttered under his breath. The numbers were staggering. This wasn't just poaching; it was organized, large-scale trafficking.
The list included not only British magical creatures but also exotic ones from around the world—Veela, mermaids, and even werewolves. It was clear this wasn't a local operation; it was part of a broader, well-coordinated smuggling network. In the corner of the parchment, Alex spotted an unfamiliar seal: a simple wand etched into the paper, accompanied by the words "Silver Wand."
The name triggered a memory. Alex recalled reading about the Silver Wand in a dueling history book. It had once been a notorious secret dueling club founded in the eighteenth century. Membership was exclusive to wizards who owned aspen wood wands, prized for their elegant ivory-like appearance and strength.
Initially, the Silver Wand was little more than a private club for wand enthusiasts, but over time it evolved into a ruthless dueling league. Members were infamous for their violent tendencies, often seriously injuring or even killing their opponents in duels. After each victory, they would flaunt their membership, shouting the name "Silver Wand," which earned them widespread infamy.
However, the club eventually dissolved following internal conflicts that resulted in numerous deaths. Its name had largely faded into obscurity, only appearing occasionally in historical texts. "Why is this name showing up again? And why is it connected to smuggling?" Alex wondered aloud. He carefully folded the parchment and slipped it into his pocket, resolving to investigate the organization further.
The second parchment was a list of names. Most of the names were marked in red ink, some with crosses, others with checkmarks, and a few left blank. Alex studied the list carefully. "Could this be a record of werewolves? The crossed names probably mean they've been killed. The checkmarks could represent those who surrendered or joined, and the unmarked ones might be those they haven't found or targeted yet."
As he scanned the list, a familiar name caught his eye. It wasn't marked. Alex stared at the name, unease creeping into his thoughts. "Remus John Lupin? Isn't he James Potter's friend? The one who's supposed to be a werewolf?" Alex frowned as he stared at the name on the list. "But wasn't he a Hogwarts student? If he's a werewolf, wouldn't someone have noticed? Or… could he have been bitten after graduation?"
Alex stared at the name for a long moment, uncertainty gnawing at him. It was possible the name was just a coincidence, but in the wizarding world—where the population was small—the chances of two people sharing such an uncommon name were slim. "Seems like Lupin has his fair share of secrets," Alex muttered. Still, it wasn't his concern. Lupin hadn't caused any trouble all these years, and as long as that continued, Alex saw no need to dig deeper. He carefully folded the list and stowed it away. "Might come in handy if I run into any more werewolves in the future."
Just then, a rustling noise came from outside the stone chamber. The magical creatures in the cages had begun to stir. Perhaps they smelled the blood from earlier, or maybe it was simply time for them to wake. Low growls, chirps, and moans echoed faintly through the cavern. "Right, the magical creatures," Alex muttered, slapping his forehead. His focus on the werewolves had completely distracted him from their captives. He hurried out of the chamber to check on the condition of the imprisoned creatures.
The cavern remained dim and stifling, with stale air only faintly circulating through the tunnel. Oil lamps hung on the walls, unlit. Alex grabbed a copper lamp and ignited it, the flickering flame casting a dim glow that barely illuminated the space. As he walked among the iron cages, Alex inspected the magical creatures carefully. More than a dozen creatures were imprisoned here, all in deplorable condition.
The first cage held two Mooncalves, their large, bulbous eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. They resembled small, shaggy alpacas, but their ribs were visible, and their movements sluggish. Clearly, they hadn't been properly fed or cared for.
Next to them, in a larger cage, lay a skeletal Graphorn. Its once-powerful frame was bony and weak, its horns dulled by neglect. In smaller cages nearby, Alex's eyes fell on a series of other creatures, each in varying states of despair. A Jarvey, resembling an oversized ferret, sat motionless, its usual mischievous energy extinguished.
A forlorn Crup, distinguishable only by its forked tail, whimpered softly in its confined space. Nearby, a frog-headed Mackled Malaclaw glared weakly with its unnervingly bright red eyes.
Two Fire Crabs, their gem-encrusted shells smeared with grime, lacked the vibrant colors that once dazzled. Three Knarl-like hedgehogs huddled miserably in a corner, their spines bristling weakly, while a pair of oversized ermines trembled with cold, their usual glossy coats dull and unkempt. In another cage, a shriveled Murtlap twitched faintly, its tentacles curled and lifeless.
In a large glass container sat a Runespoor, a three-headed serpent that was meant to exude power and ferocity. But its movements were sluggish, its scales dull. If released, Alex knew it could easily fill the entire cave, but in its current state, it was far from a threat.
All the creatures shared the same pitiful state—listless, filthy, and starving. Their cages were caked with dirt and excrement, a testament to their captors' neglect. Alex turned his attention to the metal doors installed in the walls of the cave. Behind them were larger cells. He began inspecting them one by one.
The first cell was empty but spacious, its walls covered with deep claw marks and old bloodstains. In the second, Alex found a massive Horned Camelopard, its body slumped against the wall. The creature had golden horns on its head and greasy tentacles around its mouth. Its lethargy mirrored the other creatures'.
When Alex reached the third cell, a thunderous roar erupted from within, accompanied by the clinking of heavy chains. Lifting his lamp, Alex peered inside and found a Manticore restrained by thick iron chains. The beast glared at him with a lion-like face twisted in fury, its long scorpion tail lashing against the walls.
The manticore's neck bore a metal ring, and its body was riddled with fresh and old wounds, likely inflicted by the werewolves. It growled menacingly, but its exhaustion was evident. Finally, Alex approached the fourth cell and stopped in surprise. "Is that… a Husky?"
Lying in the cell was a husky that looked remarkably like a Siberian Husky from the Muggle world. Its fur was matted with blood and dirt, and its body was covered in whip marks and scratches. Despite its severe injuries, its eyes were sharp and piercing, exuding a defiance that even the manticore lacked.