HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Around him, more than twenty fully armed centaur warriors were lined up in a fan shape, their sharp arrowheads gleaming coldly in the firelight.

"Unfortunately, it's me again!"

Sagras nodded slightly, his tone calm. "It seems the glittering stars have once again forgotten to give you the revelation to avoid me."

The centaur elder's mane bristled: "Last time, you harmed our people and robbed us of our treasure in the Forbidden Forest, and now you've kidnapped us..."

“Watch your words,” Sagres interjected calmly. “Last time, we rescued your trapped people and received a fair reward. But this time…”

His gaze swept over the three bound centaurs, and his tone turned cold. "They are several offenders we caught on the spot who were sneaking around, eavesdropping on conversations, and even attempting to attack us."

Before she could finish speaking, Nightingale waved her wand at the opportune moment. A parchment list filled with writing floated steadily to the centaur elder. The elder suppressed his anger, grabbed it, and his rough fingers trembled slightly.

"What is this?" he demanded gruffly, his gaze sweeping over the densely packed items on the list.

“Your people have offended us, so we must compensate you!” Sargeras said calmly. “If you are short of funds and do not have enough Galleons, you can also compensate us with equivalent magical materials or items.”

The white-maned horseman's face grew increasingly furious, and the muscles in his face began to tremble.

"Enough!" he roared, his tail thrashing back and forth nervously. "The centaurs will never accept any insulting blackmail!"

His roar echoed through the oak forest, causing the torchlight to flicker.

But Sagres didn't even raise an eyebrow; he simply stared indifferently at the angry elder, as if he were looking at a wooden stake.

"is it?"

He asked calmly.

Nightingale stood expressionless beside him, her long, silvery hair fluttering in the wind. Red Falcon's palms were sweaty, and the tip of his wand gleamed faintly.

All the horsemen instinctively took a half step back.

Chapter 151 Centaur Leader

Just then, a deeper, more authoritative voice came from the depths of the tribe, carrying a suppressed calm:

"That's enough, Kakus."

The crowd parted automatically to make way. An extremely imposing male centaur slowly stepped out.

His fur was a deep chestnut color, like aged oak, his muscles were muscular, his mane was thick and glossy, and he wore a forehead ring inlaid with a dark silver star stone.

His eyes were sharp and steady, yet at this moment they concealed a deep weariness and a resigned helplessness. He was Trom, the current male chief of this tribe.

He first gave the three bound centaurs a stern look, a look that made them lower their heads in shame.

Then, his gaze fell upon Sagrais, his expression incredibly complex. He knew all too well the terrifying power and ruthless methods possessed by this seemingly calm wizard.

The unpleasant "rescue" and "reward" from the last incident had already left a deep shadow in the minds of some tribal members.

Stars? Trom smiled bitterly to himself. Stars might indeed offer guidance, but they couldn't always decipher their true meaning.

Moreover, he understood even more clearly how impulsive and foolish some of his people were, relying on their strong physiques and astrological abilities to believe that all life could become prey under their spears.

But if they were truly that powerful, how could they have been trapped deep in the forest for so long, with only this one bloodline remaining?

But he was powerless to do anything about it. The wizards' near-extinction hunt three hundred years ago had not been able to cleanse the arrogance in their bones. How could he possibly do it overnight?

Grom's gaze finally fell on the parchment list in Nightingale's hand.

“The three of you,” his voice was low and steady, devoid of Kakus’s anger, only a heavy sense of compromise remained, “What happened tonight was our fault; it was my people who offended us first.”

Elder Kakus looked sharply at the chieftain, as if he wanted to say something, but a stern look from Grom silenced him. The tribe was deathly silent, broken only by the crackling of the torches.

"Even the stars have their dark and uncertain times."

Trom's voice carried a hint of bitterness, as if he were looking for a respectable way to justify the entire tribe's submission: "They failed to grasp the true meaning, acted on their own, and committed a grave mistake."

He paused, as if making a difficult decision, "Your demand... for compensation. We accept it."

He raised his head, looked directly into Sagres's unfathomable eyes, and said, word by word:

"Please feel free to choose any items from the tribe's treasury. Anything we have, and anything you like."

He lowered his proud head slightly, offering no angry resistance or futile arguments, but simply accepting his defeat with a clear and calm mind.

Sagres looked at his opponent with an expressionless face, showing neither the smugness of victory nor the slightest pity.

After a moment, he slowly spoke, his voice still calm:

“A wise choice.” He turned to Nightingale. “Velise, go and pick out what you need.”

Then he added casually, "As for the venom of the eight-eyed giant spider... we'll go get some fresh venom later."

Nightingale nodded, put away her wand, and strode into the depths of the centaur tribe, with Red Falcon following her with a curious expression.

Sagrais's gaze returned to Trom, his deep eyes seemingly able to penetrate the man's strong physique and look straight into the depths of his soul.

Trom straightened his back, meeting the silent scrutiny, but the weariness in his eyes was almost overflowing, yet he was forcibly suppressed by a sense of responsibility as a leader.

“Trrom,” Sagrais’s voice broke the silence, less of his usual aloofness, “you are a smart man. More so than most proud centaurs confined to the forest, you understand reality and weigh the pros and cons.”

Trom's eyes flickered slightly; he neither admitted nor denied it.

But Sagrais's words were like a cold knife, precisely dissecting the predicament of their tribe.

“Staying in isolation and relying on hunting and the vague guidance of the stars is not a long-term solution.”

Sagres continued, his gaze sweeping over the simple huts and the wary yet bewildered faces of the horsemen, “The resources of the forest are not inexhaustible, and the eyes of the outside world have never truly left this land.”

What are you trying to say?

“I would like to say that perhaps you should consider establishing a new path, a path for communication with the outside world.”

Trom's brow furrowed deeply, revealing a hint of instinctive resistance and barely perceptible suspicion.

"comminicate?"

With those greedy and cunning wizards?

Sagres seemed to see through his doubts and said calmly, "We can start with the most basic things, such as exchanging items."

He gestured in the direction the nightingale had disappeared: "This ancient forest where you live contains many rare treasures that are scarce in the outside world—rare herbs, minerals, materials for certain magical creatures... just like the things in your vaults. And the outside world has what you need: better tools, salt and iron that are difficult to produce yourself, fabrics to withstand the cold, and even certain knowledge."

Trom's breathing seemed to pause for a moment.

The scene that Sagres depicted vaguely overlapped with a vague idea deep within his mind.

The tribe is indeed degenerating; tools are becoming increasingly rudimentary, some skills are being lost, and the harsh winters are becoming more and more unbearable...

But he never dared to clarify the idea, let alone put it into action.

“A controlled, small-scale trading point,” Sagles suggested, sounding almost seductive, “controlled by you, or someone you trust.”

His gaze swept over the three bound centaurs, his words carrying a hidden meaning. "Don't worry, it's just an exchange of equal value. And you should understand, I know your 'value' better than most humans do."

Trom's heart pounded heavily in his chest.

The proposal is like poison, and also like an antidote.

He looked into Sagres’s deep, pool-like eyes, trying to discern the outline of the trap, but saw only an unfathomable calm.

Will it perish in isolation, or will it grasp this thorny vine that may lead to new life?

He remained silent, and time slowly passed amidst the crackling of the torches.

Finally, he raised his head, and the weariness in his eyes was replaced by an extremely complex light.

“Your Excellency,” he avoided the shaman’s all-seeing eyes, his gaze fixed on the burning flames as if drawing strength from them, “contact with the outside world… especially with the shaman, would be a devastating blow to the tribe.”

He took a deep breath, his chest heaving violently, his strong muscles tensing and relaxing.

“The risk… I see it; it’s enormous enough to devour us. But what you’re saying is the other side…”

He uttered the words with difficulty, “The hardship of survival, the loss of skills, the torment of the cold winter... these shadows have shrouded us for far too long. The light of the stars cannot illuminate every corner, much less fill the stomachs of our people.”

Elder Kakus let out a suppressed growl, but Trom raised his hand to stop him.

The leader's gaze swept over the faces around him, some shocked, some bewildered, and some harboring anger, before finally settling on Sagres's expressionless face.

“For the sake of the tribe’s survival, I’m willing to take this first step. As you said, let’s start small, with barter.” He swallowed hard. “But the only person I can be with is you. At least in the beginning, this will be a secret between us.”

Sagrais listened quietly, his face remaining expressionless. Only after Trom finished speaking did he nod slightly.

"Regarding the location, I will choose a place that is 'safe' for both sides. As for manpower..."

He glanced at the group of centaurs behind the other man, their expressions varied, and couldn't help but frown slightly. "I don't like arrogant fools. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Don't worry, I will personally get involved in this matter."

The two quickly agreed on some details, and Trom's tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

Chapter 152 Eight-Eyed Giant Spider

Just then, the nightingale and the kestrel emerged from the depths of the tribe.

The nightingale held several faintly glowing crystal bottles in her hands, her expression as aloof as ever. The kestrel followed behind her, its face beaming with excitement at having witnessed such a sight.

The two walked up to Sagrais and nodded to him. Sagrais's gaze lingered on the crystal bottle in her hand for a moment before he nodded slightly.

"Consider these things as compensation for the offense," he said calmly.

A flicker of heartache crossed Trom's eyes, but it was quickly concealed.

“Well then,” Sagres said, turning his gaze toward the depths of the forest, “we still need to retrieve some ‘fresh’ venom from the eight-eyed giant spider. Chief Trom, could you point us in the right direction? Preferably a ‘quick’ route.”

“The eight-eyed giant spider is very dangerous, I can…” Trom’s gaze swept among the warriors of his tribe, as if he was considering whether to send a warrior to lead the way.

“No need,” Sagres interrupted him directly, his tone calm. “You just need to point out the direction and describe the most obvious path features. We don’t need a guide.”

The centaur leader remained silent for a moment, then finally pointed into the depths of the dark forest.

“Follow this ancient path covered in vines eastward until you see three strangler figs intertwined together. Turn right at the largest hollow at their roots and descend into the valley…that’s where the most nests are.”

Sagres nodded, and the three of them turned and left.

"Be careful... their eyes are everywhere, and their fangs are as fast as lightning."

Trom gave a reminder to the three of them as they walked away.