Dumbledore's name was known to almost everyone in Europe. The White Wizard was infamous, and it was truly astonishing that Malfoy had managed to escape from him at such a young age.
Lord Voldemort's deep voice echoed through the drawing room once again.
"Over the past decade or so, many people have left us. During the First War, my loyal Death Eaters, unwilling to abandon their guilt, spent those incredibly difficult years in Azkaban. Yet just as I was about to rescue them, they lost all hope for the future and were killed by Dementors."
"Those who claim to be righteous are nothing more than hypocrites."
Lord Voldemort scoffed.
Another wave of murmuring erupted around the round table.
In reality, many of the people here did not understand what Lord Voldemort was talking about at all. They were merely responding instinctively.
This was, in truth, a group of disorganised and uncoordinated individuals.
There were Dark Wizards from North America and Africa, native Vampires, foreign Vampires, a large number of Werewolves, a small number of Goblins, and representatives of several Giant tribes, all gathered here at the Dark Lord's summons.
Many of them knew only that the person before them was a powerful Dark Wizard capable of uniting their forces, and that numerous internationally wanted wizards had also chosen to come here.
Lord Voldemort had lost all of his most loyal Death Eaters, so this was the only way he could rebuild and expand his power.
The Death Eaters who had once followed him had actually been quite capable and could be considered a relatively united force.
Among the strongest were Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov, both of whom possessed numerous vicious spells and tremendous magical power.
Even if they were dull-witted and lacked natural talent, Crabbe and Goyle's fathers had still received formal training, having spent seven years studying at Hogwarts.
But this group was something else entirely.
It was a rabble, with everyone harbouring their own ulterior motives.
They were even scheming against one another.
Conflicts frequently broke out among Voldemort's subordinates, and many of these disputes were almost impossible to reconcile.
White wizards looked down on Dark wizards, while the green-hearted wizards were simply looked down upon by non-human species.
When Lord Voldemort had tempted them to join his cause, he had made grand promises. But given his character, he would regard even ordinary wizards as slaves, let alone these creatures who could not even be considered human by his standards.
Some African wizards did not even use wands, which made it difficult to judge their abilities.
Of course, this was actually a prejudice. Wizards who did not use wands were not uncommon outside Europe.
However, some wizards had flaws that were even more obvious.
If you turned into a pig in front of one of them, he would go completely mad, losing his mind to the point that he could not even finish casting his spells.
They also had one peculiar characteristic: an Animagus could not take the form of a pig. If he did, he would supposedly choose to commit suicide.
He also liked to mutter incomprehensible yet harmless incantations such as "An… Hu… Ba" from time to time, taking an absurdly long time before finally unleashing a powerful explosive spell.
By then, he would probably blow himself up first.
Lord Voldemort might simply be using them as human bombs.
However, he was not too concerned about the quality of his forces at present.
As long as they were usable, that was enough.
All he hoped was that they would be of some benefit to Britain.
The wizarding world had already suffered enough panic.
He was confident that he alone could defeat an entire army of Aurors.
"All right, everyone. Please enjoy your drinks. Mr Lucius, the owner of the manor, has thoughtfully prepared a variety of dishes suitable for all of you."
Lord Voldemort stroked his pale, pointed chin with his fingers.
With a light tap of the wand in his hand, a huge fireball exploded beneath the ceiling with a loud bang.
Countless sparks scattered in every direction before twisting together and eventually forming the shape of a snake. Its tail hung upside down from the original lamp fixture, illuminating the dim drawing room a little more.
At the very least, there was now enough light to see the food in front of them.
Lord Voldemort then announced the beginning of the banquet.
Countless pieces of fresh meat, beef, and mutton were served on silver plates.
They were placed directly on the table without any preparation.
The majority of those attending the gathering were Werewolves, who preferred eating raw meat rather than cooked food.
As for the Goblins and Vampires, they were also provided with food appropriate for them.
In the spacious drawing room, the faint red light was barely enough to keep the room from being completely dark.
After all, this was a gathering of dark forces. Making the room too bright would have felt strangely out of place.
However, while the Death Eaters and other members of the gathering enjoyed their meal, one person huddled timidly in a corner.
He had even moved away from the large round table.
He was clearly uncomfortable in this environment, as though he were surrounded by vicious, hungry wolves.
And he was merely a pitiful little white lamb.
The man caught Malfoy's attention as he walked down the stone steps.
Upon closer inspection, Malfoy quickly realised that he had been mistaken.
It was a large, fat sheep.
In both the literal and figurative sense.
From the literal perspective, the man was pot-bellied, his abdomen bloated and his body somewhat swollen. His face bore all the signs of a life of wealth, and evidence of obesity could be found almost anywhere on him.
From the figurative perspective, many casinos liked to call people who came in and threw their money away "fat sheep," didn't they?
Ludo Bagman.
A pathetic gambler.
He could perhaps have been portrayed as someone who had simply been misled. He had once received overwhelming support in the Wizengamot and had been acquitted.
But now, it seemed inevitable that he had begun sliding into the abyss.
Perhaps he had given up and decided to join Lord Voldemort's forces simply to earn a living.
The man now looked old and haggard.
Being surrounded by such a group of fierce-looking people was undoubtedly a test of one's nerves.
Only when his eyes met Malfoy's did he stare at the young man in disbelief.
"You…"
His voice seemed to stick in his throat, as though someone had strangled him.
Busy evading his debts, he had been completely unaware of the latest news from the outside world.
So when he saw Malfoy, he was inexplicably shocked.
Then grief and anger surged within him, and he wanted to question Malfoy about why he had lost the game.
Malfoy merely glanced at him dismissively.
Then Bagman fell silent.
"I don't seem to have any obligation to be your cash cow."
Malfoy spoke casually.
Only now did Bagman realise that he was no longer the highly influential referee he had once been, and that the boy before him was no longer one of his competitors.
Malfoy was now Lord Voldemort's favoured subordinate.
Even the thought of provoking him made Bagman shudder.
Why would anyone be foolish enough to deliberately provoke someone like that?
Bagman was sweating profusely.
Malfoy did not bother paying him any further attention.
He figured it would be best to let this gambler fend for himself.
He turned his head and glanced almost imperceptibly at Nagini, who was coiled around the legs of the throne atop the stone steps, before quickly looking away.
Nagini flicked her scarlet tongue as she surveyed the people around her.
This was another Horcrux belonging to Lord Voldemort.
Malfoy had just confirmed it.