"Go!" Alan, holding the long wooden box containing the dragon heartstring—now infused with Wild Lightning magic runes and shimmering with a silver-blue light—gently stroked Hog with his free hand.
When he Apparated again, he appeared in the Forbidden Forest. This wasn't the dense, claustrophobic heart of the woods, but a centaur camp filled with massive wooden huts and tents standing five or six meters tall. These structures were primitive yet exuded a savage beauty. They used trees, animal hides, and burlap to construct dwellings resembling yurts, though they were much taller than human houses, with doorways exceeding three meters in height.
The camp had grown significantly, taking on the appearance of a small village. Since the Dark Lord's downfall, various scattered tribes had regrouped under the call of the Centaur Elder. Counting those stationed and patrolling elsewhere, there were nearly a hundred centaurs in the area. This was the largest gathering point, serving as the town center and a hub for communication and trade for centaurs throughout the Forbidden Forest.
In many ways, Alan had helped establish this hub. For the past two years, he had been a primary trade partner. He exchanged goods from human society—salt, parchment, cloth, cooking utensils, ironware, tea, coffee, and tobacco—for a large quantity of magical beast furs and herbs. It was a primitive mode of exchange, but it worked. Alan had once considered helping them transition to a more "civilized" lifestyle, but the suggestion was rejected by the Elder and most of the tribe. they preferred to embrace nature and enjoyed their primitive environment. They were even unwilling to accept high-quality cotton or refined tools, choosing instead rough burlap and ironware made of simple, sturdy steel.
Alan felt somewhat helpless about this, occasionally feeling as though he were taking advantage of them. When dealing with such sincere and simple beings, he always showed his best intentions, but the centaurs were unconcerned with his worries. They accepted material aid and trade only to a certain limit, refusing to abandon their traditions. Often, they would even complain that Alan gave them too much in return. This counter-intuitive logic made Alan quite uncomfortable at first.
Currently, the camp was a hive of activity. Female centaurs were drying furs on fences. Their methods were superior to those in human society, especially for magical hides, as they knew how to better preserve the inherent magical power. Alan even entrusted them with processing hides he had collected from other parts of the world. Adult centaurs patrolled the periphery, while a few young centaurs chased each other on the wide dirt roads. Centaurs loved to gallop, so the paths were built with ample space and covered in soft, loose earth. In front of the nearby yurts, elderly centaurs stood or reclined, smoking hookahs or carving arrowheads with bone knives.
The camp exuded an aura of peace coexisting with the wild. As Alan passed, the centaurs nodded to him. He was the only wizard, besides Hagrid, allowed to freely enter the camp. He received such courtesy because he was a benefactor who had done a great deal for the tribes. Any other wizard would be lucky to be driven away by force rather than shot on sight.
The centaur community remained deeply hostile toward humans who sought to tame nature. Since 1811, when the International Confederation of Wizards determined that centaurs met the definition of "human," the tribes had felt insulted. They particularly loathed the Ministry's classification of them as having "near-human intelligence." In protest, they had demanded to be classified as "beasts," wishing to distance themselves from creatures like vampires, hags, and wizards.
The Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures still maintains a Centaur Liaison Office, but no centaur has ever used it. When the department learned of Alan's relationship with them, they had hoped he might help their officials establish contact. Alan had asked the centaurs for their opinion, but the reply was a firm no. They stated they would not rule out using force against any wizard who thought too highly of themselves. As for Hagrid, the centaurs simply didn't consider him human at all—a notion Alan found ridiculous, though Hagrid didn't mind.
Alan led Hog through the camp toward the center. Although there weren't hundreds of houses, the scale was impressive because each yurt was so large. Turning a corner, he arrived at the central square, where the Centaur Elder, Brandwaldden, was leading several young centaurs in training.
The training ground featured fences of varying heights. The young centaurs had to leap over these while sprinting at full speed, then fire arrows at targets provided by Alan. These enchanted targets displayed the hit score and power value of each shot. Originally, Alan thought the centaurs would resist such alchemy, but they had found they liked the immediate feedback.
At that moment, a centaur was leaping with agile grace, clearing one-meter barriers. Each time he cleared a fence, he quickly nocked an arrow and fired at a swinging target. These galloping archers didn't stop to check their hits; they simply rushed to the next obstacle. The barriers became progressively taller, with the final one nearing two meters—chest height for an adult centaur—an extreme challenge for any runner.
The centaur currently on the course maintained a blistering pace, clearing obstacle after obstacle. Every arrow hit the bullseye. He charged toward the final two-meter barrier, exerting all his strength to leap. His forelegs cleared it perfectly, but just as he was about to land, his hind legs clipped the top of the barrier.
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