— — — — — —

The old wizard who had spoken earlier swept his gaze across the room. Every single person present had a strange gleam in their eyes, yet not one of them answered his question.

It immediately gave him a headache. The Sun Chasers were a strange organization. Tight-knit in some ways, loose in others. Every wizard qualified to join had undergone years of scrutiny. They evaluated not only talent and ability, but ambition as well. No matter how gifted someone was, if they lacked ambition, they were useless to the organization.

After all, they all shared the same goal: To fully uncover the secrets hidden within the Aztec ruins.

But beyond that, each person had their own motives.

Some simply loved uncovering mysteries.

Some sought immortality.

Some wanted their family lines to prosper forever.

Others desired greater power.

And on top of that, every single member was an extraordinary figure of their generation, overflowing with personality and ego. None of them truly respected one another.

If not for that person keeping everyone in check, they probably would have started fighting among themselves long before the ruins had been fully researched.

Which was exactly why the old man’s first reaction hadn’t been to assume someone was framing them. Instead, he immediately suspected the people sitting right in front of him.

Because every one of them had prior offenses.

In the past, many members had secretly leaked research results to help develop their own families and factions.

The old man and others had always known. But they simply chose to turn a blind eye.

And honestly, that decision had proven worthwhile. Those leaked results had directly contributed to the explosive prosperity of the American magical world.

Putting aside some monsters, America’s magical community was unquestionably the strongest in the world.

But this time was different.

Back then, everyone had at least operated in secret. This time, someone had acted openly, brazenly, almost psychotically.

Robbery alone wouldn’t have bothered him much. Making a little extra money on the side wasn’t worth his attention.

But publicly shouting the organization’s name while doing it?

Forcing the entire Sun Chasers to take the blame and weather the backlash together?

That was another matter entirely.

"It wasn’t me."

A witch who looked half-asleep spoke lazily. "My descendants are all dead, and I barely interact with the rest of my relatives anymore. Scott, you know that."

"I believe you, Moyes."

The old wizard named Scott nodded. He knew she was telling the truth.

Then he turned his sharp gaze toward the next person.

One round later, nobody had admitted anything.

Just as Scott was about to lose his temper, while suspicion between the others continued to rise, the space within the ruins suddenly distorted.

A crack tore open in midair. A letter flew out from within.

After reading it, Scott’s expression became even grimmer than before.

"No need to keep guessing," he said coldly. "Someone is deliberately framing us."

"What happened?" everyone immediately asked.

Scott didn’t answer directly. He simply placed the letter on the table.

The others quickly read through it. A hot-tempered old wizard slammed his palm onto the table with a deafening bang.

"Who the hell is it?! Who dares use our name to commit robberies?!"

"No..." another person muttered, a vicious glint flashing through his eyes. "Robbery isn’t the real goal here."

His expression darkened, "Their true objective... is to expose the existence of the Sun Chasers."

The moment that realization clicked into place, everyone suddenly understood.

The Sun Chasers had always operated in secrecy. Even though the Feathered Serpent Quetzalcoatl had already been exposed, there still weren’t many clues pointing toward them.

And in the entire wizarding world, there were only a handful of people capable of both discovering their existence... and wanting to target them.

Scott began analyzing the situation. "The man calling himself a Sun Chaser had reddish-brown hair. He looked vaguely Greek, though there was something... off about him. Different."

"Couldn’t that just be Polyjuice Potion?" someone else questioned.

"Probably not." Scott narrowed his eyes. "There are only a few possibilities we need to consider."

After a long discussion and countless eliminations, they finally narrowed the suspects down to three names.

"Gellert Grindelwald. Albus Dumbledore. And... Tom Riddle."

Three names.

But honestly, even Scott and the others felt uncertain.

Were these three actually working together or what?

They genuinely couldn’t tell.

The unusual relationship between Dumbledore and Grindelwald wasn’t exactly a secret to a group of ancient monsters whose youngest member was already over a century old. Meanwhile, Riddle was Dumbledore’s student, and Astra Abyssum had deep ties to the Acolytes, making the two effectively allies.

With such tangled relationships, none of them could determine who was the most suspicious.

"First, investigate the wizard impersonating us," Scott finally decided. "Leave the others alone for now. I’ll have Agilbert monitor things in secret."

The casual way he referred to Fontaine by name made it obvious their relationship was anything but ordinary.

Scott himself was the former headmaster of Ilvermorny.

Or, more accurately, the public organizer of the Sun Chasers.

"Should we inform that gentleman?" Moyes asked quietly.

The moment those words were spoken, the breathing inside the tea room seemed to lighten.

Even Scott’s expression turned conflicted.

But after a long silence, he still shook his head.

"Not yet. It hasn’t reached that point." He paused briefly before continuing. "He has more important matters to deal with right now."

The others exchanged glances, strange lights flickering in their eyes. Every one of them was thinking something different.

Before long, the room sank back into silence once more.

...

..

Meanwhile, in Africa...

"One last stop. That should do it."

Andros wore a radiant grin as he counted the mountain of treasures stuffed inside his extension-charmed pouch.

Gold and silver. Statues. Countless oil paintings and rare natural gemstones.

The loot had been neatly divided into two piles.

One pile belonged to Tom.

The other one belonged to himself.

Back in the old days, Andros had never cared much about money. That was simply because of the era he’d lived in. Even with wealth, the most you could really do was eat better food. There wasn’t much in the way of entertainment or luxury.

Modern society, however, was different.

Without money, life was impossible.

He couldn’t exactly spend the rest of his life asking Tom for pocket money every time he wanted to go out and have fun, could he?

...Though asking Grindelwald might work too.

"Hm?"

The bright smile on Andros’s face suddenly vanished.

Right. He still hadn’t settled accounts with Grindelwald yet.

Might as well deal with that now. And while he was at it, squeeze one more huge payout from him.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Andros acted immediately.

His execution ability was terrifyingly efficient.

He stopped counting treasures on the spot, stuffed the pouch away, locked onto the direction of Berlin, and shot into the sky at full speed.

...

At the same moment, inside Berlin’s council building, Grindelwald suddenly sneezed three times in a row.

An overwhelming sense of dread abruptly descended over him.

Even the ever-composed Dark Lord felt his scalp tingle.

Something was wrong.

Danger was coming.

As someone born with a unique gift for prophecy, Grindelwald trusted his instincts more than almost anything.

He had felt this kind of dread before, though it had been a very long time. The clearest memory was right before the fall of the Acolytes. Back then, the pressure weighing on his chest had been almost identical to what he was feeling now.

What the hell...

Was he about to get thrown back into Nurmengard again?

No, wait. He’d already blown that damned place up himself.

"My lord... is something wrong?"

Klein, the current German Minister for Magic, noticed Grindelwald’s constantly shifting expression and the rapidly dropping temperature in the room. He asked carefully, almost afraid to breathe too loudly.

This wasn’t some random work report either. Grindelwald never kept a proper office of his own. Whenever he stayed in Berlin, he practically treated Klein like a personal secretary.

"Leave."

With a dark look on his face, Grindelwald sent Klein out of the room. Once the door closed, he steadied himself, took a deep breath, and activated his prophetic ability.

Fragments of the future flashed through his mismatched eyes.

No tools. No rituals. No magical artifacts.

Only he could see the visions.

After countless meaningless scenes drifted past, the important part finally arrived.

"Andros?!"

Grindelwald couldn’t stop himself from blurting the name out.

Then the next sequence appeared, and his entire face twisted.

That looked painful.

Painfully painful.

Bloody Merlin... how could someone hold a grudge this hard?

Weren’t you supposed to be some legendary hero?

Andros the invincible, the greatest Patronus user in history?

How the hell did someone this petty even produce enough happy memories and positive emotions to cast a Patronus in the first place?!

Grindelwald had never imagined that the greatest crisis awaiting him after leaving Nurmengard would come from one of his own people.

.

.

.