Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
Regrettably, under the watchful gaze of the censor god, nothing fans would love to see happened between Kyle and Konan.
On the morning of August twenty-second, because Kyle had been in a constant state of cultivation recently, he dawdled in bed until the sun was high in the sky before finally strolling out of his room.
The moment Kyle stepped out the door, a somewhat resentful voice drifted over from the side.
"You agreed with Lord Grindelwald and Lord Dumbledore to set off at seven in the morning."
Konan, who had been waiting in the living room outside for who knows how long, stared blankly at Kyle. "Look what time it is now."
Kyle glanced at the wall clock; the hour hand was merely pointing at the number nine. What was the rush?
Unlike the Weasley family, he didn't need to hunt down a Portkey pre-placed by the Ministry of Magic to fly to the Quidditch World Cup location.
Both of them knew Apparition, and Kyle could cover thousands of kilometers with a single jump.
As long as they were ready to leave, they could reach the Quidditch World Cup campsite in two seconds flat. What was there to be in a hurry about?
As for meeting up with his two old men at the campsite tent this morning, that was even less of a concern.
Missing the agreed-upon gathering time meant that once Dumbledore and Grindelwald arrived at the campsite, they'd have two fewer third wheels around. That way, the two old men could enjoy some private time together, couldn't they?
So, Kyle was in even less of a rush.
However, Kyle didn't dare say any of this out loud.
He was afraid that if he said it, he'd end up getting thrashed by Konan.
Under Konan's death glare, Kyle obediently washed up at lightning speed, fixed his hair, and devoured his breakfast.
Just as the minute hand finished passing two numbers, Kyle was fully prepared to head out.
"Alright, alright, now I'm waiting for you," Kyle said, sweeping past Konan like a gust of wind. "Let's go quickly, don't keep my dad and the others waiting too long."
Hearing Kyle's words, several black lines dangled from the corner of Konan's forehead.
How could someone be so thick-skinned?
Who was the one keeping Lord Grindelwald waiting? Don't you have any self-awareness?
Kyle and Konan Apparated directly to the landing site designated by the Ministry of Magic.
The place resembled a vast, desolate, mist-shrouded marshland. Even with the scorching sun hanging high in the sky, the fog remained undispelled by the sunlight.
Kyle merely swept his gaze across the area and spotted several traces of magic amidst the swirling mist.
Embedded within the fog were various detection and protective spells, acting as the security screening system outside the Quidditch pitch.
Apart from those, Kyle also identified the Muggle-Repelling Charm woven into the area.
With so many wizards gathering, casting a Muggle-Repelling Charm to keep Muggles away was only natural.
In the distance, two exhausted, gloomy-faced wizards walked slowly toward the pair.
One held a large gold watch, while the other carried a thick roll of parchment and a quill.
From their appearance, it was clear both had tried hard to dress like Muggles, but they were terribly bad at it.
The one holding the gold watch wore a very conventional tweed suit jacket on top, but on his bottom half, he wore thigh-high rubber waders.
His colleague's outfit was even more flamboyant—a combination of a Scottish Highland kilt and a South American poncho. Mixing these two completely unrelated styles somehow managed to give off a Native American vibe.
These two were Ministry employees responsible for logging the identity details of everyone entering the campsite and conducting security checks.
Due to the Death Eaters' prison breakout and Grindelwald's return, Fudge attached unprecedented importance to the security measures for this tournament.
Even if it were a dog, Fudge demanded they check whether it was an illegal Animagus.
Kyle and Konan had arrived far too late, practically among the very last to show up.
Thus, the two Ministry employees, now with time on their hands, naturally aimed to inspect them with greater scrutiny than during the busier hours.
Seeing the man scan him and Konan with a device resembling a metal detector and then actually attempt to reach out for a pat-down search, a flash of coldness gleamed in Kyle's eyes. Raising his hand, he condensed a fireball and slammed it right down at the man's feet.
The surging, dark blue flames attached themselves to the man's thigh-high rubber waders like a curse clinging to the bone.
Inspect if you must, but you want to lay hands on us?
Under Kyle's control, the Fiendfyre did not burst out with its original horrifying temperature.
Even so, its heat was enough to melt the rubber boots on the man's legs and blister his skin thoroughly.
The moment Kyle made his move, over a dozen burly Aurors immediately leaped out from the marsh, drawing their wands to subdue him.
Seeing this scene, the corner of Kyle's mouth twitched imperceptibly.
Were these campers hiding this well? Even he hadn't noticed them just now—though that might have been because he had only swept the area casually.
Even though he was surrounded, Kyle showed no sign of panic; this group was simply no match for him.
On the contrary, he was even in the mood to critique their bush-camping behavior—if they shouted "Demacia!" right now, that really would be something.
Among the Aurors lurking in the surroundings, the large Black man leading them froze the moment he caught sight of Kyle, hurriedly shouting to stop his colleagues who were preparing to cast spells.
Cornelius Fudge had issued strict orders to these Aurors: if anyone dared cause trouble during the Quidditch World Cup, the Aurors were permitted to use any non-lethal means to subdue them.
However, orders depended on who they were being applied to.
The grand figure in front of them was the son of Grindelwald! Forget merely causing trouble—even if he led a crew to flatten the stadium hosting the Quidditch World Cup, Fudge wouldn't dare squeak a word, let alone try to subdue him.
"Stop, hurry!" Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice nearly cracked with anxiety.
Yet no one paid him any mind.
Kingsley wasn't the Head of the Auror Office, just a colleague of equal rank. Did he expect to order them around and even have them defy Minister Fudge's orders?
A fierce light gleamed in Dawlish's eyes as he raised his wand and fired off a Blasting Curse.
If this spell hit an ordinary wizard, the result would be broken bones at the very least.
The other Aurors joined in as well, though they weren't as heavy-handed as Dawlish; after all, the opponent looked to be just a teenage boy.
Faced with the onslaught of over a dozen incoming spells, Konan's body instantly disintegrated into a sky full of fluttering white paper sheets. The paper rotated rapidly like a whirlwind, wrapping Kyle's body within it.
When the Aurors' spells landed on the paper, it was like mud sinking into the sea, unable to stir even the slightest ripple.
Kyle cast a glance at Dawlish, his mismatched eyes instantaneously turning into crimson Sharingan, the black tomoe within his pupils slowly spinning.
"Amaterasu," he whispered softly.
In an instant, the hand Dawlish held his wand with was engulfed in dark blue flames.
Before he could even scream out in agony, the arm wrapped in flames instantly turned into drifting ash.
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