Chapter 501: The Road Divides

Facing the impending aerial arms race, the Ministry of Defense proposed a relatively pragmatic plan: leveraging the Focused Rainbow technology to upgrade air defense readiness in several key domestic cities, and organizing a volunteer corps of wizards to teleport as needed to support the activation of the Focused Rainbow. At the same time, they would share preliminary plans and successful experiences with the European Union, establishing a “visibly effective” air defense network within NATO to achieve a delicate balance.

The Prime Minister’s proposal, by contrast, sounded wonderfully idealistic: urging the United States and the Soviet Union to embrace the views of the great educator Severus and jointly sign a “Supplementary Secrecy Act” or something similar, mutually pledging not to abuse magic in constructing engineering marvels.

This might be hard to succeed, but everyone was willing to try—even Yanayev had no objection to spending a few more words at the negotiating table. Before Christmas, a diplomatic delegation arrived at Downing Street as scheduled—perhaps out of fear of the power of Super-Wizards, Yanayev dared not come himself; instead, he sent Andropov, whom he had appointed as Foreign Minister. Accompanying him were several Muggle scientists, military advisors, and corresponding high-ranking officials from the magical world: Bondarev, Director of the Fifth Bureau of the KGB; the magical educator Vaskov; and perhaps corresponding to Harry, the seventh-year magical student Renata.

Harry sat on the sofa in the conference hall, his eyes occasionally flicking toward Bondarev, whose neck bore faint markings—perhaps not tattoos, Harry suspected he had undergone some ancient magical rune engraving. At the same time, his waist bulged noticeably, likely concealing a belt. This was a cold-blooded soldier who accepted any form of enhancement, an absolute formidable opponent in the field of Super-Wizard power, and it made Harry uneasy, his mind racing through contingency plans.

As for Renata, dressed in a knee-length skirt, exposing her slender calves, and occasionally casting seductive, fluttering glances his way? Though the seating arrangement placed her directly opposite Harry, he paid her no mind. His fourth-year experience spoke volumes: she was a childish fool, poorly trained in ordinary wizardry, relying on clever use of Muggle weapons with limited growth potential—unlikely to possess any power capable of altering the situation.

“...We come in good conscience to urge you to understand this reality: magic and science cannot replace each other, nor should they grow too deeply entangled. Look at the magical world itself—we never studied the laws of nature because spells were convenient, and so we were swiftly overtaken by Muggles. If humanity begins to rely on magic, our technology may forever remain stuck in the twentieth century, with no more groundbreaking innovations, only grotesque hybrids: Muggles mechanically asking you to cast simple spells on devices they cannot comprehend. This is certainly not the future we want.”

“Mr. Weasley, you speak well, but you are considering the ‘future.’ What we face now are European missiles, NATO military exercises, and that mothership whose launch could come at any moment. If we abandon today’s advantages out of fear that ‘future technology may stagnate,’ then for us, there may be no ‘future’ at all.”

“In the 1920s, we were forced to accept the humiliation of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, ceding territory to buy breathing room. Idealists opposed it then too, but Comrade Lenin knew survival mattered more than principle. The same is true of today’s magical arms race: we have not rejected your foresight—we simply ask that it temporarily yield to war. Once we prevail, we will naturally reinvest in science.”

Andropov clearly understood the Muggle world better than Arthur, and he firmly rebutted the Ministry of Magic’s proposal with a tone that was calm yet carried a hint of generosity.

“If you insist on not yielding, then we would like to propose another approach: shift the arms race into a technological competition.” Arthur said nervously, “Try directing magical resources toward matters of greater civilian significance, rather than endlessly developing weapons. Just as the Muggle world was devastated twice by war, the magical world has also endured its darkest moments. If future battlefields engulf both worlds, we will face a superwar beyond anyone’s control—unstoppable, catastrophic, perhaps ending human civilization itself. I believe none of us wish to see such a scenario.”

“If the White House were willing to halt its space-mothership program first and embrace safer projects—like exploring Mars—we would gladly follow suit. But the truth is, they are making the situation worse. The superwar you speak of is unlikely to be easily avoided. Yes, we long ago abandoned the illusion of peace and prepared for the worst-case scenario: even if hybrid war erupts, our vast territory, well-developed underground facilities, and the magical quarantine zones established in Siberia ensure our civilization can endure.”

“While they built Wall Street, we built the Winter Palace bunker; while they developed Silicon Valley, we drilled the Kola Superdeep Borehole—in this ultimate contest, survival favors us.” Andropov suddenly smiled. “In appreciation of your kind efforts to plan for humanity’s future, I can personally offer you a residence permit for the bunker.”

Arthur looked away awkwardly as a Muggle scientist took over to explain the risks of uncontrolled magic—but clearly, the Soviet stance was unmistakable: they intended to ignore the risks and continue using magic solely to win the Cold War—or at least not fall behind.

After two days of talks, the two sides reached almost no consensus, signing merely a “Supplementary Treaty on Limiting Super-Wizard Power,” which obligated nations to inform the international community when cultivating new Super-Wizard forces. This treaty, devoid of any binding power, served only to create the illusion of progress, so that unscrupulous media wouldn’t claim Andropov had made a pointless trip.

After this meeting, Harry had little expectation for the next round and even hinted he might skip it. But perhaps because he implied he did not wish to attend official meetings with the Magical Congress, Donald chose to visit Hogwarts under a private capacity.

In the familiar headmaster’s office, under the watchful eyes of Harry and Snape, Donald slowly revealed his purpose: “I’m sorry—I may have messed things up, but right now, I truly need your help.”

“I shouldn’t have leaked this to the Pentagon.” He spread his hands, sounding slightly disgruntled. “They handed the space-mothership project over to the Magical Congress and instead focused on using scientific theory to analyze spells—though, of course, they’ve shown not a single sign of success.”

“We were already discussing that mothership—it brings no benefit to the situation. Was this your idea?” Harry’s tone carried a faint reproach. “Now the Soviet response is fierce. I fear both sides are heading down an arms race path with no turning back.”

“The competition has always existed—even if we didn’t compete here, we’d compete elsewhere—” Donald shook his head. “Alright, it’s my fault. I just mentioned it to the Pentagon, never imagining they’d take it seriously and launch a full-blown publicity campaign.”

“This is precisely where I need your support, friends.” He leaned forward earnestly. “I think this might also be an opportunity: if the Magical Congress, with magical-world resources and a bit of your support, could independently complete the space-mothership project, we could further break free from Pentagon control.”

“So there’s an underlying conflict between the Magical Congress and the Pentagon?” Snape frowned. “What do they want? And what do you want?”

“Hmm…” Donald rubbed his face. “Here’s the situation: we originally just proposed an idea, but the Pentagon grabbed the PowerPoint and shouted it across the world, putting the Magical Congress in a corner and forcing us to go along with building the mothership. Meanwhile, within the Pentagon, opinions on the magical world are divided: one faction is pragmatic, believing the priority is to cooperate and build the warship as quickly as possible; the other is ambitious—they want to explain magic with scientific theory and mass-produce magical miracles.”

“Though the ambitious faction poses no direct threat to us, their disagreement with the pragmatists has stalled the warship project. This has sparked another voice within the Magical Congress: we should turn it into a purely magical marvel, using this project to attempt greater independence from Pentagon control.” Donald explained. “I personally support this approach, so I’m wondering—could we repackage this project and hitch a ride on the floating city trend?”

Dream on, Harry thought silently.

“This issue will also be raised at the official summit. Our side recommends avoiding such magical engineering marvels,” Snape replied cautiously. “It does no good for scientific progress.”

“But the space-mothership must be built anyway.” Donald sighed, slumping back into the sofa. “No matter our differences with the Pentagon, this project will proceed—it’s just a question of who does how much.”

After regaining his composure, they briefly discussed the future of magic and technology integration. He seemed more inclined toward developing new spells based on technological artifacts or crafting specialized armor—ultimately, he still couldn’t let go of his personal heroism.

Meanwhile, the Pentagon officials who had clashed bitterly with the Prime Minister and the Minister of Magic leaned toward forcibly integrating magic into the Muggle system—an equally dangerous path.

Both sides of the Cold War are gradually releasing the brake labeled the Statute of Secrecy. Neither knows whether the road ahead is a smooth highway or a bottomless abyss. And the British magical world, neutral in stance and still possessing conscience, has no better solution—it can only watch helplessly as all of this unfolds.