The two held their breath, concealed in the deep shadows as they observed carefully.
They watched as the goblins skillfully bundled up the metal nets containing the Diricawls, which were then carried by two of the stronger goblins.
The creatures exchanged a few brief words in a hurried, guttural dialect. There was no joy in their voices; they sounded more like labourers carrying out an ordinary task.
The goblin holding the brass wand was clearly the leader.
He uttered a few short syllables, and the other goblins immediately fell silent. They nodded respectfully, picked up their prey, and headed deeper into the rainforest.
Their hierarchy was strict and their movements orderly.
Like ghosts, Sagres and Nightingale silently followed behind them.
To avoid exposing themselves, Sagres secretly cast two Silencing Charms. He had no intention of being discovered because of something as foolish as stepping on a dry leaf.
These goblins knew the rainforest like the back of their hands, moving swiftly along narrow paths hidden within the dense vegetation.
After roughly half an hour, they arrived before a concealed rock wall.
The elderly goblin raised his brass wand and tapped what appeared to be an ordinary vine hanging from the cliff face in a specific rhythm.
Rumble...
The mountain wall trembled with a low rumble, and a cleverly disguised stone door slowly slid open, revealing the entrance to a cave illuminated by flickering firelight.
A smell of smoke mixed with blood and decay drifted from within.
The goblins entered one after another.
Just before the stone door closed, Sagres and Nightingale slipped inside without a sound.
The cave concealed an entirely different world.
It was clearly no natural cavern, but a carefully constructed stronghold.
Both sides of the passage were lined with fluorite crystals emitting a faint green glow. The air was hot, and the sound of hammering and clearer goblin voices echoed from deeper within.
Keeping themselves hidden, they avoided the occasional passing goblins and soon discovered that the stronghold was surprisingly vast.
Its interior resembled a giant underground village or workshop, with an intricate network of tunnels and chambers.
Eventually, they followed the group into a more spacious cavern.
The sight before them caused even the normally composed Sagres to reveal a trace of shock.
There was no ceiling above the cavern, allowing a direct view of the sky.
On the ground below lay a crude yet intricate alchemical circle.
Complex patterns combining runes with unknown symbols covered the floor, while various materials radiating different magical energies had been placed at several key locations.
Some of them, Sagres immediately recognised.
They were giant limbs.
Meanwhile, the captured Diricawls were being roughly dragged towards a temporary cage for living creatures positioned at the edge of the circle.
These goblins were not hunting.
They were preparing to use the unique magical properties of the Diricawls in some dangerous magical ritual.
The alchemical circle also looked strangely familiar to Sagres.
Frowning, he observed it for several moments before finally realising the source of that familiarity.
It was another alchemical circle mentioned by Quinin Byleus Gaunt in his book Bloodline Grafting and Purification.
Its purpose was likewise bloodline grafting.
After observing for a while, the pair silently withdrew from the bloody and sinister ritual chamber and returned to the maze of tunnels.
Sagres's sharp gaze swept across the stronghold hidden within the mountain, quickly assessing its layout.
The entire cavern was shaped like a massive bowl. High above, traces of ancient lava flows remained visible along the walls.
From the evidence, this place was most likely a long-dormant extinct volcano.
By rough estimation, around thirty goblins were active within the stronghold.
Most wore crude garments woven from vines and feathers and were occupied with basic labour such as transporting goods, grinding stone tools, or processing magical materials.
As for the robe-wearing goblins carrying brass wands like the one they had encountered earlier, there were only three.
These three special goblins clearly occupied the ruling class, occasionally barking orders or directing the others.
Questions began to arise in Sagres's mind.
The goblins' behaviour, the bloody ritual circle, and even the stronghold itself all radiated a deeply unsettling strangeness.
He needed answers.
Signalling for Nightingale to remain alert, Sagres quietly approached a lone goblin who was painstakingly polishing a piece of black stone.
Before the goblin even realized what was happening, Sagres struck without warning. A precise and silent Stunning Spell hit the target directly, and with a wave of his wand, he used a Levitation Charm to swiftly drag the unconscious goblin into a dark crevice cluttered with miscellaneous supplies.
Having done so, he wasted no time. Raising his wand, he pressed the tip against the goblin's temple and cast Legilimency.
After forcibly entering the creature's mind, Sagres initially encountered only chaos and primitive thoughts. Most of the memories revolved around life in the rainforest, obeying orders, preparing rituals, and a vague longing for power.
On the surface, everything seemed relatively normal for such an environment.
Yet Sagres quickly detected something out of place.
The "texture" of the memories was inconsistent. The edges of certain fragments were unnaturally smooth, as though they had been carefully polished.
Without hesitation, he switched to another spell, employing a more sophisticated form of memory reconstruction. Like examining a heavily edited manuscript, he carefully searched for the original text concealed beneath the alterations.
He projected the goblin's memories onto the stone wall of the crevice, allowing both himself and Nightingale to examine them.
Sure enough.
The traces of memory tampering were finally revealed.
The technique had been extremely refined, almost blending seamlessly into the background, but it was not enough to deceive Sagres.
Beneath the altered memories, he saw entirely different scenes.
This goblin had not been born here.
Roughly four years earlier, it had been gathered along with many others by a group of leaders whose identities remained concealed. They had been relocated from their original homes and eventually brought to this isolated volcanic stronghold.
Sagres could even clearly make out the iconic marble hall of Gringotts Wizarding Bank within the goblin's memories.
And ever since arriving here, none of them had left.
Within the altered memories, an entirely new set of beliefs had been forcibly implanted.
They had been taught that they were the "spark" hidden within this land, and that through special rituals they could steal and merge the abilities of magical creatures, thereby obtaining power and becoming stronger.
What puzzled Sagres most was what lay buried at the deepest level of those memories.
Deeply engraved there was an intense hatred that had been repeatedly reinforced.
And the target of that hatred, both in appearance and name, pointed unmistakably to one person.
Sagres Greengrass.
Slowly lowering his wand, Sagres's eyes flashed with cold light.
He released the unconscious goblin and allowed it to slump back into the pile of supplies.
Nightingale frowned as well, confusion written across her face.
"You and them..."
"I don't know any of them," Sagres replied calmly.
Silence filled the narrow crevice.
After a moment, Sagres spoke again, as though organizing his thoughts.
"They're being kept here. Their memories have been extensively altered. They come from all over the world, including Gringotts. Some 'goblins' spent years establishing this stronghold, brainwashing them, and teaching them to conduct dangerous bloodline grafting experiments."
He paused, a dangerous glint appearing in his grey eyes.
"And their ultimate purpose seems to be to make them hate me... and to gain enough power to oppose me."
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