Chapter 92: Chapter 92: The Hunt Begins

Arthur materialized inside Ravenscar’s estate under the cover of his invisibility cloak. He’d come to study his target’s patterns, to find the perfect moment to implement justice.

But something was wrong.

The very air felt different—charged with anxiety instead of the usual controlled menace. Guards patrolled with jerky, nervous movements rather than their customary predatory grace. Servants scurried through corridors with downcast eyes, their whispered conversations dying the moment footsteps approached.

It took less than ten minutes of searching to confirm his growing suspicion. Lord Ravenscar was gone.

In the wine cellar, Arthur found the head butler cataloging bottles with hands that trembled like autumn leaves. A gentle surface probe of the man’s mind revealed the truth.

Three days ago, immediately after news of Graves’s death reached the estate, Ravenscar had departed with minimal luggage and maximum security. No one knew where he’d gone.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. The deaths of Whitmore and Graves had spooked Ravenscar.

Greycairn’s estate told the same story. The Marquess had vanished just as completely, leaving behind only nervous staff and unanswered questions. Arthur’s mental probe of the head groundskeeper revealed a similar pattern—sudden departure, tight security, no forwarding information.

Ashridge’s London townhouse was equally empty. The Earl had disappeared like smoke, taking only essential items and his most trusted bodyguards.

All three had fled within hours of each other.

Back home, Arthur understood that he had taken these three lords too lightly. They hadn’t survived decades in the criminal underworld through luck or brutality alone – they possessed the intelligence and paranoia necessary to recognize threats before they became fatal.

They’d somehow connected the dots between the military assassinations and taken precautions to ensure their safety. Smart. Unfortunately for them, not smart enough.

For any other wizard, finding three missing lords would have been nearly impossible. Three powerful men with unlimited resources could vanish into a dozen countries, protected by layers of false identities and criminal networks spanning continents.

Unfortunately for them, they were dealing with someone who possessed capabilities beyond ordinary wizards—a wizard who was also a sorcerer proficient in the mystic arts.

Arthur pulled out three items he’d acquired during his earlier infiltrations—a monogrammed letter opener from Ravenscar’s desk, a vintage cufflink from Greycairn’s dresser, and an antique fountain pen from Ashridge’s collection. Personal items that had been in close contact with their owners.

If the locating spell could find Odin himself when Doctor Strange needed to locate him for Thor and Loki, then tracking three human lords would be child’s play.

Arthur began with Ravenscar’s letter opener, weaving the complex mystical patterns required for long-distance location magic. Soon he had the coordinates crystallizing in his mind. With one portal, he could reach wherever Ravenscar had hidden himself.

However, before doing that, Arthur decided to check where the other two lords were.

Greycairn’s cufflink produced the same result. Same coordinates.

Ashridge’s fountain pen confirmed what Arthur already suspected. All three lords had fled to the same sanctuary.

Arthur opened a portal and stepped through, emerging on a windswept cliff overlooking the target location. Their stronghold was impressive—a modern fortress built into the island’s natural rock formations, bristling with guard towers, weapon emplacements, and surveillance equipment.

This wasn’t some hastily assembled hideout. This was a prepared bolt-hole, designed and constructed over years for exactly this kind of emergency.

Arthur had no way to sneak inside the place as he could not access it through the Mirror Dimension as the walls were sealed. Even after waiting around for some time, he saw nobody coming outside or going inside. He couldn’t use that opportunity to sneak in either.

He frowned. It looked like he’d have to barge in using the old-fashioned brute force approach.

Before attempting that, Arthur decided to scout the place thoroughly, just to be careful.

He spent the next hour circling the island’s perimeter, mapping every defense. What he discovered earned grudging respect for his opponents’ thoroughness.

The fortress wasn’t just physically impregnable, it was also magically warded. These Lords had partnered with wizards.

Arthur remembered glimpses from the lords’ memories, brief images of hooded figures speaking in accented English. At the time, he’d dismissed them as minor details. Now those fragments took on new significance.

The three lords had allies in the wizarding world. Dark wizards who operated outside the Covenant’s restrictions.

Arthur’s smile turned predatory as he completed his reconnaissance. The fortress was a genuine challenge—professionally defended, magically protected, and staffed by soldiers who knew their business. With backing from Hydra, the Hand, and the Ten Rings, there would undoubtedly be more surprises waiting inside.

It was going to be a real fight and Arthur was excited to begin.

—

Deep within the fortress, in a secure conference room lined with both electronic countermeasures and magical protections, three of Britain’s most powerful criminal lords sat around a polished oak table. The atmosphere was thick with tension and barely controlled frustration.

Lord Ashridge slammed his crystal tumbler onto the polished table, amber whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “This is intolerable! We’ve been cowering in this concrete tomb for three days while some phantom assassin runs free. Where is the movement? Where is the evidence that this mysterious enemy is even targeting us?”

“Your impatience is noted, Ashridge, but hardly helpful,” the Marquess of Ravenscar replied with forced patience. “Every piece of evidence points to us as the intended targets.”

Ashridge’s hand tightened around his brandy snifter. “Then who is this enemy of ours? I despise this running and hiding. It should be the other way around—they should be fleeing from us.”

Lord Greycairn nodded agreement. “I concur entirely. But I must ask again—are we absolutely certain that the disorientation and memory gaps we experienced were the result of wizard intervention and not side effects of the medications we’ve been taking?”

A figure in a deep hood spoke from the shadows at the table’s far end, his American accent cutting through the room’s tension like a blade. “I’ve confirmed it beyond doubt, gentlemen. A wizard invaded your minds. I have conducted thorough examinations and double-checked my findings.”

Greycairn leaned forward, his aristocratic features sharp with concentration. “I appreciate the confirmation, North, but what confounds me is the restraint our enemy has shown. If this wizard possessed the skill to reach us undetected in our own homes, why are we still breathing? Does this suggest his enmity was with Whitmore and Graves specifically, not us? If so, aren’t we wasting valuable time cowering here?”

“A reasonable concern,” Ashridge agreed. “Though why he would need to read the memories of all three of us still confuses me considerably.”

Ravenscar drummed his fingers against the table. “I believe the answer lies in the Covenant. Our mysterious enemy fears magical law enforcement—it’s the only explanation for such elaborate methodology. He went to extraordinary lengths to eliminate even Whitmore and Graves through mundane means rather than simple magical assassination. Wouldn’t you agree, North?”

The hooded wizard nodded slowly. “Absolutely. Standard protocol would be pathetically simple—Apparate within range, cast the Killing Curse, vanish before anyone can react. Efficient and untraceable.”

“Which explains why half the world’s Aurors are hunting you,” Greycairn observed with acidic amusement. “Your disregard for the Covenant has made you quite popular among law enforcement.”

North’s chuckle held darkness that would have chilled lesser men. “And yet, despite their best efforts, they remain laughably ignorant of my whereabouts. Their incompetence borders on the insulting.”

“So why is this other wizard being so cautious?” Ashridge pressed. “Such elaborate schemes seem almost… timid.”

“Unknown,” North admitted. “Given the skill demonstrated in infiltrating your estates and eliminating the military targets, I can confirm he possesses more than sufficient power to evade Auror pursuit. His restraint is… puzzling.”

Ravenscar smiled coldly. “Perhaps he has reasons we cannot perceive. But his caution has proven advantageous for us—it allowed us to detect the threat and retreat to this sanctuary. Now we simply identify our enemy and eliminate him. Or better yet, expose his identity and let the wizarding authorities handle him for murdering one of us.”

“Yes, and we shouldn’t need to wait much longer,” Greycairn said with satisfaction. “Our list of common enemies is remarkably short, given how thoroughly we’ve eliminated loose ends over the years. I’ve already identified a primary suspect.”

Ashridge raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Who?”

“Do you recall Hayes?”

Ashridge paused, searching his memory. “The investor? The one who refused our partnership offers?”

“Precisely. His child survived the operation—the boy who subsequently lived under MI6 protection. It appears, Ravenscar, that your cleanup efforts were somewhat… incomplete.”

Ravenscar’s expression darkened. “I clearly remember dispatching operatives and receiving confirmation of the target’s elimination. Either my people misunderstood their orders, or they proved catastrophically incompetent. I shall address this oversight personally once our current crisis is resolved.”

“See that you do,” Ashridge said curtly, his tone carrying the weight of shared criminal authority. “But returning to the matter at hand—you suspect this child is a wizard? He would be seventeen or eighteen by now. North, are adolescent wizards capable of such sophisticated operations?”

North shook his head dismissively. “Absolutely not. Particularly in this region. The education at their wizarding school is demonstrably substandard. Which is why I find your suspicions highly unlikely.”

“Which leads to an alternative theory,” Greycairn continued thoughtfully. “Perhaps the boy himself isn’t the threat, but he’s acquired a powerful backer – a powerful wizard. The uncertainty is precisely why I haven’t acted on this suspicion. I require concrete evidence before taking measures. My people are currently gathering intelligence, and once we have proof, we can direct the appropriate authorities to handle him.”

“A sound strategy,” Ashridge agreed, though his tone suggested lingering frustration. “But are we truly secure until then? I confess, I don’t entirely trust these accommodations. I would feel considerably safer in one of my own facilities.”

Ravenscar’s voice carried supreme confidence. “Your concerns are groundless. This island exists on no official charts, and the fortress itself is constructed from military-grade materials that could withstand a direct missile strike. My security personnel are the finest money can recruit, equipped with weapons that could stop a small army. Nobody is penetrating this facility.”

The moment those words left his lips, alarms began shrieking throughout the complex.

Red warning lights bathed the conference room in pulsing crimson as the fortress’s sophisticated security systems detected an impossible breach.

All four men froze, the irony of Ravenscar’s timing not lost on any of them.

“Well,” Greycairn said dryly, “I believe our enemy has found us.”

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