[75] The Old Fox

The conversation did not proceed to the satisfaction of both parties.

Not at all.

Hall was nearly kicked out by Grindelwald.

Upon hearing the last part, Grindelwald interrupted with a cold laugh. "Heh. You want to become my heir, don't you?"

Hall smiled shyly, scratching the back of his head. "No such intention. Inheriting means managing payroll — too much trouble."

Grindelwald's cold smile vanished. "Then what do you mean? You want to enjoy my resources and connections for free, without bearing any responsibility?"

His eyes were filled with murderous intent, as if he would kill Hall if he answered wrong.

Hall sighed. "Isn't this forced buying and selling? There's no reason to force someone to inherit like this," he muttered.

Grindelwald's face darkened. He realised he'd been tricked by Hall's words. But instead of getting angry, he fell into deep thought.

Perhaps this was a turning point. Those old subordinates had lived in endless waiting every day up until now.

Grindelwald sighed deeply. They should try a new way of life.

"Young man." Grindelwald looked up, his gaze deep. "Become my successor. Inherit the Saints." His voice carried heavy solemnity.

Hall helplessly spread his hands. "Sir, you may have misunderstood. I have no such intention."

His answer was frank, but it made Grindelwald frown.

"No. This is my request." Grindelwald's tone softened, becoming almost earnest. His eyes were full of expectation, conveying something unspeakable.

At this moment, he truly resembled a hero in his twilight years — no longer pretending to be on his deathbed.

"They are all loyal companions, only too stubborn." Grindelwald sighed, his gaze falling on the small window — or rather, a narrow crack in the black stone. "I can't persuade them anymore. Now I can only give them new hope."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It was the first time in his life he had humbled himself to ask anyone — especially a twelve-year-old child.

Hall was silent, a complex emotion welling up inside him. Inheriting the Saints meant taking on immense responsibility — something he had no intention of doing. He only wanted to become the richest man in the world. He had never wanted to dominate the world.

Yet, facing this once-legendary figure, he felt an irresistible pressure. Grindelwald's gaze was like a burning flame, consuming his remaining life.

Hall exhaled. "I can act on your orders, but I won't inherit."

Using Grindelwald's authority would maximise his own benefit. He would become Grindelwald's agent. If he inherited the position, he'd become everyone's target — roasted over a fire. Not only would it incite jealousy from other forces, it could lead to retaliation from the Ministry of Magic. While Hall wasn't afraid of the Ministry, his father worked there.

But as Grindelwald's agent, issuing orders would ensure obedience. No one dared offend the powerful Dark Lord — even old and imprisoned. His Saints were no pushovers.

There was another advantage: he'd take the lion's share without worrying about trouble. They certainly wouldn't bother Grindelwald. Most importantly, he wouldn't bear the consequences.

These people were like soulless shells, blindly placing hope in others. Hall didn't want to end up like Grindelwald, setting new life goals for them at his age. He preferred to remain independent and pursue his own goal: to become the richest man.

Grindelwald frowned, thought for a moment, and finally nodded. "If you want to use me as a shield, fine."

Hall was secretly delighted. Half the plan had worked.

"You have cleverness and enough guts. Rare." Grindelwald's words almost made Hall blush, but his thick skin prevented it. "I need to see if you have the magic to back it up. Don't try to fool me with what you learned in school."

He pointed at Hall. If Hall agreed to become his successor, his subordinates would help him grow. But since this boy wanted the right to act on his behalf, Grindelwald had to test him.

Based on intelligence, this kid was talented. But geniuses weren't rare for Grindelwald — he was one himself, and his old friend Dumbledore was another. He wanted to see just how talented this boy was.

"Huh?" Hearing the request, Hall scratched his head, momentarily at a loss. This stumped him. Grindelwald meant he couldn't get away with something simple.

Then what?

Hall scanned the room. The gleaming floor.

The floor — so smooth — perfect for drawing a magic circle.

His eyes lit up. He could try out the array he'd been researching. His previous experiments couldn't manipulate time, but they'd enabled spatial movement. Small items — an apple, a sofa, even Ron.

But this was different. The most powerful Dark Lord in history besides Voldemort was sitting right beside him. Hall thought he could amplify the array, increase the magical input, and move the entire castle to another location.

The Burrow, for example. He was a little hungry.

Three hours later —

"You brat, do you know what you've done?!"

Hall covered his ears, trying to block out Grindelwald's booming shout.

---