Chapter 1

The elegant and pleasant piano music enveloped the entire hall like a spring of water, while well-dressed gentlemen and ladies gathered in small groups, chatting idly. They would occasionally take a glass of champagne from the waiter's tray or a delicate pastry from the luxurious long dining table. The form of these upper-class gatherings seemed to have remained unchanged since the emergence of the noble class, and the participants were all very satisfied with this established elegance.

Countess de Stroll maintained a gracious and polite smile, dutifully greeting the guests, even if it was just a brief chat. Those who came to this gathering were all from the same circle of interests, and maintaining at least a surface level of cordiality was very necessary.

After chatting with another equally well-dressed middle-aged lady about the current fashion trends in Paris and disdainfully commenting on the clothing styles in London, the Countess looked at a guest who, though dressed formally, was much shorter than the others. It was a young boy with noble black hair and delicate features that still retained a hint of childishness.

"Mr. Elwin, are you representing the Frost family again this time?" This was the standard tone a mature woman would use when speaking to a cute young boy, with a touch of the delight one feels when seeing a cute little animal.

"Uncle Fowood is busy with something, as you know, he's always very busy," Elwin responded appropriately.

The so-called "busy" actually meant he was partying with a group of friends and a dozen young women at the estate, and Fowood had to deal with at least four or five women, so he was indeed very busy.

"Having such an elder is indeed a cause for concern, isn't it?" the Countess said understandingly.

Elwin shrugged like an adult, indicating his helplessness.

After a few more pleasantries, the Countess's attention shifted. Elwin politely responded to the greetings from a few others and then stepped back, moving away from the crowd.

Though he was not tall, his gaze towards these upper-class people was as if he were looking down from a height.

These people considered themselves at the top of the country, enjoying the highest benefits and thinking of themselves as the elite of humanity, but in reality, they were no different from commoners. Their so-called nobility was like the peacock feathers a crow laboriously attaches to itself.

He felt extremely uncomfortable staying for even a second longer. Elwin turned and walked out of the living room, "Joel."

Joel Anderson, whose robust build made his suit bulge, stood at the door, not at all surprised that his young master had only stayed for five minutes. "Are you ready to leave, young master?"

Elwin nodded slightly.

This "upper-class" gathering was organized by the Strolls to create a charity fund, ostensibly for humanitarian aid in West Africa, but in reality, it was just a way to transfer wealth from one hand to the other to avoid high taxes, a practice so common that everyone tacitly understood it.

Elwin had come only because the Strolls had some acquaintance with his deceased parents. However, it had been ten years since the air disaster that claimed the lives of the Frosts, and this acquaintance had largely become a matter of formality.

Joel quickly drove the car over, and Elwin got in. The soft leather seats provided some relaxation. After resting for a moment, he opened a hidden compartment in the car seat and took out a small silver revolver.

The weapon looked more like a piece of art, delicate and light, with a handle adorned with light gold patterns, suitable for women and children to use.

Feeling the cold touch of the gun, Elwin felt a hint of restlessness.

He was twelve years old but had a mind and psychological resilience far beyond his age. His memory even extended to before his birth in this world. In his understanding, he originally lived several decades later, not in the early 1990s.

It seemed that the soul traveling back in time was a common occurrence, and knowing what would happen twenty years in advance seemed like a huge advantage. Even without any preparation and knowing nothing about Britain at this time, he could have bought stocks of companies that would be well-known twenty years later and gained enormous wealth.

However, Elwin soon discovered that he couldn't find any of those well-known companies from the future. The Earth in his memory and the Earth he was in, though similar in broad strokes, were completely different in detail. For example, the name of the leader who started a world war several decades ago was actually Mengsk...

Elwin felt a bit disoriented. Was he really a reborn soul? Or was this memory just a delusion from hysteria? But regardless, the fact that he had complete cognitive abilities from birth was enough to颠覆现代脑科医学。

当然，与其他奇异之处相比，这一点并不算什么……

突然，乔尔踩下了刹车，车身震动，像是撞到了什么东西。埃爾文猝不及防，稳住身形，向前看去，发现一个衣着破烂、仿佛流浪汉的身影蜷缩在车前。

一场突如其来的交通事故。

“该死，他怎么突然冒出来，”乔尔骂了一句，他打开车门下车，“你还好吗，伙计？我的速度应该并不是很快……”

他们此时已经出了伦敦城，离弗罗斯特家族的庄园已经很近了，附近只有两盏昏暗的路灯。虽然是自家地盘，但埃爾文却没有丝毫的安全感，他在阴影中发现了另一个身影，并本能地察觉到危险气息。

但乔尔一无所知，依然向那个倒地的人走去，埃爾文甚至来不及提醒他。

“Avada Kedavra。”一个毫无感情的声音机械地念出了一段音节。

惨绿色的光芒飞过，乔尔的身体僵住了，接着像一块原木般重重摔倒在地，发出沉闷的声响，他的体格和肌肉没能发挥任何作用。

埃爾文内心猛地一沉，乔尔大概率是没救了，但现在不适合为他哀悼。这似乎是一场有预谋的袭击，对方使用的像是激光武器，这简直不可思议，毕竟现在可是二十世纪九十年代。

好在他也不是手无寸铁。

埃爾文全身的肌肉都紧绷起来，屏住呼吸，他设想过受到致命威胁时自己该如何应对。他伏下身子，悄悄打开车门，然后敏捷地一骨碌滚下车，借助车体掩藏自己的身形。这车虽然有些防弹能力，但在面对对方的激光武器时无异于纸糊的棺材。

然而，出乎埃爾文预料的是，袭击者径直走过了轿车，来到了那个被撞倒在地的流浪汉身旁。

自己似乎不是目标？埃爾文稍稍一愣。

借助昏暗的路灯光，他隐约能看到对方的侧脸，这是一个面目阴沉的中年男人，穿着一身与二十世纪格格不入的怪异长袍，全身上下看不出有什么能发射激光的东西，除了手中的一根……细木棍？

“啊，可怜的迪普，”袭击者一脚踩在了流浪汉的脸上，“作为一个巫师，你竟然会被麻瓜的器具所伤，难道说这些年来像老鼠一样东躲西藏让你连最基本的麻瓜回避咒都忘了？”

迪普剧烈地咳嗽着，“我没力气了，随便你吧，马杜克，”他喘着气，虚弱得连起身都做不到，“能有你这样忠诚的走狗，黑魔王在地狱里应该会感到很欣慰吧。”

“你早该去死了，即便已经过了十一年，你的罪行也不会被遗忘。”马杜克的语调极其冷酷，他踩在迪普脸上的脚又加了几分力气，手中的短棍上又开始冒出惨绿色的光芒。“你就是纯血的耻辱。”

“纯血？”迪普发出一声嗤笑，“黑魔王的部下都是纯血，但其中大部分都是庸才，更不乏惊人的蠢货，古老的血脉流传至今只剩下这些歪瓜裂枣，你不觉得好笑吗？”

他接着又发出了一声痛呼，显然马杜克给了他狠狠的一击，能听到清晰的骨裂声。

那根危险的短棍指向迪普，邪恶的绿色光芒在其尖端闪耀，但马杜克突然停了下来，转过身，鹰隼般的目光瞬间锁定了埃爾文。这个默不作声的观众并不安分，他此时以车门为掩体，摆出并不很标准的掩体射击姿势，将手枪的准星对准了前者的脑袋。

但下一刻，内嵌了钢板的车门便像薄脆饼干般四分五裂，“一个小崽子，”马杜克轻声说道，虽然被枪口指着，但他没有丝毫的慌乱神色。

埃爾文的手心渗出了汗水，但他依然维持着瞄准的姿势，但并没有扣动扳机。

“屏蔽麻瓜咒对这孩子没有用，他跟我们是同类！”瘫在地上的迪普突然大喊道，“他身上肯定有踪丝，你杀了他就会暴露在魔法部的追踪下！”

马杜克停顿了一下，似乎确实迟疑了，但他下一刻的动作却是将手中的短棍再次指向迪普，“Crucio”，这次是不同的音节，后者立刻痛苦地呻吟起来，像是在接受某种酷刑，干瘦的身躯像蠕虫般扭动，过了一会儿之后就没了声息。

“吵闹的蠢货。”一声轻蔑的冷哼。

马杜克的目光一直没有离开埃爾文，他似乎有些犹豫了，迪普的话产生了效果。而男孩此时还紧握着那亮银色的手枪，掌心渗出了汗水。

那根危险的短棍再度举起，对准了埃爾文的额头，“你还不肯放下这玩具？指望它保护你？”马杜克的语气仿佛他是一位神灵，“那就让我来给你这个泥巴种上第一课，麻瓜的武器是不可能伤害到巫师的，Oblivi——”

又是一个新的诡异音节，等他念完之后显然不会有好事发生，因此埃爾文毫不犹豫地按下了扳机。

没有火药爆炸产生的巨响，而是短促尖利的破空声。

音节戛然而止，马杜克的额头正中喷射出鲜血，他的眼中有一丝难以置信，但生命已经在此定格，无法再有其他的情绪。

他的身躯摇晃了几下，接着直挺挺地仰面倒下。

埃爾文此时就像落水者再度浮出水面，终于可以再度畅快地呼吸。毫无疑问，刚才那是他这一生距离死亡最近的一次。万幸的是，对方虽然有着非常强大的能力，但并没有摆脱人类本身的桎梏，大脑依然是要害。

稍作迟疑，他立刻将枪口接连对准马杜克的心脏和右手腕，随着两声尖利的呼啸，血液再度飞溅。

这下就算有什么类似巫妖王的存在让马杜克突然活过来，他也不可能再对埃爾文造成什么威胁了。

那根危险的短棍还在马杜克的手中，埃爾文犹豫了一下并没有去触碰。他环顾四周，一片寂静，毕竟这里算是弗罗斯特家族的私人土地，更何况这么晚了，基本不会再有人前来。

现场需要处理一下，这里发生的事情显然不适合通知伦敦警察局。埃爾文缓步走到乔尔身边，不出所料，他这个保镖面色惨白，毫无生气，身体已经凉透了。

愿他信仰的上帝能保佑他的灵魂。

埃爾文当然搬不动足足有两百二十四磅重的乔尔，但他并不需要动用自己还未发育完全的肌肉。乔尔的身躯缓缓浮空，就像有一只无形的手将他托起，然后被放在了车内的驾驶座上。

无中生有地赋予物体动能，从某种层面来说，埃爾文的能力可不比那能夺取人生命的绿色光线差。

马杜克没有乔尔的待遇，他的尸体被非常简单粗暴地塞进了后备箱。最后是那个流浪汉一般的迪普，埃爾文仔细检查了一下，这人伤痕累累，双臂呈现出一个非常不自然的角度，显然是骨折了。埃爾文用脚踢了踢他，发现对方还有呼吸，只是已经昏厥，一时半会儿死不了。而有意思的是，他手里也握着一根短棍，

考虑到这人在客观上确实分散了马杜克的注意力，并且似乎并不是什么坏人，埃爾文决定让他活下去。

流浪汉的身躯缓缓浮空，被放入已经没了车门的后座。零食箱里还有几块巧克力，埃爾文拿了一块，撕开包装，咬了一大口。

刚才那几枪可是很消耗精力的，要赋予一颗子弹能够杀人的速度并不是件轻松的事情。

一边嚼着巧克力，一边向庄园走去，在他身后那重达数吨的轿车被一只无形的手缓缓推动，跟随在他身后，宛如一只驮兽。