Sagres listened, his expression unchanged.

The wand in his hand remained steadily aimed at Aragog, the red glow at its tip unwavering.

"A touching story. But it doesn't change the fact that you and your offspring built this mountain of corpses with your venomous fangs. Nor does it change the fact that they attacked me."

Aragog's massive body shrank back. "Survival… Wizard. The law of the forest… the strong prey on the weak."

He offered a feeble defense, his voice growing weaker. "Centaurs… they see us as prey… conflict… unavoidable. As for the offense against you… I apologize… greedy offspring… they smelled the scent of powerful magic…"

"I like the sound of 'the strong prey on the weak,'" Sagres cut him off, his tone calm and indifferent. "Heh~ It means I don't need to justify anything I've done tonight, right?"

He took a step forward, the red glow of his wand reflecting against Aragog's weathered carapace.

"Hand over the venom. All of it," Sagres said coldly. "Don't test my patience, old spider. I can sense your life force is nearly spent—but I don't mind finishing you off myself and extracting what I need from your corpse."

The cave fell into a heavy silence.

Humiliation and fear flickered in Aragog's cloudy eyes, eventually giving way to despair.

He knew this Wizard wasn't bluffing—there was a ruthlessness in those eyes far more terrifying than any predator.

Aragog let out a low, ragged hiss, as if the sound had been dragged from deep within his decaying chest.

His massive abdomen twitched violently, and a thick venomous stinger slowly extended, its tip gleaming with a cold, dark sheen.

Thick, inky venom seeped from the stinger's tip, releasing a pungent, fishy stench. Each drop hung in the air on a viscous thread before falling.

Nightingale immediately stepped forward, producing a specially crafted crystal vial etched with countless runes along its inner walls. With precise wandwork, she carefully guided the venom into the vial.

Throughout the process, Sagres's wand remained firmly trained on Aragog's head, while Kestrel stood guard, nervously watching their surroundings.

When the last drop of precious venom had been collected, Nightingale sealed the vial, and a faint magical glow shimmered inside—clearly maintaining the venom's potency and activity.

Only then did Sagres slowly lower his wand, though the oppressive atmosphere lingered.

He stepped in front of the massive Aragog. Despite the towering size difference, his cold, piercing gaze made the ancient spider tremble to its very core.

"For Hagrid's pathetic kindness, and for this 'gift' you've provided," Sagres said, his tone detached and calm, "I will spare your life."

He leaned forward slightly. A crackling blue arc burst from his wand's tip and struck Aragog's wrinkled carapace, searing a charred brand into it with a sharp sizzle and the acrid stench of burning chitin.

"But you'd better control your offspring," Sagres continued coldly. "If any of your 'descendants' dare to treat my students, my companions, or myself as prey…"

He paused, locking eyes with Aragog.

"I will return. And when I do, this forest will know no hissing of Acromantula—only eternal silence. Do you understand?"

Aragog's massive body trembled violently with fear, the burning pain on his carapace a sharp reminder of the threat hanging over him.

"U-Understand! Powerful Wizard! I… I swear on my remaining life… I will restrain them!"

Sagres nodded.

"Very good." He put away his wand, no longer sparing the aging giant spider a glance. "Let's go."

The three of them retraced their path through the blood-soaked corridor, leaving behind only Aragog's ragged breathing and the faint hissing of his trembling young in the shadows.

Kestrel couldn't help but glance back. Aragog's hunched, massive form looked particularly pitiful in the darkness, and his cloudy compound eyes still seemed to hold a lingering fondness for Hagrid.

Her heart softened, and she asked softly, "Are we… He looked kind of… kind of…"

Nightingale's steps faltered slightly, though she didn't turn around.

Sagres, however, came to a full stop and turned to face Kestrel. His calm gaze made the young witch instinctively shrink back.

"Pitiful?"

His voice was flat and even. "If it had been any other wizard tonight, that 'pitiful' old spider wouldn't have hesitated to order his brood to tear them apart. Among those piles of bones you saw, there could've been curious Hogsmeade villagers… or patrolling Aurors."

Kestrel's face turned pale in an instant.

Nightingale finally turned as well, moonlight filtering through the cracks in the cave ceiling and illuminating her profile.

"Iresa, you must understand—his only friend is Hagrid. All other humans… to him…"

She pointed her wand at a few fresh skeletons on the ground. "Are just food."

Sagres waved his wand lightly. A flash of silver light tore through the thick spiderwebs on the cave wall, revealing a horrifying sight behind them.

Thousands of spider eggs were densely packed in webbed pouches, each the size of a pumpkin. Inside the translucent shells, wriggling young spiders could be seen.

"Acromantula have no natural predators in the Forbidden Forest," Sagres said as he walked. "Hagrid has kept him here for only a few decades, and their numbers have already reached the tens of thousands. And the Ministry of Magic turns a blind eye to this…"

He gave a cold, expressionless smile. "It won't be long before these spiders walk out of the Forbidden Forest and start attacking the residents of Hogsmeade Village."

Kestrel suddenly remembered something, her voice trembling. "But… how could Headmaster Dumbledore allow…"

"Albus Dumbledore," Sagres interrupted, his voice low and steady, "sometimes misplaces his kindness."

Nightingale gently placed a hand on Kestrel's trembling shoulder. "Let's go. The venom we gathered tonight, once brewed into a healing potion, can save many lives."

As the three of them left the cave, Kestrel glanced back one last time.

Under the moonlight, Aragog was slowly crawling back toward his cocoon. His cloudy compound eyes no longer showed warmth—only the cold, detached gaze of a beast.

In that moment, she understood the law of the Forbidden Forest.

Suppressing all her sympathy, Kestrel's body finally stopped trembling.

…

The three retraced their steps, the oppressive darkness of the Forbidden Forest gradually receding. Nightingale's wand lit the path ahead, and the twisted shadows of the trees no longer looked so menacing in the light.

"Watch your step," Nightingale said, pointing forward. "That's a patch of leech vines."

Kestrel looked down and saw a cluster of dark red vines creeping along the ground like blood vessels, slowly writhing at a pace almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

Sagres waved his hand casually, and a pale fire raven soared ahead. The vines recoiled instantly, shrinking away. These things were common throughout the Forbidden Forest.

Kestrel's eyes lit up with curiosity, and she crouched down. "Can I collect some samples?" she asked with interest. "Professor Sprout said the sap from leech vines can be used to make tranquilizers and also for drawing magic circles."

Sagres nodded. "Make it quick."

He looked up at the sky, obscured by the thick canopy. "Let's try to leave before dawn."

Kestrel immediately began cutting and collecting samples with enthusiasm.

"I heard Nicolas Flamel returned to Beauxbatons recently?" Sagres asked casually.

"Yes," Nightingale replied, thinking for a moment. "He seems to be discussing the donation of his legacy with Madame Maxime."

"It seems they've finally decided to stop using the Philosopher's Stone to extend their lives," Sagres said with some emotion. "After more than six hundred years, even a long life must eventually come to an end."

Kestrel looked a bit puzzled. While using a Cutting Charm to divide the vines, she turned to them and asked, "But why? Did their Philosopher's Stone stop working?"

"It's not the Philosopher's Stone," Sagres replied. "It's them. I've seen him… at the end of his life."

Nightingale shook her head. "Their sense of taste is gone, their sense of touch has deteriorated; their bodies are broken and barely holding together."

"Oh." Kestrel placed a small bundle of vines into her satchel and casually said, "Do you think he might just be faking his death to escape—and then start over with a new body and a new identity?"

"!!!"

Sagres and Nightingale were both stunned. They exchanged a look, but said nothing.

~~~~~~~

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