The black haze that had engulfed the entire city had completely vanished, and the crowd gathered at Place Furstenberg had also dispersed.
To the Muggle population, today's life proceeded just as usual—simple, unadorned, and dull.
What they did not know, however, was that the headquarters of the French Ministry of Magic, located beneath Place Furstenberg, had been turned into a heap of ruins.
Sprawled all across the Ministry were Ministry employees lying in every direction, along with a few unlucky souls who had come to conduct business during that time.
Without exception, every single one of them had been knocked unconscious, their wands snapped in half and carelessly tossed beside them.
Predictably, wandmakers in France were about to welcome a massive surge in business.
The Ministry's grand, opulent Atrium—with its vaulted, arched ceiling painted with constellations—looked as though it had been traversed by a thousand Huskies, utterly dismantled into shattered fragments.
Yet severe as the destruction appeared, repairing it would actually be quite simple; it would take only a few repeated applications of the Mending Charm to fix everything.
After all, Grindelwald's true intention had never been to wage a war, but merely to give them a warning.
Even if that warning looked no different from a war.
If Grindelwald could lead a group of Acolytes to storm the French Ministry of Magic and knock every single person unconscious without killing a single soul, then he could just as easily slaughter them all.
Furthermore, if the Acolytes could breach the French Ministry of Magic, they could breach those of other nations as well.
France, after all, was considered one of the Five Great Powers. Though jokes mocking France were frequently circulated, its combat power was not to be underestimated—whether in the Muggle world or the wizarding world.
Yet such a powerful nation had its Ministry of Magic breached by Grindelwald just like that.
Without any conspiracies or tricks, and without any tactical strategy.
Simply rolling right over them in a complete steamroll, and the French Ministry of Magic was finished.
That was the message Grindelwald left for them.
With Grindelwald making such a scene, it was safe to assume no one would dare target Kyle anytime soon.
However, there was no guaranteeing that people in the wizarding world wouldn't go mad as a result and gather even greater forces, determined to execute Grindelwald.
But what of it?
To borrow a quote from Liu Cixin: The Lord doesn't care.
After demolishing the French Ministry of Magic, Grindelwald parted ways with Kyle, choosing to remain in Europe.
After creating such a massive uproar, Grindelwald could no longer act as he had during his dormant state—dumping all affairs onto Alfred while acting as a hands-off manager himself.
Certain necessary arrangements required him to personally deliver commands to his subordinates.
When it came to such crucial matters, the butler hero old gent wouldn't dare overstep his bounds to issue orders on Grindelwald's behalf.
As for whether letting Kyle fly solo would subject him to danger, Grindelwald no longer harbored the slightest concern.
If it had been before, the doting father might still have worried a little.
But ever since Kyle became an Obscurial, the quantity of magic in his body instantly surpassed that of both Grindelwald and Dumbledore.
It was a terrifyingly immense amount.
A wizard's internal magic primarily originated from their bloodline, and the magic within that bloodline grew as the wizard aged.
As the oldest generation in the wizarding world, the magical reserves of Dumbledore and Grindelwald were roughly equivalent to a "Chakra-ton" in the Naruto world.
Where others possessed kilograms, they possessed tons.
However, the formidable power of those two primarily stemmed from their vast erudition.
Otherwise, in a wizarding world with a severe population aging problem, centenarian old men were, if not dime a dozen, still plentiful.
Why didn't one see many who could be hailed as the Greatest Light Wizard or the Most Evil Dark Lord?
Enormous magical power was merely one component of their strength.
Though Kyle's knowledge was still far inferior to those two, and his immensely vast magic could only be used in crude ways—such as mindlessly ramping up magic output to shape a taller and grander Susanoo—
One principle remained unchanged: Brute force creates miracles.
So long as my magic is vast enough, even if condensed into the simplest magical light orb, I can crush you to death with sheer volume.
By the time Kyle returned to Hogwarts, night had fallen.
Having spent the entire afternoon on demolition duty, he was ravenous. Before he even had the chance to enter the Great Hall for dinner, he was intercepted by Dumbledore in the entrance hall right outside.
With a dark, furious expression, Dumbledore stared fixedly at the Third-Generation Dark Lord before him for a long moment.
Earlier today, shortly after Kyle and Grindelwald had left, Dumbledore had received news from Fudge.
Paris had not only seen Grindelwald's signature spell to summon the Acolytes, but it had also been sealed off by a super-large-range Anti-Disapparation Jinx. Spatial transportation methods like the Floo Network and Portkeys had all failed.
The entire city of Paris was enveloped in a colossal barrier. Even those attempting to reach Paris on broomsticks were blocked outside the barrier.
All three thousand-plus personnel of the French Ministry of Magic, including the Minister himself, had lost contact. The owls sent over had also gone with no return.
It took nearly an hour for the barrier to gradually dissipate and for Apparition to function normally again.
By then, however, any reinforcement forces had already turned into a post-disaster rescue team.
Looking at Dumbledore's dark, furious face, Kyle felt no panic whatsoever in his heart—in fact, he almost wanted to laugh.
In the past, seeing Dumbledore this enraged, he would have been as docile and well-behaved as a little lamb.
But now, he was the only surviving Obscurial in the wizarding world.
Even if he couldn't win, couldn't he at least run?
Becoming an Obscurial didn't mean he could break Hogwarts' Anti-Disapparation ward, but at the very least, he wouldn't be taken down by Dumbledore in a single move.
Which meant that if things truly escalated to a display of "filial piety," he could easily hold his ground under Dumbledore until he ran outside the range of Hogwarts' Anti-Disapparation ward.
At that point, supported by the immense magic of an Obscurial, a single Apparition could carry him across a thousand kilometers directly back to New Nurmengard Castle to call for reinforcements.
Calling Dad when unable to win—was there any problem with that?
Staring silently at the little Dark Lord before him, another wave of exhaustion washed over Dumbledore's heart.
In the past, if this cheeky brat saw him wearing such a expression, he would never have had the nerve to keep smirking like this.
It had to be said—having strength really allowed one to do whatever they wished.
Dumbledore could easily imagine how chaotic the wizarding world would become in the future, given this little Dark Lord's lawless personality combined with the power of an Obscurial that allowed him to look down upon the entire magical world.
"You are not allowed to fool around with Gellert in the future. Do you hear me?"
"Got it."
In the end, Dumbledore refrained from delivering any overly harsh scolding. He could only hope his son would learn more from him rather than imitating that bastard Dark Lord father of his all day.
Even though he knew the effect would be minimal.
That was an entire Ministry of Magic!
From the reports sent back by the rescue personnel on the scene, even if ten of the most ferocious Hungarian Horntails had been released inside the Ministry, they might not have caused that level of devastation.
After all, the Ministry housed thousands of wizards. Even if they had only deployed their main combat force—the Aurors—subduing ten dragons would have merely required a bit extra effort.
And yet those two…
Forget it, best not to dwell on it.
Dumbledore let out a weary, heart-sick sigh.
"Go back and eat."
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