Barty ran miserably into the depths of the forest.
His face was covered in blood, and even now, blood continued to seep from his seven orifices, staining his robes.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
He cursed incessantly as he ran, raising the wand he had snatched from another Death Eater several times, but he never dared to use Apparition.
He had, of course, already run out of Sherlock's anti-Apparition field, but while Sherlock's Killing Curses hadn't taken his life directly, they had caused immense damage to his mind.
He dared not cast spells rashly, especially a spell like Apparition, which could result in splinching and pose a life-threatening danger if it went wrong.
He could only keep running; only by running could he find a shred of security, knowing that he was moving away from that young Wizard, away from the danger of death.
He did not know how long he had been running. The surroundings were silent, and finally, Barty stopped.
He leaned one hand against a thick tree beside him, panting heavily as he looked around nervously. Finding no sign of the figure who controlled hundreds of wands and had been chasing him, his tightly coiled nerves finally relaxed a little.
After letting his exhausted body rest for a few dozen seconds, Barty gritted his teeth and raised the wand in his hand.
He knew he was not truly safe yet; he couldn't escape on foot alone. No matter how dangerous it was, he had to use Apparition to get far away from here.
Struggling to control his rapid breathing, Barty tried his best to steady his nervous heart. Recalling the tricks of casting Apparition, which he hadn't used for over a decade, he waved his wand with extreme seriousness.
"Appari..."
However, just as he clearly articulated the incantation, a cold, ethereal female voice suddenly rang out!
"Expelliarmus."
A red beam of light pierced the silent air. Even while attempting to cast a spell, Barty had remained vigilant. The moment he heard the incantation, he rolled sharply to the left, performing an unsightly roll and narrowly dodging the spell that had appeared out of nowhere.
His eyes widened, and the breathing he had managed to suppress became rapid again. Soon, he saw the attacker who had been waiting here like a rabbit waiting for a tree stump.
Sitting on a thick branch of a poplar tree was a young girl wearing black robes, her face mostly obscured by a wide hood.
Soft moonlight spilled over her, and her silver-grey hair shimmered in the moonlight.
Hilke held the trunk of the poplar tree with one hand and gripped her wand tightly with the other, aiming directly at Barty, who was currently in a state more wretched than a hobo. Other than casting the spell, she had no intention of communicating with the stray dog below.
Barty stared intensely at Hilke, who was sitting on the branch, with a gaze full of resentment. He wiped the blood from his face with the sleeve of his tattered robes, which were no different from rags.
"You've been waiting here for me!"
Hilke gently swung her legs, showing no intention of answering his question.
In the past, she would never have made such a girlish gesture, but since reuniting with Sherlock, she had become more and more like a normal girl.
Barty heard no response, and his expression became increasingly ferocious.
He had no time to waste here with a strange Witch. After realising that the other party was giving him no response, he began to counterattack without hesitation.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The dark green beam crossed the short distance of a dozen metres, but just as his Killing Curse was cast, Hilke vanished silently from the branch of the poplar tree and appeared on another thick branch.
Silent Apparition.
Because she didn't need to chant, the casting speed was incredibly fast, but the distance of Apparition was limited; she could only continue to teleport short distances.
Just like a cat playing with a mouse, Hilke wouldn't attack proactively. Whenever Barty cast a spell, she would use Apparition to teleport, and whenever Barty showed the slightest intention of trying to escape, she would raise her wand and cast an Expelliarmus or Stupefy.
The angles of the spells were also tricky; they weren't aimed directly at Barty, allowing him to dodge easily, but dodging would also force him back to the original spot, preventing him from escaping the range Hilke had set for him by even a single step.
Only now could Barty truly feel what it meant to be in despair.
He finally couldn't take it any longer, threw his wand on the ground in a frenzy, and screamed hysterically.
"Kill me! Kill me! Come on! Kill me!"
But Hilke remained unmoved; she sat quietly on the branch and turned her head to look in a direction behind her.
Sherlock walked out of the dark bushes with a blank expression. He saw Hilke sitting on the branch, and only when looking at her did that face, usually like stagnant water, reveal a gentle smile.
"I told you to be obedient."
Hilke pouted, turned her head away, clearly still angry, and had no intention of acknowledging him.
Sherlock shook his head helplessly, then his gaze returned to indifference as he looked at Barty, who had given up and collapsed on the ground.
"Lord Voldemort wants you to go back to him tonight."
Hearing the name, Barty glared at him with bloodshot eyes that looked like a beast's.
"Is the name of the Master something a mongrel like you can utter!"
The expression on Sherlock's face was indifferent. Without seeing him make a single move, Barty was sent flying into the air as if slapped by someone, and a few things that looked like teeth flew out of his mouth.
When he landed on the ground again, the right side of his face was swollen like a pig's head.
Barty lay weakly on the ground. His condition was terrible; if not for his chest still rising and falling, from his appearance alone, he was no different from a dead man.
Sherlock suddenly narrowed his eyes. Beneath Barty, a few blades of the crushed, emerald-green grass silently began to turn straight and rigid, defying logic.
Having secretly prepared the opening for a simple Transfiguration, he showed no outward signs of anything unusual, nor did he look at the bushes that were swaying for no reason, even though there was no wind.
"To get you, his most loyal subordinate, back by his side, Lord Voldemort really went to great lengths."
Sherlock did not approach Barty, who had completely lost the ability to move, but asked softly.
"I am very curious: what could possibly be the reason that your father, who has always presented himself as impartial, was willing to help you escape from that prison? If he really cared, he wouldn't have arrested you himself in the first place."
Barty did not respond, lying on the ground like a true corpse, with only the sound of heavy breathing.
Sherlock did not mind his silence and continued to ask the next question.
"I also really want to know, as a man as rigid as Old Barty, why he raised a son like you who would betray his own father for a villain? Or was it an issue on your mother's side?"
Hearing him finish this question, Barty suddenly roared.
"Shut your mouth, mongrel!"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his insults. Instead, a knowing smile appeared on his face.
"I can probably guess now. You had a harsh father and an indulgent mother; unfortunately, the final result of such a combination is often raising a scoundrel of a son."
Barty, as if his reverse scale had been touched, struggled to sit up from the ground to grab the wand he had dropped earlier.
But his injuries were severe, and after struggling for a long time, he couldn't even prop himself up with his elbows.
Sherlock watched him coldly.
"You respect your own mother, so why do you insult the mothers of others? Don't worry, I won't be like you, growing a dog's mouth that can only spout foul-smelling things and engage in impotent clamouring."
"But there are some principles your biological parents never told you that I must make clear. The reason humans are human, besides being able to think independently, is, more importantly, that humans have a bottom line called morality, while beasts do not."
"I have never believed in the story that beasts can be persuaded by grand principles. The only way to treat a beast is to cut flesh from their bodies until they kneel and beg for mercy, until they are in pain and despair, and finally drive the blade into their hearts, just like crushing a pest, wiping them from the world. This is the best way to treat a beast, and only in this way can those who have been harmed by these beasts find some meagre solace."
"I have never felt that my actions are particularly noble, and killing is not for the sake of grand and just principles like saving the Wizarding World, saving the weak, or saving the desperate. I feel aversion towards many people, but most of the time I control these feelings; after all, the world doesn't revolve around me. I can only represent my own principles."
"But when I truly want to kill someone, it is simply because I find that person disgusting, so disgusting that I cannot tolerate it, to the point where it is time for them to die."
"It is time for you to die, Barty Crouch Jr."
The moment Sherlock's last sentence fell, a pitch-black figure rushed out from the shadows of the bushes like an arrow!
He did not launch an attack on Sherlock, but instead threw himself onto Barty, rolling outward three times with him.
This distance was exactly ten metres away from Sherlock, clearly calculated in advance.
The Death Eater who had escaped earlier and now returned, after completing these actions, didn't even wait for his body to stop moving before waving his wand and hurriedly chanting an incantation.
"Apparition!"
The unsealed space distorted, encompassing both him and Barty.
However, what he did not notice was that the moment he threw himself onto Barty, countless blades of grass had turned into sharp steel knives, piercing into Barty's back and shredding his heart!
What he took away was merely a broken corpse that still retained a warm body temperature.
"Were you just talking a load of nonsense on purpose?" Hilke, sitting on the branch, asked with a frown.