Ancient Wizards Return to Hogwarts...

Chapter 102 I Was Once Called a "God"

Daphne waited a long time, but death did not come.

Her long eyelashes fluttered, and then she opened her eyes to find a tall wizard in a green robe and hat standing before her. Daphne noticed that the sleeves of the wizard's robe were embroidered with silver lace.

As for the incantation, it vanished without a trace.

Standing in the center of the open space, Voldemort's face was contorted with horror—he simply couldn't understand what was happening before his eyes, how could someone have erased his Killing Curse?!

Was it spatial magic? Or some other kind of illusion? Or perhaps he used a spell to interfere with my senses?

His mind raced, his bald head practically steaming. Just then, the mysterious wizard spoke.

"I've always had a slight disagreement with a few of my friends. They always think I'm researching dark magic, but I believe that magic has no inherent good or evil; it's just a matter of who uses it." His voice was very pleasant, mature and steady yet still youthful and gentle. Daphne even sensed a strange familiarity in it.

The wizard in the green robes was none other than Rice. He had caught up with Daphne while she was preparing the fire-resistant potion and had been following them ever since. He only revealed himself when Daphne was in mortal danger.

He felt that this trial should come to an end.

"Oh?" Voldemort simply lowered the tip of his wand to the ground and narrowed his eyes. Although this person's words still carried a trace of moral decay, they were interesting enough. After all, just the first half of his sentence was enough to confirm Voldemort's identity as a dark wizard, and a rather skilled one at that.

"However..." Rice changed the subject, then contradicted himself: "I now think they were right. There really is magic, and it's evil from beginning to end, enough to erode the soul."

Voldemort scoffed. "I thought you were going to say something, but you're just like those fools—you haven't even seen the Avada Kedavra curse, have you?"

Rice nodded.

Voldemort laughed wildly—although he didn't understand what trick the guy had used to block his Killing Curse, that didn't stop him from mocking the other guy for never even having seen the Killing Curse before.

Rice suddenly waved his hand, and Voldemort's expression changed.

Just now, Voldemort launched an attack on Rice while laughing. According to his plan, several snakes would suddenly emerge from the ground, wrap around the other man's ankles, and restrict his movement. Then, a clay doll would appear behind him and launch a fatal blow—the Killing Curse can't do anything to you, so what about pure physical attacks?

As a result, his own spell dissipated as soon as he got close to him.

Rice sighed.

"It seems you really don't understand this. No problem, I'll demonstrate for you." Before he finished speaking, the entire floor of the room surged up and turned into a muddy mess.

Voldemort was initially unfazed by the changes on the ground: the scene, though impressive, was merely a facade; once he took flight—

Then his pupils contracted sharply for a moment in shock as he realized that the mud beneath his feet was like superglue, firmly sticking his feet to the ground.

In other words, he has now become that person's sitting duck!

He instinctively raised his wand, and spells rained down on Rice like a machine gun.

Voldemort decided to take the offensive as a form of defense, striving to reverse his unfavorable situation.

Rice paid no attention to these spells. He waved his hand, and some spells vanished midway towards him, while others were enveloped by clumps of mud that suddenly rose into the air, fell to the ground, and then "dissolved" in the swamp.

As Voldemort resisted, the scene inside the room kept changing. First, the soil turned into a swamp, then the grass and bushes, and now even the trees were gradually being covered by mud and becoming part of the swamp.

Nightmare's movements were unrestricted. It quickly ran to Daphne, hoisted her onto its back, and fled far away. The center of the arena was now the battlefield of those two, a place where it and a small creature like Daphne could not interfere.

"Your generation seems to never think about the relationship between spells and magic. Your spellcasting skills are excellent, but your understanding of magic is only superficial. In this room, a wizard like you is no different from a Muggle in my eyes."

"Arrogant!" Voldemort was furious when he heard that the other party dared to compare him to a Muggle, but after he cursed a few times, his expression suddenly changed.

"Can you feel it? Your magic is about to run out—are you wondering why your seemingly inexhaustible magic, which you've had since becoming a wizard, is now depleting? It's alright, you have plenty of time to think about it if you can't figure it out." Rice smiled and snapped his fingers casually.

"How is this possible? How is this possible?!" Voldemort roared hysterically. He couldn't understand what was happening before his eyes. Whether it was the disappearance of the Killing Curse, the strange swamp under his feet, or the magic power that had suddenly disappeared from his body, everything was completely different from his past experiences, almost shattering his understanding of magic.

Rhys listened quietly as he stood there roaring—Voldemort had gone mad; he no longer even tried to attack himself with magic.

Perhaps due to excessive excitement, Voldemort's head broke out in a fine layer of sweat. The sweat beads quickly expanded, from the thickness of a hair to the size of a grain of rice, and finally to droplets the size of soybeans that fell to the ground.

The body that Voldemort possessed in Quirrell was like a water bottle with several holes poked in it, rapidly leaking water. He quickly noticed the abnormality and tried to use magic to stop the loss of water, but to no avail.

When the sweat dried up, and then came the blood, Voldemort was no longer able to speak, only able to let out some unintelligible roars.

"Why is it impossible? After all, a long, long time ago, those ignorant Muggles also called me 'God'." Rice tilted his head and squeezed out the last drop of water from Quirrell's body.

He became a completely dried-up corpse, even more moist than the mummies in the Egyptian desert.

boom!

Realizing that the person before him was beyond human capability, Voldemort acted decisively, detonating all of Quirrell's magic power, causing a tremendous explosion. He then reverted to his remnant soul state and desperately fled towards the outside world.

"As long as I can escape, as long as I can escape—" All it wants now is to return to the dense forests of Albania and eke out a living there.

However, even such a humble wish is difficult to fulfill.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Update delivered. Goodnight everyone, see you tomorrow night.

(End of this chapter)