"Talk? Apparently, your definition of 'offense' seems to differ quite a bit from that of a normal person—"

The old Armenian wizard's eyelids flickered as his gaze swept over the dark gun barrels. He lowered his voice and said to Lockhart, "Don't make any sudden moves. Those hollow iron tubes they're holding are quite dangerous. Think of them as a weakened version of the Avada Kedavra curse. They might not kill you instantly, but it'll only take a few more seconds, and the death will be much more painful…"

Unlike the young wizards who grew up in a peaceful era, old Hashi was acutely aware of the threat posed by Muggle weapons.

This was not only because he had lived long enough, but more importantly, he was a man who had lived in Armenia—one of the many republics of the former Soviet Union—and had personally experienced World War II outside the magical world, witnessing hell on earth firsthand.

Although this land was not directly bombarded by the Germans, Armenians still had the highest casualty rate among the many republics.

Neither Apparition nor other protective spells were very reliable under a barrage of bullets.

Keep in mind that even centuries ago, Muggle crossbows had a chance of hitting wizards the instant they Apparated, let alone bullets that were many times faster than arrows: Apparating in a hail of gunfire was tantamount to changing your location to die.

Perhaps in an open area, Hashi, with his wand in hand, would have the confidence to deal with dozens of Muggles with guns.

However, if the firefight took place indoors, there was almost no possibility of fighting back and escaping.

And the more deadly aspect was…

Old Hashi frowned, his eyes sweeping over the dozen or so uninvited guests holding guns.

He was certain that the "Muggle Repelling Charm" he had set up around the house had not failed, so these "guests" were likely more troublesome than the Muggle soldiers he had encountered decades ago—they were people living in the magical world, which meant they also understood the fighting methods of wizards.

"Put down your wands, gentlemen… thank you."

At the same time, the burly man leading the group spoke, the muzzle of his gun gesturing towards Lockhart, who was not far away.

Unlike the old wizard, who had clearly lost the will to resist, the young blonde wizard didn't seem to realize the danger he was in.

Lockhart's wand was still steadily pointing at the man who had first burst into the room. There was no fear in his eyes, but rather a hint of eager curiosity, and in contrast, there was the smile that never faded from Lockhart's face.

As time went by, people could faintly feel that the air around him seemed to become thick and heavy.

"You're ordering a wizard to put down his wand? Sorry—"

Lockhart said softly with a smile, his wand aimed at the burly man's heart.

"At least in my opinion, victory never lies in numbers. We're not baboons hitting each other with wooden sticks and stones."

"Damn it—"

The burly man paused for half a second, carefully observed Lockhart's expression, and couldn't help but curse softly to his companions.

"This guy doesn't seem to recognize firearms?! I've heard people say that many 'pure-blood wizards' don't even recognize cars or airplanes. What era do these British wizards live in? Did you hear that? He actually compared us to baboons with sticks!"

"Lockhart!"

Aghasiyan said in a low voice, feeling his right hand holding the wand sweating.

"Don't provoke them. That iron tube in their hands…"

"I know, I know, AK-47, full name Kalashnikov 1947 automatic rifle."

Lockhart said calmly, staring at the row of gun barrels pointing at him, recalling the information etched in his mind.

"Designed by Soviet firearms designer Mikhail Kalashnikov, it has reliable loading action and good serviceability; it is sturdy and durable, with a low failure rate, and its shooting performance is excellent in both high and low temperature conditions. It is a very common automatic rifle in the non-magical world. At this distance, that automatic rifle in his hand is enough to turn the two of us into beehives, but—"

"That's precisely why we can't put down our wands first, right?"

Lockhart grinned happily, the ease that resembled a fan meeting seemed a little out of place at this moment.

"Of course, my weapon isn't too bad either. This is a wand made by Ollivander's wand shop, twelve inches, cherry wood, with a core of Hebridean Black dragon heartstring… Perhaps it can't withstand bullets fired from dozens of guns, but you can guess how much area a wizard can take down with him before he dies?"

"If I remember correctly, a dark wizard once blew up half a street in less than half a second ten years ago."

Lockhart said in a relaxed tone, but his eyes remained locked on the gun barrels pointed at him.

You see, his first job after joining the Celestial Mandate Group was the large-scale modification project of the "Hyperion," and during that four-month mission, in addition to routine secrecy modifications, Lockhart and his team spent at least a third of their time conducting wargames.

Wizards may not be indestructible in a hail of bullets, but they certainly have ways to make their enemies pay dozens of times over.

"I don't understand what you're trying to say—"

The burly man holding the AK-47 frowned heavily and interrupted somewhat rudely.

"It's very simple, the party that should actively lay down their weapons is you, not me and Mr. Aghasiyan."

Lockhart blinked flexibly, smiled brightly at the group of uninvited guests who had poured in, and continued kindly.

"If you really want to have a good conversation, this is a very reasonable decision, isn't it? Even if Mr. Aghasiyan and I actively attack you, with your numerical advantage, you can successfully fight back before we take everyone down—conversely, if your purpose here is to take our lives, then you might as well do it now. If you're lucky enough, you might survive the aftermath of the curse…"

"So, now you should ask yourself a question…"

"Am I feeling lucky?"

Lockhart said with a smile, as if he were a professor asking a question to students in class.

"Alright, you win—don't disengage the safety, lower your weapons."

The burly man hesitated for a moment, finally let out a long sigh, relaxed his body and waved his hand around.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, worthy of being a celebrity in the magical world… Now I understand why you were able to obtain a Wizengamot Medal."

After the tension eased, the leading man seemed to have aged nearly ten years in an instant. Only then did Aghasiyan have the leisure to observe the face of this uninvited guest: his eyes looked like those of a man in his forties, but his forehead was covered with wrinkles, his hair was gray, and there was an unspeakable haggardness about him.

Lockhart shrugged noncommittally, his wand still in his right hand.

"Just a false reputation, but for the sake of fairness, what's your name… I can't just call you 'hey,' right?"

"You can call me Romulus, it's a new name I just came up with."

He took a deep look at Lockhart and turned to look at the old wizard sitting at the dining table.

"So you must be the true prototype of the protagonist in the book *Wanderings with Werewolves*? I'm very sorry, we couldn't find your photo in the newspaper, but fortunately, a reporter told us your address—well, in fact, we're practically neighbors. So after thinking about it, we decided to just come and pay a visit…"

"Oh, you said just now that our definition of 'offense' is different from that of 'normal people'?"

"There's actually nothing wrong with that statement. A few of us aren't normal people, because we're all…"

Romulus grinned, revealing teeth that were even whiter than Lockhart's, even frightening.

"Werewolves."

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Yay!