The straight-line distance from London, England, to the Armenian forests is roughly three thousand kilometers.

This far exceeds the casting range of Apparition, and the establishment of long-distance international Portkeys requires extremely clear destination coordinate information and immense magical power, neither of which the British Ministry of Magic currently possesses. Standard entry procedures would also take at least half a day.

Therefore, their method of "travel" is limited to one option: the Floo Network.

In the wizarding world, at least in the European wizarding world, the Floo Network is considered the most common means of medium to long-distance travel for wizards.

Unlike Apparition and Portkeys, each country's magical community has a relatively closed-loop Floo Network management system.

Within each Ministry of Magic, there are fireplaces connected to neighboring magical governments, functioning similarly to customs in the non-magical world. However, these "special fireplaces" are primarily used as rapid transit for neighboring magical governments rather than for ordinary wizarding families traveling for leisure.

"Due to the urgent nature of the situation, in order to reach the Armenian forests as quickly as possible, we may have to undergo multiple Floo Network transfers."

Cornelius Fudge drew his wand and waved it towards the peacock-blue ceiling of the entrance hall.

The swimming, shifting golden magical symbols quickly gathered, instantly unfolding into a massive world map above their heads.

"Our first stop is the French Ministry of Magic, from which we will proceed to the Italian Ministry of Magic, then the Greek Ministry of Magic, and finally the Turkish Ministry of Magic. Whether the Armenian Ministry of Magic's Floo Network is connected to the Turkish Ministry of Magic is currently uncertain, but once we arrive near Turkey, we will be right next to the Armenian forests. Even if we cannot directly transfer to the Armenian Ministry of Magic, we can simply Apparate..."

Perhaps in the eyes of some top wizards, Cornelius Fudge and Ministry employees are synonymous with mediocrity and bureaucracy.

However, mediocrity and idleness do not necessarily equate to incompetence, and the professors at Hogwarts clearly struggle to comprehend the concept of administrative ability.

As the former Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Cornelius Fudge is at least among the top Ministry officials in terms of on-the-spot response and execution. Under his deployment and arrangement, the "Auror Expedition" quickly determined the transmission path, as well as the most basic action groups and objectives.

"In short, if you encounter any animals in the forest, don't hesitate to cast a spell directly!"

Cornelius Fudge looked at the wizards gathered around him, re-adjusted his top hat, and let out a soft breath.

"If there are no problems, let's prepare to depart now..."

"But, Minister, this does not comply with the international magical society's procedures regarding entry and exit approvals—"

Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, frowned deeply, appearing somewhat worried.

"Barty Crouch will handle these matters properly. These are matters for the Department of International Magical Cooperation to consider, aren't they? I trust that Mr. Crouch can manage these things well. Besides, our operation is inherently a righteous joint siege, and the procedures can be supplemented afterwards."

Cornelius waved his hand dismissively, turning to look at the honest, silent wizard not far away.

"Kingsley, would you write a letter to Mr. Crouch for me later, briefly explaining the situation?"

Among the Ministry of Magic Aurors, Kingsley was undoubtedly the most satisfying to Cornelius Fudge: born from a pure-blood family, lacking the old Aurors' stern, bloodthirsty manner, tight-lipped, loyal, and reliable, and possessed decent strength. Most importantly, he was far more "clean" and "safe" than Umbridge.

After this period of observation, Kingsley Shacklebolt had clearly become Fudge's top candidate to succeed the Head Auror position.

Perhaps, once this matter concludes, the British Ministry of Magic's reforms regarding early Auror retirement should be put on the agenda.

"Well then, the security of the Ministry is in your capable hands, Mr. Scrimgeour. Just in case, you know?"

Cornelius Fudge cast a meaningful glance at the "old lion," whose face was ashen, and lightly tapped the fireplace to his right with his wand.

A few glittering specks of powder slid from the edge of the fireplace, and bright green magical flames roared into existence.

"Gentlemen, it is time for us to depart—"

Cornelius Fudge looked around, cleared his throat, and clearly stated.

"French Ministry of Magic."

Following Cornelius Fudge's action, the Aurors also drew their wands and tapped the empty fireplaces around them.

"French Ministry of Magic."

"French Ministry of Magic."

"French Ministry of Magic..."

…………

Ukraine, Mykolaiv City, Mykolaiv Shipyard.

During the Soviet era, this was the largest shipyard in the Black Sea region, and the only aircraft carrier construction and assembly plant in the former Soviet Union.

The Soviet-era aircraft carriers – "Moscow," "Leningrad," "Kiev," "Minsk," "Novorossiysk," "Gorshkov," "Kuznetsov," and "Ulyanovsk" – were all built here. Compared to St. Petersburg, which has a population of 4 million and is open to foreign tourists, the confidentiality work in Mykolaiv, which is not open to the outside world, is relatively easier.

With the sudden collapse of the former Soviet Union, the already quiet and desolate Mykolaiv became even more so.

In fact, since the unfinished aircraft carrier was forcibly dismantled into steel, the lights of the Mykolaiv Shipyard have never been turned on again. The once noisy and bustling dock is now as quiet as a ghost domain, and even the most mischievous children would not come here to play after nightfall.

Tap, tap.

The monotonous sound of footsteps echoed in the empty dock.

In the thin mist of the night, a faint orange halo flickered in the dock.

"Sigh, it's so quiet. Don't you think so, Ulyanovsk?"

Makarov, as usual, inspected the No. 0 dock and finally stopped at the edge of the empty dock, raising his head to gaze at the water and sky in front of him, which seemed to be shrouded in endless mist. He subconsciously held the lantern forward, as if to illuminate a non-existent massive shadow.

Unfortunately, at the end of the faint orange glow of the lantern, there was nothing but a chilling mist.

A few months ago, at the request of the Ukrainian government, he and a group of workers personally dismantled their proudest child.

According to the government's original statement, this was to free up enough space to complete a large commercial ship order from Norway. Unfortunately, after the dismantling work was completed, the Norwegian company suddenly tore up the order, citing "economic downturn and spending cuts." After paying a small amount of compensation, they disappeared as quickly as snow under the summer sun – of course, Makarov was not surprised, after all, the economy in the United States was also not doing well.

Fortunately, it was said that the pile of dismantled special steel was eventually sold in Austria at a good price.

"Thirteen million dollars? Hey, those politicians don't even know where they found such a savior."

Makarov casually placed the lantern on an iron bollard, rubbed his hands, and exhaled a cloud of thin mist into the air.

As the director of the Black Sea Shipyard, he had spent almost half his life here. He knew every piece of land, every workshop, and every machine like the back of his hand. He could clearly say the names of hundreds of senior technicians, and could skillfully state the length and width of each dock. The only thing he couldn't do was clearly recall the events that had happened in the past few months... those things that should have been unforgettable and deeply painful.

Those memories were like a layer of gauze, he was very sure that he was there, but at the same time, he had a strange feeling of watching a movie.

And the most important thing was...

Makarov's gaze moved across the empty dock floor.

Too clean, no scratches, no indentations, not many cutting marks and impact grooves.

Perhaps in the eyes of most people, this was nothing, but in the eyes of an old man who had been dealing with ships for most of his life, this did not look like a construction site that had ever dismantled such a large ton object. Most of those residual etchings and dents were left during the original assembly and splicing of the Ulyanovsk. Makarov searched all his memories and did not find many new traces.

The old man took out a well-packaged black notebook from his pocket and skillfully flipped to one of the pages.

In the dim yellow light, the familiar handwriting in the notebook looked particularly strange.

"1992.06.30, Today is the last day of the dismantling work."

"Perhaps, I will spend the rest of my life in confusion, regret, and pain, but I do not regret it, and I will not pursue the answer – the Ulyanovsk has not disappeared, it is hidden in every cloud in the sky, just as Ulyanov has never left."

In every cloud in the sky?

Makarov's rough fingers gently caressed the line of words.

He raised his head, as he had done every night in the past, to look at the boundless sky.

A large, thick cloud had drifted in from the horizon, blocking the moonlight that originally shone on the dock.

————

————

Yay!