Hogwarts: Voldemort, don't stop me from studying

Chapter 943 Accelerated Time
"what?"

Perez's indignant shouts were interrupted, and he frowned at Ezra Hughes.

Even Hawthorne instinctively held his breath and urgently reminded him, "Don't provoke him, Ezra!"

Hughes suddenly stepped forward, ignoring the light dust he had disturbed and floated, and said in a low but unusually fierce voice:

"Since you want us dead, why don't you do it yet, Reginald Perez? What are you waiting for? Are you waiting for us to be convinced by your twisted logic and die on our own?"

Perez's face flushed instantly, as if he had been struck on a sore spot.

He suddenly raised the wand he had been gripping tightly, pointing the tip at Hughes, a fierce and resolute glint in his eyes, his lips pressed together until they turned white.

However, the tip of the wand was trembling slightly and uncontrollably.

To actually utter that fatal curse on a colleague who offered no resistance and with whom you previously had a good relationship is not as simple as "releasing a spell."

Between these two lies an abyss that most wizards cannot, and are unwilling to, cross in their entire lives—

It is not just a legal or moral constraint, but an instinctive defense of the integrity of one's own soul.

Killing, especially premeditated killing of one's own kind, is a curse that requires more than just reciting the correct incantation or using standard gestures; the most important thing is an extremely intense and unreserved killing intent.

As a high-ranking official who has spent most of his life dealing with FlooNet, time magic, and administrative documents, Perez may be shrewd and calculating, obsessed with forbidden knowledge, and even willing to gamble with the powerful...

However, the hurdle of "killing with one's own hands" was one that his soul, shrouded in bureaucracy and academic ambition, was never truly ready to overcome.

"Do it!"

Hughes roared again, even slightly raising his chin to expose his throat more directly to the tip of the cane, taunting:

"Use the Avada Kedavra curse and see if your spell can make me bleed from the nose!"

Perez shouted, "...Don't...don't underestimate me! I'll do it now..."

The tip of his wand suddenly lit up!

Hawthorne suddenly reached out to push Hughes away, but Hughes, who had anticipated this, blocked the way.

The dust particles happily stuck to his sleeves, clothes, and even landed in his hair.

Hughes felt a vague sense of unease, but his expression became even more fierce and resolute.

"Clap!"

In an instant, beads of cold sweat the size of soybeans dripped down Perez's chin.

Under the man's piercing gaze, his breathing grew heavier and heavier, his forehead was covered in beads of sweat, and the veins on his neck throbbed incessantly.

Struggle and fear lingered on his face for several seconds, and the wand in his hand felt heavier than a stone.

Finally, as if burned, Perez abruptly lowered his wand, his chest heaving violently.

"No...I don't need it..."

Perez was panting, his voice hoarse, as if trying to convince himself:
“I don’t need your blood to stain my hands or damage my soul… When you are engulfed by time particles, you will die anyway. Silently, without a trace, as if erased by time itself. This… this is cleaner.”

"Is that so?" Hughes sneered, but his body did feel it... He felt his thoughts becoming sluggish, and his magic seemed to be gradually stagnating.

But his face remained expressionless. With a flick of his wrist, the wand swiftly appeared in his hand, and he swung it violently! Perez's wavering expression changed drastically. Almost instinctively, he raised the wand he had been holding loosely at his side, and the spell that had been in his throat escaped his lips:

"Avada——"

But in Hughes' eyes, this scholar-bureaucrat's movements seemed so slow, clumsy, and full of flaws—he had long since lost the most basic sensitivity to the rhythm of battle.

"boom!"

A beam of red light shot out instantly, striking Perez's arm, sending his body and wand flying!
Immediately afterward, Hughes, ignoring the golden particles around him that seemed to be lurking like venomous snakes, once again swung his wand with all his might, still gritting his teeth and not chanting a spell, only a strong burst of air erupted instantly!
"call--"

Hawthorne instinctively covered his eyes and took a half-step back.

The air made a dull, tearing sound, and the high-speed spinning gale, like an invisible giant hand, violently swept up the golden particles floating under the streetlights.

The wind, carrying with it light and dust, formed a dazzling yet deadly golden whirlwind that swept towards the unsuspecting Perez!

"Do not!!!"

Perez only had time to let out a short, horrified scream before turning to run away, but he was immediately swallowed up by the dust storm, with countless specks of light rushing into his gaping mouth!

From the center of the whirlwind came a man's piercing scream, the sound undergoing a terrifying transformation in an extremely short time—

His voice, which had been deep and powerful with shock and anger, quickly changed to a hoarse, aged tone.

Through the churning golden dust, Hawthorne and Hughes could vaguely see that Perez's figure was undergoing a terrifying transformation:

His back hunched over at a visible rate, his full cheeks sunken sharply and became covered with deep wrinkles, and his thick hair turned gray, thinned, and fell out...

It was as if countless days and nights had been forcibly compressed and were flowing away from him in a few seconds.

When the whirlwind finally subsided and the dust slowly settled, Perez stumbled and fell onto the cold ground, his entire being transformed.

He had become a gaunt, dying old man, his eyebrows completely white, and his veins beneath his skin resembling bluish-purple riverbeds, making him appear as if he were three hundred years old.

The simple act of falling to the ground caused a series of cracking sounds all over his body—the sound of his fragile bones breaking as they could not withstand the force.

Perez stretched out his trembling, withered hand in vain, his cloudy eyes staring at his age-spotted skin, a broken wail escaping his throat:
"Save...Save..."

However, Hawthorne completely ignored him.

The Congressional President stared wide-eyed and despairingly at Hughes, who was almost completely covered in fine golden dust. He stumbled over to him, only to be knocked away by a gentle force.

Hughes slowly turned around, his movements somewhat sluggish, and his chest barely rose and fell with each breath.

He looked at Hawthorne, who was unharmed, and his eyes showed relief and a smile.

"Ezra!"

Hawthorne's eyes widened in fury. With a wave of his wand, he sent a gentle breeze to sweep away the gold dust from Hughes's body and rushed over to support his most loyal comrade.

"It's too late...Nicklow."

Hughes held his arm and whispered.

(End of this chapter)