The Year 91! Autumn!
As a prominent criminal family in the United States, the Cavendish family was profoundly unfortunate.
Ten years ago, the head of the Cavendish family of that generation died bizarrely in a car crash! It was an extremely uncanny crash, with no witnesses and not even a trace of the vehicle's wreckage found! It was as though every piece of evidence had been artificially erased!
His wife perished at the same time.
As a rare, unbroken single-line prominent family, only a young son, Erwin Cavendish, was left behind in the household!
Aided by some elderly retainers loyal to the Cavendish family, Erwin officially took over many of the family's businesses at the age of six.
Naturally, things did not go smoothly at first.
Yet Erwin quelled all opposition with a ruthlessness far beyond his years.
Relying on his iron-fisted methods, Erwin weathered the widespread skepticism and the circling, hostile external forces to successfully safeguard the Cavendish family foundation.
Moreover, the underworld of London was now down to a single family—the Cavendish family!
Naturally, the reason Erwin was able to achieve this was because he was not merely a child.
He was a transmigrator.
Though he possessed the memories of an adult, he had never experienced such things in his past life. Still, he had watched plenty of movies and television dramas.
To be fair, luck had played a major role in getting him to where he was today, alongside his erratic supernatural ability.
Let us call it a supernatural ability; whenever Erwin felt endangered, a surge of potent energy would erupt.
This energy protected Erwin, and combined with the fact that no one expected someone of such tender age to wield such ruthless methods, he managed to stabilize the family and bring all its business under his control.
Inside the Cavendish ancestral estate.
Erwin sat on the sofa, casually turning the pages of a newspaper.
His well-fitted suit accentuated his tall and straight posture. His silver hair was neatly combed.
As he flipped through the newspaper, he picked up a nearby coffee cup and took a sip.
He looked every bit the picture of a most orthodox British aristocrat.
Who would have guessed that this eleven-year-old aristocratic youth already had a considerable amount of blood on his hands?
Setting down his coffee cup, Erwin spoke: "Tom! Have we made any headway regarding the matter of my parents?"
The elderly butler beside him replied: "My apologies, Mr. Cavendish! As much as I hate to tell you this, there is still no headway whatsoever!"
Erwin frowned. "Still no headway? It has been five years! Ever since I took over the family, I have been investigating! And now you tell me you have found nothing at all? Not a single trace! Did God Himself step in and take my parents away?"
The butler did not dare speak.
At that moment, a figure rushed hurriedly into the parlor.
"Young Master Erwin! Young Master Erwin!"
Erwin's face darkened instantly.
"Rivers, I remember telling you! If you ever scream and shout inside the house again, I will cut out your tongue!"
Rivers trembled all over. He blurted out hastily, "No, Young Master Erwin! It's important, I really have something important this time!"
Erwin sighed. "Then tell me! If the matter you have to report isn't urgent, you can bid your tongue farewell today!"
Rivers hurried to explain: "It's like this, Young Master Erwin! There's a person outside! An old man who insists on seeing you!"
Erwin said coldly, "Seeing me? You call something like that urgent? Just anyone who wants to see me, I must grant an audience? What, is the other party royalty? Huh?"
Rivers shook his head. "No! But that old man is bizarre! I can't quite describe it, but perhaps Young Master can go take a look for yourself! A few of us tried to pull him, but we couldn't budge him at all!"
Hearing this, Erwin grew somewhat interested.
Living in his environment, Erwin placed immense importance on personal security. The guards currently left in the ancestral estate were all elite fighters. If one spoke purely of physical fitness, any single one of them could easily take on ten men without a problem.
And yet, what did Rivers just say?
Several of them couldn't even move an old man.
This forced Erwin to wonder: could it be one of those reclusive martial arts masters from novels who had come looking for him? Did they see his celestial potential and want to take him on as a disciple?
Thinking about it, he couldn't help feeling a tiny thrill of excitement.
"Bring him straight in," Erwin instructed.
Rivers nodded. "Oh! I'll go right now!"
"Have everyone come in as well!" Erwin added. "Bring your gear and stay on your guard!"
Rivers nodded. "Understood, Young Master!"
With that, Rivers scurried away in a flurry.
Erwin sat back down near the sofa. He drew a pistol from his waist, checked it to ensure the magazine was fully loaded, and made sure the safety was off. Only then did his mind settle at ease!
Regardless of the visitor's intentions, staying on guard was never a mistake.
This had always been Erwin's guiding principle of conduct.
If not for his rigorous principles, Erwin might not have survived to this day.
Before long, Rivers walked back in, accompanied by an old man.
"My dear Mr. Erwin Cavendish, hello! It has been terribly difficult just to get a meeting with you!"
Erwin glanced nonchalantly in the direction of the newcomer.
Then, his pupils contracted sharply.
Yet he concealed it almost immediately.
He recognized the identity of the newcomer.
Albus Dumbledore!
Hailed as the greatest and most formidable white wizard of the century, he boasted the fearsome combat record of defeating two Dark Lords.
Erwin was stunned numb.
Wait, had he transmigrated into the world of Harry Potter?
Bloody hell, after all these years, he was only just realizing this was the world of Harry Potter.
Dumbledore had come to see him? That was certainly not for a casual chat.
Could it be that he, too, possessed magical talent?
Therefore, he no longer had to live as a Muggle?
At this thought, Erwin felt a slight surge of happiness.
But a problem arose: where was his Hogwarts acceptance letter?
Upon seeing Erwin, a flash of light danced across the lenses of Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles.
With palpable interest, Dumbledore asked, "From the look of you, it seems you know me?"
A knot tightened in Erwin's chest.
He knew his earlier reaction had aroused Dumbledore's suspicion.
Dumbledore was as cunning as an old fox. The slightest hint of a clue would trigger his reaction.
Most importantly, Erwin was deeply wary of Dumbledore.
After all, this was an old codger who had practiced Legilimency to a passive level.
If subtle tactics failed, who knew if he might cast Legilimency straight away?
Erwin feared nothing else, but he was terrified of his identity as a transmigrator being exposed. No matter what world one spoke of, the label of a transmigrator was forever that of an outsider.
Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles.
The interest on his face grew even more intense.
Erwin saw a flash of blue light seemingly flicker within Dumbledore's eyes.
Erwin's heart skipped a beat.
The next instant, a synthesized electronic voice chimed in Erwin's mind!