In the end, Charles did stay at Twilight's house.
Of course, they weren't sleeping together—Twilight curled up on one side of the hearth, and Charles made his bed on the other.
He had come well-prepared, lugging around a bag full of travel essentials: fizzy drinks, instant noodles, canned food, a first-aid kit, clothing for all seasons, a tent, a sleeping bag, torches, a dagger, a magical lantern, and—rather inexplicably—an MP5. One could never be too careful, after all.
Once his sleeping bag was unrolled and his magical lantern bobbed gently above his head, Charles finally opened the small wooden box the elder had handed him earlier. The moment he saw what was inside, his expression darkened.
It was a single sheet of fresh A4 parchment, written in a distinctly old-fashioned, copperplate typeface—clearly the handwriting of the old man he knew. There was no mistaking it.
It didn't take much to figure out that the elder and the old man were in contact. Neither had said as much, but the evidence was right there in his hands.
The sheet held two spells: one that was already visible, and another that would only appear once a certain task had been completed.
The visible incantation was *"Manifesto Revealo"*—a spell designed to uncover hidden enchantments or magically concealed objects. The enhanced version could even detect nearby creatures. Highly specific, highly practical.
And for good reason. Acromantulas—giant, eight-eyed spiders—were notorious for burying themselves in underground lairs and ambushing prey based on vibrations in the ground. Without warning, one could find themselves neck-deep in fangs.
Charles frowned. He'd been half-hoping for something a little flashier—like one of the old man's infamous Eastern hexes, perhaps that devastating one with the absurd name he'd translated as something like "Household Extermination Curse."
The village had long since fallen quiet. The only sounds now were the faint clopping of hooves from a patrol near the wooden palisade.
Charles glanced at the mechanical watch on his left wrist—just past half eight.
Across the hearth, Twilight was already asleep, her breathing soft and steady. Charles dimmed his lantern and slipped outside, muttering "Manifesto Revealo" under his breath as he began to practise in the cool night air.
The rest of the night passed without incident.
At the first grey hint of dawn, someone came to wake him.
The elder hadn't planned to send Charles into the Chestnut Grove alone. A few warriors had already been selected to accompany him, and by the time Charles arrived at the elder's hut, the centaurs were crouched in a circle, slurping instant noodles and going over their plan of action.
This was also the moment Charles discovered that centaurs did, in fact, eat meat—but only sparingly. For them, it was a kind of medicinal food, something to be taken during illness or injury. Expectant mothers and warriors were the exception, permitted to eat small portions before bed and after rising.
As for the plan… well, it was straightforward enough. Charles would take the lead, while Bane and the others provided support on the flanks and from above in the trees. The idea was to move forward steadily, staying alert for trouble.
Charles had also asked for a few wooden stakes and large stones, which he now packed into his bag—ammunition for magical throwing spells, just in case.
As they departed the village, Charles finally learned how the centaurs managed to keep chickens.
Apparently, the feathers along the rear edges of the chickens' wings had been plucked, making long-distance flight impossible. A group of girls, around Twilight's age, herded the chickens into the forest with wooden sticks so they could forage naturally. Egg-collecting pouches dangled from their waists.
Meanwhile, the boys—alongside their fathers—headed deeper into the forest with bows and quivers slung across their backs, off to hunt game and gather mushrooms and fruit in safer zones.
Charles cast a Levitation Charm on himself, allowing him to float just above the ground—like a martial artist from some old legend. He could now keep pace with the brisk-trotting centaurs through the forest canopy, provided he didn't drift headfirst into a tree.
The Forbidden Forest was full of lurking dangers. A harmless-looking vine might turn out to be a strangling snare, a puddle might hide something with teeth, and the oversized mushrooms under the trees? Some of them could outrun a startled deer.
The Chestnut Grove was less than two kilometers away from the centaur village as the hippogriff flies, but their actual route took them over four kilometers—thanks to a necessary detour around the more dangerous parts of the forest.
"We're nearly there," Bane said, pointing ahead. "The Acromantulas like to get here early each year. They dig their ambush tunnels to prey on animals drawn by fallen chestnuts—and on us, if they can manage it."
"It's still morning, and the weather's cold," he added. "They'll likely still be underground."
Charles nodded slightly and raised his wand, casting the Manifesto Revealo spell once more—still a bit clumsily.
At present, the spell's effective radius was no more than the length of a Quidditch pitch's sideline. Not nearly enough to sweep a forest as large as this, but it was a start.
Thankfully, Acromantulas weren't known for their intellect. If one of them was stirred, the rest would often follow in a frenzy.
A slim beam of light—about the thickness of a chopstick—shot up from the ground some ten metres ahead. Every centaur in the group tensed instantly.
Beneath a scattering of dry leaves lay a snake, its coils sluggish in the morning chill—until a fist-sized stone slammed down from above, flattening it with a dull thud. A false alarm, but a good one.
They relaxed slightly. The spell worked, and now that they'd seen it in action, Charles and the centaurs both felt a great deal more confident.
They moved into formation. The centaurs readied their bows, arrows nocked, while Charles led the way, eyes sharp.
The sun climbed slowly. The grove was eerily quiet—so quiet, in fact, that even the birds seemed to be holding their breath.
Every ten metres, Charles stopped to cast the detection spell again. At first, all was well—nothing but silence and the occasional twitch of wind-tossed leaves.
Then, on the edge of the grove, they found something.
A pelt.
It had once belonged to a creature that resembled a cross between a fox and a weasel—neatly skinned, yet completely intact. Two small puncture holes, just a bit wider than a pinkie, sat nestled near the flank. There was no flesh inside, no organs, and even most of the bones were gone—save for a few sturdier fragments. The soft cartilage had dissolved. It looked like a deflated leather pouch.
"Young Acromantula," Bane said grimly. "Small fangs. Venom not yet strong enough to dissolve the large bones. No more than three days ago."
Charles nodded. "We need to be careful now. I'm going to cast Protego Maxima on everyone."
When life and limb were on the line, the centaurs were willing to overlook any old customs about not accepting magic from humans. No one wanted to end up like that poor, empty husk of a creature on the ground.
"Manifesto Revealo!"
This time, a much thicker beam erupted from a pile of leaves about twenty meters ahead—thick as a man's arm. Something big was definitely burrowed underneath.
Charles motioned for Bane and the others to prepare.
He plucked a stone from his bag and hurled it into the glowing spot.
Immediately, a smaller Acromantula burst through the leaf litter, scrambling up from its lair.
It stopped when it caught sight of them, quivering with excitement. Its many legs twitched as it made a rapid clicking noiseda-da-da.
Charles didn't hesitate. A quick flick of the wand and a sharp, practiced shoutAccio! Impulso!—and the stone flew back toward the spider like a cannonball. It struck with brutal force, sending the creature tumbling over twenty metres before it crashed to a stop. Every leg was bent at impossible angles. The clicking turned into a weak, warbling rasp.
"It's calling for reinforcements," Bane murmured.
Charles didn't wait. "We fall back—now. Head for the clearing."
They turned and ran.
Moments later, that chilling da-da-da sound echoed from both flanks and behind them.
Acromantulas, as it turned out, weren't entirely brainless. They had just enough tactical instinct to surround their prey—a charming little quirk that made them considerably more dangerous in tight spaces. Open ground, like the clearing Charles was aiming for, offered far fewer places for spiders to hide. That was the plan, anyway.
"There's so many of them!" Bane muttered, his expression grim.
They'd expected maybe ten Acromantulas at most. Now, over twenty had burst forth from the forest floor like hairy nightmares.
Charles frowned. This wasn't going to be a battle of attrition—it had to be quick and brutal. If the spiders got close, it would all be over.
He pointed his wand at the lead group and muttered something... slightly more aggressive than usual.
*"Supra Wingardium Leviosa!"*
With a violent whoosh, three Acromantulas shot straight into the sky, vanishing into the canopy before rising even higher—nearly a hundred metres up.
Charles didn't spare them another glance.
Combining spells was powerful, yes, but time-consuming. He didn't have time for two-step casting. One spell per spider, or they'd all be overwhelmed.
If a hundred-metre free fall wasn't enough to flatten them, he'd try two hundred. And if that failed—well, there was always the rainbow-coloured Avada Ka-splat Plan C.
Of the first trio that took flight, one landed with a wet splat, its abdomen bursting like an overfilled water balloon. Another crashed into the treetops and was promptly skewered on a branch. The third spider's limbs were flung in four directions as it collided with a tangle of branches and exploded mid-fall.
It was... effective.
Charles's wand moved faster. Every charging Acromantula that entered his range was swiftly airborne, limbs flailing, before being dealt the unforgiving laws of gravity.
He was nearly keeping up—nearly.
But then the spiders started to smell it—the remains of their crushed kin. The scent drove them wild, and even more burst from the undergrowth, joining the chaos.
And they were coming from all directions now.
"Damn it," Charles muttered. He could only target one sector at a time, but the spiders were encircling them fast.
Bane and the other centaurs loosed arrow after arrow, hooves skidding in the churned-up earth as they fought to keep the horde at bay.
Charles ramped things up. His spells became broader, lifting clusters of Acromantulas at once—buying precious seconds to reposition, adjust, and cast again.
The clearing soon resembled a grotesque fireworks display.
Spiders flew.
Spiders fell.
Spiders burst apart like overripe fruit.
It was, in Bane's own later words, "like watching a very hairy, very aggressive fountain."
No one was sure exactly how long the battle lasted.
When it was finally over, silence fell on the grove. A chill wind blew through the trees, carrying with it the unmistakable stench of crushed spider.
"How many?" Charles asked, panting.
"More than fifty," Bane guessed.
"Sixty-three," Charles groaned, flopping onto the grass. "Sixty... bloody... three. I'm never going near a chestnut again."
A bottle of fizzy potion appeared in front of him—courtesy of Bane, who offered it with sincere gratitude.
"Thank you," he said, voice slightly shaky.
Their hands trembled as they drank, muscles sore from drawing and loosing so many arrows. Charles, not one to hoard snacks after a life-or-death experience, produced a few tins of preserved fruit and passed them around.
Once they'd recovered a bit, Charles carefully extracted venom from every Acromantula corpse—a rather gory, if necessary, process.
Then they made their way into the deeper grove, scouting thoroughly to ensure no more spiders remained.
The final task was a rather clever one.
They returned to the tunnels the Acromantulas had dug and drove wooden stakes—coated in spider venom—into the earth.
"It's how they retreat," Bane explained. "They back into their burrows. Never see the spike coming."
Job done.
They turned their backs on the clearing at last, leaving behind a battlefield of silk, ichor, and an oddly satisfying number of airborne arachnids.
(End of Chapter)
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