Sagres's cold gaze swept over the unconscious goblin lying on the ground.
These creatures, thoroughly brainwashed and capable only of blindly obeying orders, had become dangerous tools.
This was almost irreversible, and Sagres Greengrass had no intention of trying to save them.
He casually raised his wand. A nearly imperceptible flash appeared at the tip, and a silent spell instantly ended the goblin's life.
There was no pain, and naturally, none of the other goblins noticed.
But even as he did so, more questions began to form in his mind.
Who exactly were the three goblins leading them?
What grudge did they hold against him?
Where had those seemingly genuine yet fundamentally false bloodline grafting techniques come from?
And behind all this, was there an even deeper mastermind hidden in the shadows?
Ordinary goblins clearly could not provide answers, so Sagres shifted his attention to the three higher-ranking individuals.
He exchanged a glance with Nightingale, and the two of them left their hiding place like ghosts, silently making their way through the passages towards the caves occupied by the three leaders.
They selected one at random.
Its entrance was simple, protected only by a heavy stone door.
Sagres lightly tapped his wand, and a silent unlocking spell precisely disabled the enchantments on the door.
The stone slab silently opened a narrow gap. The pair slipped inside and gently closed it behind them.
The interior proved far more luxurious than expected.
More glowing fluorite crystals had been embedded into the walls, and several crates clearly originating from the outside world were stacked in one corner.
A goblin, though not the tall leader they had seen earlier, sat with its back to the entrance, hunched over a rough stone table and absorbed in reading a thick book by the fluorite's light.
It wore the same style of robes, and its brass wand rested carelessly beside it.
Perhaps it sensed the subtle shift in airflow caused by the opening of the door, or perhaps some instinct warned it, but the goblin frowned and one of its ears twitched.
Unaware that intruders had entered, it muttered something in an indistinct goblin tongue before standing up and heading towards the entrance, apparently intending to check whether the door had been properly closed.
It poked its head outside and looked left and right.
The passageway was empty.
Muttering again, as though complaining that the latch was malfunctioning once more, it withdrew and firmly shut the stone door.
Then it turned around, preparing to return to its table.
And froze.
Its movements stopped completely.
Its pupils shrank in extreme shock.
Two tall figures, as though formed from the shadows themselves, stood silently in the middle of the chamber, their cold eyes looking down upon it.
And the face of the stern wizard among them...
It was far too familiar.
That face appeared day after day in their teachings.
It was the centre of the hatred that had been instilled into them.
It was the ultimate target promised by every bloodline ritual meant to make them stronger.
Sagres Greengrass.
The living embodiment of everything they had been taught to hate.
The enemy they had been told they must oppose at any cost.
And now, alive and without warning, like a nightmare given flesh, he had appeared within its most secret dwelling.
The sheer shock overwhelmed even its instinct to scream.
It stood rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open, only a strangled gasp escaping its throat.
The thick book in its hand fell to the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The sound jolted the goblin out of its stupor.
Instinctively, it lunged towards the brass wand lying on the stone table.
It understood that without a wand, it stood no chance.
But what it didn't know was that the moment it laid eyes on Sagres Greengrass, it had already lost any chance it ever had.
With a slight flick of his wrist, Sagres froze the goblin in place.
Unable even to make a sound, it could only stare wildly with darting eyes.
Without wasting time on interrogation, Sagres walked straight over and once again pressed his cold wand against the goblin's temple.
Violent magic forcibly invaded the consciousness of the goblin leader.
Compared to the ordinary goblin from before, this one's mental defenses were far stronger. Its memories were more complex, with countless traces having been carefully altered and woven together.
Sagres focused intently, meticulously peeling away the layers, investigating and restoring them.
The process was far more troublesome than before.
Restoration was far more difficult than alteration, and deciphering the truth demanded much greater mental effort.
Finally, beneath layers of mist and fabricated memories, deeply buried fragments slowly surfaced.
Within those shattered memories, he finally found some valuable clues.
These robed goblins had not originally numbered only three.
Including the one before him, there had originally been twelve of them, all followers of a mysterious goblin leader.
From the goblin's memories, Sagres learned that this so-called leader was both powerful and of unknown origin.
It possessed many strange items that none of them had ever encountered before.
There were brass wands inlaid with unusual obsidian that could greatly amplify magic, and alchemical robes capable of deflecting or even absorbing spells.
More importantly, it had brought with it a vast amount of magical knowledge unfamiliar to them, including the crude bloodline grafting techniques he had witnessed earlier.
Sagres tried to uncover the leader's identity, but the creature had been extraordinarily cautious from beginning to end.
It had never shown its true face, nor revealed its origins or ultimate purpose.
Eventually, after imparting its knowledge, the mysterious goblin leader departed from the volcanic stronghold together with nine followers and disappeared without a trace.
Sagres also clearly saw that among those nine goblins was the extremely aggressive goblin they had encountered on Derry Island.
What troubled him the most, however, was a fragment of memory that had been deliberately erased and was almost impossible to restore.
From its damaged edges, he managed to capture a peculiar scene.
Before departing, the mysterious goblin leader had looked up at the sky beyond the volcano and murmured a single sentence in an incredibly complicated tone.
"...I can never go back."
The words had no context, yet they contained an enormous amount of information and a profound sense of despair.
Sagres withdrew his wand, countless thoughts churning through his mind.
The answers he had obtained only brought more questions.
A powerful and mysterious goblin faction possessing unknown techniques and harboring deep hostility toward him.
A leader who appeared to be stranded outside, unable to "go back."
A scattered network carrying out dangerous experiments while nurturing hatred.
The situation was far more serious than he had anticipated.
Seeing his grave expression, Nightingale asked quietly,
"Still no clues?"
Sagres lowered his gaze to the goblin lying on the floor, its spirit weakened after having its memories forcibly searched, and slowly shook his head.
"It feels like a very big problem."
He casually ended the goblin's life, then added calmly,
"Let's check the memories of the other two."
Sagres turned and headed towards the exit.
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