Ron turned around with casual arrogance, expecting to see fear or submission. What met his eyes instead was Ciel's cold, blade-sharp gaze that seemed to pierce straight through his soul.
The moment their eyes met, Ron suddenly felt his heart seized as if gripped by an iron fist. His previous overconfidence completely dissipated like smoke in the wind, leaving only primal, instinctive fear coursing through his veins.
After all, he'd merely gained some magical knowledge from that mysterious temple in his dreams. The most brutal combat he'd experienced was probably grudge-filled sparring with little Slytherins, where scraping skin and drawing blood was already considered remarkable.
Compared to Ciel's recent trials, especially the two life-or-death battles he'd just survived in that hellish illusion, there was no comparison whatsoever. Even without deliberate intent, the lingering killing aura in Ciel's eyes made Ron feel he might die the very next second.
Involuntarily, Ron staggered back two steps, instinctively retreating from Ciel's direction, nearly tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his face.
When he came to his senses, Ron's expression instantly became like an overturned paint palette, spectacularly complex with embarrassment and rage.
"You!" Ron gripped his wand tighter, knuckles turning white with the strain.
Long-accumulated anger toward Ciel surged within him like a dam bursting. His wand tip slowly rose as magic began flowing into it with crackling energy. Ron's lips moved silently, already preparing to cast the spell he'd learnt from that temple.
If he used that spell, he could definitely knock Ciel down. Show everyone who was really superior.
Ciel's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Ron's supposedly subtle movements naturally couldn't escape his enhanced perception. Cold light flashed in his eyes like winter steel.
Though Dumbledore had previously made a deal with him, hoping he'd protect Harry's trio in the Forbidden Forest, the main one needing protection was saviour Harry Potter. Ron was merely incidental baggage.
Moreover, staying alive should suffice for fulfilling that agreement. Some accidents and broken limbs leave a painful lesson that should be within acceptable parameters.
Just as the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, like a bowstring about to snap, a figure hurrying from the Forbidden Forest broke the deadly tension.
It was Dumbledore emerging from the forest depths, his blue eyes immediately assessing the situation.
Seeing Dumbledore's arrival, Ron quietly lowered his half-raised wand with obvious reluctance. Looking at Ciel, he snorted coldly with barely concealed malice.
Ciel was lucky this time. Otherwise, he definitely could have knocked him down just now. But once they entered the Forbidden Forest, Ciel wouldn't be so fortunate. If he dared look at him with those murderous eyes again... violent and vicious thoughts churned in Ron's mind like poison.
But when Dumbledore's penetrating blue gaze swept over them, Ron's heart jumped, and he obediently lowered his head, suddenly finding his shoes extremely interesting.
Dumbledore currently had no time to investigate what these young wizards were thinking. His heart was full of confusion and bewilderment that gnawed at his usually calm demeanour.
Quirrell had wanted to conduct practical combat assessment in the Forbidden Forest's outer areas. Using his previous political momentum, he'd gained approval from various forces. Even student parents had agreed to this unorthodox testing method.
Even as Hogwarts headmaster, Dumbledore couldn't interfere with Defence Against the Dark Arts exam content at this point. But checking various house routes for safety reasons with the other heads was completely justified.
Yet in his recent thorough inspection, he'd found nothing overtly dangerous. Though Ciel and Harry's group would enter through different routes than the other four houses, the content appeared largely similar.
The arrangements were just some manageable troubles from the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum that first-year students could easily handle once they calmed down and recalled classroom lessons.
Then collecting some low-level materials helpful against Dark Magic. Finally reaching the endpoint and touching the marker would complete the assessment. Everything truly seemed like a carefully designed practical examination.
If he didn't know Quirrell was fundamentally problematic, Dumbledore would want to praise this term's uniquely creative final exam content.
But now, where exactly was the hidden trap? What had Quirrell actually arranged? Without concrete leads, Dumbledore's mood gradually sank into dark waters.
The unknown remained the most detestable thing. His gaze fell on Ciel with barely concealed hope.
Perhaps he could only trust this outstanding little badger to lend a hand in the Forbidden Forest, protecting Harry when the inevitable crisis struck.
Hopefully nothing catastrophic would unfold.
Sensing Dumbledore's expectant gaze, Ciel felt no emotional ripples. Dumbledore's previous Patronus Charm had indeed significantly elevated his Patronus Tree rewards, creating mutual benefit.
If convenient, he didn't mind helping protect Harry's trio. But he wasn't going as a babysitter, much less putting himself at serious risk through unrequited kindness.
If he could protect them, he'd lend assistance. If not, what did their fate matter to him? Dozens of enhanced Patronus Trees weren't worth risking his life.
Then Dumbledore slowly spoke with practised authority, explaining this final exam's detailed content. Hearing about traversing the Forbidden Forest, collecting materials in the dark woodland, and dealing with various magical dangers, Harry and Hermione felt their nerves tighten like violin strings.
Ron was practically vibrating with eager anticipation, impatient to prove his newfound abilities to the world.
But then Dumbledore paused dramatically, announcing that the top three performers in this assessment could earn fifty points each for their houses. This immediately made Harry's trio's eyes light up like Christmas morning.
They'd previously lived miserably after each losing fifty points for Gryffindor. If they could place in the top three in this assessment, they'd recover all those painfully lost points.
Even if they couldn't surpass Hufflepuff for first place, they could at least secure second. This prospect was incredibly tempting for their bruised pride.
Even Hermione's nervousness diminished somewhat at the thought of redemption.
Dumbledore sighed inwardly, guilt weighing heavily on his conscience. But at this point, he couldn't cancel this Defence Against the Dark Arts assessment. After all, the Ministry, Daily Prophet, and student parents were all watching the results with keen interest.
So when bells echoed around the Forbidden Forest's perimeter like funeral tolls, Dumbledore looked at Ciel and Harry's group and announced with barely concealed heaviness:
"The assessment begins. Children, be extremely careful in there."
Ron nodded perfunctorily, then showed an eager expression and took the lead with swagger. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances, hurriedly following Ron despite their mounting concerns.
Ciel entered leisurely under Dumbledore's watchful gaze, moving like he was taking a pleasant evening stroll.
Seeing all four disappear into the forest's embrace, Dumbledore's eyes couldn't hide his profound worry. Soon after, several figures arrived from elsewhere, the four house heads approaching with grim expressions.
Dumbledore's gaze fell on them, silently asking if they'd discovered anything suspicious. All four showed equally grave expressions, shaking their heads with obvious frustration.
For a moment, everyone felt the suffocating sensation of having to jump into an obvious trap. This feeling was truly maddening.
They even somewhat understood Quirrell's feelings when he'd previously challenged the Philosopher's Stone obstacles. Coincidentally, just then, a figure that darkened their expressions further appeared.
Quirrell approached wearing a false smile, not even bothering to maintain his stuttering facade anymore. He sighed wistfully with theatrical drama:
"I think this will be an absolutely unforgettable final exam for everyone involved. Don't you agree, professors?"
All professors, including Dumbledore, looked extremely grim at his blatant mockery. Quirrell didn't care about their hostility, his smile growing brighter as he looked at the Forbidden Forest with obvious anticipation, as if awaiting the performance of his lifetime.
Meanwhile, deep in the Forbidden Forest, Ron led Harry and Hermione through the trees with determined strides. Hermione looked back, finding Ciel's figure barely visible in the distance, and couldn't help saying with genuine concern:
"Ron, slow down a bit. Ciel seems to have fallen behind. Let's wait for him. Being alone in the Forbidden Forest is extremely dangerous for anyone."
Ron scoffed with obvious disdain: "Wait for him? He's obviously being deliberately slow and trying to drag us down. Why should we waste precious time waiting?"
His voice grew heated with resentment. "Hermione, haven't you forgotten? Headmaster Dumbledore said the top three each get fifty points! Have you forgotten who caused us to lose so many points in the first place?"
He spoke through gritted teeth: "If not for that manipulative Ciel, why would we have lived in such humiliation? Now he's obviously trying to sabotage us, and we should wait? We might as well hand the scoring opportunity to other houses and let Gryffindor stay at the bottom! I bet we'd be incredibly popular next term!"
Hearing this harsh logic, Hermione lowered her head speechlessly. She didn't want Gryffindor to rank last because of her actions. For someone like Hermione, such an outcome would be absolutely unacceptable.
Only then did Ron snort coldly with satisfaction: "We need to move faster and get ahead of everyone else!"
Saying this, Ron continued accelerating without looking back, his ambition driving him forward.
Harry hesitated momentarily, then comforted Hermione with forced optimism: "Don't worry too much. We're in front, so if there's any real danger, we'll encounter it first."
"Ciel staying behind alone might actually be safer in the long run. Come on, we really can't miss this opportunity to redeem ourselves."
Hearing this rationalisation, Hermione nodded reluctantly, took a deep breath, and hurried after Ron with Harry.
Now, Ciel watched the three disappear ahead without any emotional reaction, completely unconcerned by their abandonment. As he'd stated before, protecting them was merely convenient. If they didn't want or need it, he wouldn't impose his assistance.
Moreover, they were still relatively close to the forest exit. Any significant disturbance would bring Dumbledore and other professors quickly to investigate.
Even if Quirrell had elaborate arrangements, he wouldn't reveal his hand here so close to help.
Therefore, Ciel moved quite leisurely through the woodland, strolling like a tourist exploring familiar territory. For him, the Forbidden Forest's outskirts were like his personal backyard. He'd visited countless times over the months.
Darkness that would panic ordinary young wizards was clear as daylight to his enhanced vision. He could see every detail with perfect clarity.
Ciel carefully observed the forest conditions around him, his brow gradually furrowing with confusion. He indeed sensed no immediate danger, but his enhanced sixth sense kept insisting something was fundamentally wrong in this environment.
This persistent warning puzzled him greatly. Dumbledore had just conducted a thorough inspection of this route, and other paths had surely been checked by the house heads as well.
No matter how skilled or knowledgeable in obscure magic Quirrell might be, he couldn't leave absolutely no traces under inspection by these top-tier magical world wizards.
As for switching arrangements after their inspection, there simply wasn't sufficient time, and Dumbledore's group would immediately notice such obvious anomalies.
Ciel was completely baffled by whatever Quirrell had actually arranged. Shaking his head slightly, he exhaled softly with growing frustration:
"Forget it. If I can't figure it out through analysis, I won't waste more mental energy trying. Stay alert and take it step by step."
He withdrew his surveying gaze, preparing to accelerate and catch up with Harry's trio before they got themselves into serious trouble.
But just as he hadn't travelled far, a strange sensation emerged in his mental perception. His sixth sense was actively guiding him, insisting he'd missed something crucial.
Frowning with curiosity, he returned to where he'd paused momentarily. He carefully examined the immediate surroundings, not missing dense tree branches overhead or ground shrubs and grass beneath his feet.
The next moment, a small, strange plant suddenly caught his attention with its unusual appearance.
Seeing it clearly, his eyes showed intense surprise: "This is... Mousetail Grass?"
Information about Mousetail Grass surfaced in his well-trained memory. This magical herb was notoriously hard to discover, somewhat resembling foxtail grass but more like an actual mouse tail.
Rather than standing upright like normal plants, it crept along the ground in distinctive patterns. This rare herb could reduce one's magical presence and conceal their personal aura, making it extremely useful for brewing advanced invisibility potions.
Even when crafting invisibility cloaks, adding Mousetail fibers could dramatically enhance their effectiveness.
Now he looked at this cluster of Mousetail Grass, particularly examining its tip seeds, as familiar system prompts appeared:
[You discovered Mousetail Grass.]
[Cultivating it to maturity grants reward: Magic Concealment (Bronze Level)]
Magic Concealment would be quite useful for him, especially since he could no longer casually borrow Harry's legendary invisibility cloak for covert operations.
He crouched down carefully, collecting the valuable Mousetail Grass with practised movements. But most of his attention focused on the increasingly strong sense of wrongness in his enhanced perception.
Following his sixth sense's persistent guidance, his gaze finally fell on the soil composition beneath his feet. He lightly picked up some earth, gently rubbing it between his fingers.
Moisture transmitted from his fingertips told him everything. Other young wizards might not be particularly sensitive to soil moisture content, but he had been farming intensively for years.
Soil moisture's critical importance to successful cultivation was self-evident. He'd developed a near-instinctive understanding of proper soil conditions.
One touch made his expression darken with realisation. The moisture was completely wrong for this environment.
The Hogwarts area hadn't seen recent rainfall, and increasingly warm weather sometimes brought oppressive heat under bright sunlight. Even with the thick forest canopy providing shade, soil moisture would evaporate slower, but surface soil should definitely be dry.
Only deep underground soil would retain this level of moisture naturally.
Simultaneously, he looked at the Mousetail Grass with growing suspicion. This plant was rare precisely because, like actual mice, it had strong hiding instincts.
Mousetail Grass typically appeared in deep soil in shadowy places, rarely growing on the surface where it could be easily discovered.
Discordant details emerged in his analytical mind like pieces of a complex puzzle. Finally, lightning-like understanding connected these observations.
A shocking hypothesis formed in his thoughts as he stared at the ground beneath his feet with growing alarm.
Dumbledore had found no problems during his inspection, nor had the experienced house heads. He finally understood why. The problem wasn't evil magic attached to this specific area.
The problem was the soil layers themselves. Specifically, this entire area's soil composition had been excavated and then carefully refilled.
This explained why deep soil appeared on the surface, showing abnormal moisture content and hosting plants like Mousetail Grass that shouldn't naturally appear here.
But since these anomalies weren't inherently magical in nature, even top-tier wizards like Dumbledore and the heads, who instinctively used magical methods to sense dangerous enchantments, had missed these subtle physical signs in the forest's naturally dim environment.
If this hypothesis proved accurate, it meant something truly terrifying.
He looked at the ground with pupils contracting sharply in dawning horror. This visible Forbidden Forest area was just an elaborate distraction to cover Quirrell's real trap.
Quirrell didn't care how many times Dumbledore and the professors inspected the surface. He didn't care about the material collection tasks or obtaining meaningless tokens.
He only needed all students to enter this specific area at the predetermined time. Because Quirrell's actual trial ground lay hidden underground, buried beneath these deceptive soil layers!
Realising this catastrophic truth, he suddenly stood and prepared to leave the forest immediately, to expose Quirrell's conspiracy before it was too late.
But his heart sank as earthquake-like violent tremors accompanied by towering dust clouds erupted from underground. The entire forest shook violently like the world was ending.
Tall trees swayed and toppled with thunderous crashes. Then the entire soil layer began rapidly collapsing and sinking into the abyss below!
He took a steadying breath: "Too late."
In that crucial instant, he could have used Mage Hand to lift himself and escape this collapsing area completely. But his gaze seemed to penetrate the forest, seeing panicked little badgers elsewhere in similar peril.
His mind flashed with their unwavering support and devotion, his aunt's caring face, and Lady Hufflepuff's Patronus burning with sacrificial silver flames.
He didn't move to save himself, only drew his wand with sharp, determined eyes, allowing himself to sink into the underground darkness.
"I might not care about random others, but at least our house must leave here completely intact."
Rumble. Rumble.
Violent tremors affected the entire Forbidden Forest like a localised earthquake. Even Hogwarts castle felt the ground's thunderous shaking through its ancient foundations.
Students from various years preparing for final examinations poured from castle corridors, looking toward the forest with growing panic and confusion.
What met their horrified eyes left their minds blank with shock. That familiar forest area was simply gone?!
Trees, soil, everything had vanished without a trace. Only a pitch-black, enormous cavity remained, like an abyss entrance into hell itself.
Even from this considerable distance, they could hear hysterical crying from within the depths, along with bloodthirsty, sinister roars that chilled their souls.
"What is this nightmare?!" students screamed in terror.
Compared to the witnessing students, Dumbledore and the house heads, already prepared for potential contingencies, were equally shocked by the dramatic change. But their battle-honed instincts made them simultaneously draw wands and aim at Quirrell with deadly intent.
Dumbledore's face showed unprecedented fury that seemed to set the very air ablaze. Killing intent emanated unreservedly from this typically gentle White Lord.
"Quirinus Quirrell. What have you done to my students?!"
Now Quirrell looked pale, feeling like he faced a vast ocean or the endless sky itself. Overwhelming cosmic insignificance arose within him.
But he laughed maniacally, swaying back and forth with uncontrolled glee. Even his concealing black cloak slowly slipped away, revealing the horrifying truth beneath.
His already unnaturally large frame stretched further, becoming inhumanly massive and grotesque. Blood-red hair erupted from every inch of visible skin, instantly transforming him into a red-furred monster.
More shocking were dozens of pale, writhing limbs extending from Quirrell's body like a nightmare made flesh. Another head grotesquely emerged from his transformed form with wet, tearing sounds.
Seeing this second head's unmistakable face, except for Dumbledore, who merely contracted his pupils without moving, everyone else, including the usually composed Snape, instinctively retreated several steps with deep terror flooding their eyes.
This face was all too familiar to anyone who had lived through the First Wizarding War.
"The Dark Lord..." Professor McGonagall whispered.
"You-Know-Who..." Sprout breathed in horror.
"He's actually returned?!" Flitwick squeaked.
Voldemort and Quirrell's parasitic relationship had completely transformed into a nightmarish monster with two heads and countless writhing limbs, truly resembling a massive Quintaped.
More bizarre and terrifying than anything from their worst nightmares.
Seeing their frightened expressions, Quirrell laughed with wild abandon: "Finally, no more pretending to be that pathetic, stuttering fool! I'm so incredibly sick of that tedious charade!"
"Headmaster Dumbledore and my dear professors, surprised? Completely unexpected?!"
On the other grotesque head, Voldemort's face showed pure smugness, eyes focusing only on Dumbledore with naked mockery:
"Dumbledore, you didn't expect that after eleven long years, I could return and appear before you again. I've recovered so much strength, quite beyond your wildest expectations, haven't I?"
Dumbledore's gaze turned ice-cold as the Elder Wand slowly rose toward Voldemort with menacing intent. Terrifyingly suffocating magical power gathered around the legendary wand, seemingly brewing earth-shaking spells.
Voldemort's laughter ceased momentarily as he felt the overwhelming threat.
But then the multiple limbs extending from his monstrous body gripped several wands simultaneously. Deadly green light began gathering at each wand tip.
Voldemort's face showed complete malice, utterly confident in his position: "Dumbledore, you could certainly fight current me. Just you alone against this form, I'm no match."
"Much less with so many capable department heads here. But even if you all attack together with everything you have, how long would it take to finish me completely?"
"Current me may be far from peak magical strength, but this body has become remarkably durable through my modifications."
His voice turned mockingly sweet. "Those precious young wizards who fell into my trap might not last as long as me in combat. Great Headmaster Dumbledore, how many young wizard lives will you trade for my temporary retreat?"
"Ten, twenty, or shall we let all the first-years die horribly? Or perhaps another choice... clear the path for me. The Philosopher's Stone belongs to me."
"Before those young wizards die screaming, you might rescue some lives and recover a few intact corpses."
Voldemort casually toyed with his multiple wands, magic crackling between his fingers.
His words fell like thousand-pound hammers on everyone's hearts. Even Dumbledore's usually steady voice trembled with barely controlled rage:
"What have you done to them?!"
Voldemort laughed with eerie delight: "Nothing too elaborate, really. Remember the previous mysterious disappearances that terrorised everyone? Those monsters capable of creating such gruesome incidents, near-Quintaped creatures... how many did I leave down there?"
"Twelve, thirteen, or fifteen? Can't quite remember precisely, but they last ate human flesh yesterday. Just one measly thigh among so many ravenous monsters."
His eyes glittered with sadistic pleasure. "You can imagine how tremendously excited they'd be seeing so many sweet, tender young wizards."
At this moment, Professor Sprout seemed drained of all strength, her face deathly pale. Her mind involuntarily conjured horrifying images of Ciel bloody and dismembered.
Fear stronger than her own death began spreading through her heart like poison. Just as Professor Sprout wavered in despair, brilliant green light howled forth.
If not for Snape's lightning-quick reflexes and constant vigilance pulling Professor Sprout aside, that Killing Curse would have struck her directly.
Voldemort snorted with obvious disappointment at his failure.
But the next second, the two-faced man's massive, grotesque body burst through their encirclement at extraordinary speed, heading straight for Hogwarts castle with supernatural agility.
As Dumbledore and others moved to pursue, the two-faced man's mocking laughter rang out across the grounds:
"Dumbledore, I advise you to hurry with your rescue efforts. After all, you absolutely love arranging obstacles and protective measures. Those disgusting delays that held me up for so long."
"I should learn from such precious educational experience. You don't think the path to rescue those helpless young wizards will be completely unobstructed, do you?"
"I've specially arranged many interesting little games for you all. Some require Potions expertise, others Herbology knowledge, and some advanced Transfiguration skills."
"You'd better dramatically speed up your obstacle-clearing. If you pass all my challenges quickly enough, perhaps, aside from Ciel Sprout, that absolutely detestable little badger I despise so much, there won't be additional casualties."
Hearing the two-faced man's malicious mockery, Professor Sprout nearly fainted, swaying before letting out hysterical screams of anguish.
The next moment, she gripped her wand and charged toward the Forbidden Forest, regardless of whatever dangers lay ahead. She had to save Ciel at any cost.
Snape bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and followed her without hesitation.
Dumbledore's expression changed dramatically with the weight of responsibility. The next moment, he swung his wand with tremendous force.
Surging flames blazed forward, clearing the path and consuming the darkness ahead. Dumbledore's figure also disappeared into the cleansing flames.
At this moment, his heart was full of crushing guilt and remorse toward Ciel. If not for knowing Quirrell was problematic yet confidently using him to train Harry, none of this catastrophe would have happened.
Dumbledore only hoped Ciel could somehow survive long enough for rescue. But his heart had sunk to the deepest depths.
A young wizard facing those bloodthirsty Quintaped-like monsters? No matter how special or talented, survival chances were minimal at best. Perhaps leaving an intact corpse would be fortunate.
Meanwhile, Ciel, who had fallen into the underground cavity, was completely unaware of the external drama unfolding above. He only stared intently at the surrounding darkness with enhanced perception.
The Platinum-level night vision let him clearly see his new environment. His heart immediately sank with grim understanding.
This place was like a perfect mirror image of the surface forest, an elaborate underground Forbidden Forest! Who knew how much tremendous effort and resources the two-faced man had spent creating this underground wonder!
But unlike the peaceful surface, even the stale air here carried scalp-tingling evil and palpable danger. The artificial forest echoed with terrible howls that promised violent death.
Before he could analyse the situation further, his falling impact seemed to attract unwanted attention. Nearby artificial trees immediately swayed with subtle, ominous sounds.
Then something he hadn't expected appeared before him with predatory hunger.
It was a monster covered in strange red hair with five grotesquely human limbs. An unnaturally long neck extended from the red hair, supporting a head that retained disturbingly human features.
He had encountered such creatures on Delia Island during his previous expedition.
"Quintaped?!" But soon, he noticed something fundamentally wrong with this specimen.
This thing felt different from genuine Quintapeds. Its magical aura wasn't as overwhelmingly evil and terrible as true Quintapeds, though it was disturbingly similar.
Seeing tattered wizard robe fragments clinging to the monster's form, understanding dawned quickly:
"This is a wizard previously captured by Quirrell. He performed Quintaped modifications, transforming them into Quintaped-like monsters!"
Now, this quasi-Quintaped had recognised him as the young wizard Quirrell wanted eliminated at any cost.
Immediately, the head dangling from the long neck let out excited, inhuman laughter that echoed through the artificial forest:
"Young... flesh! Sweet... meat!"
Without hesitation, the monster charged at him with bizarre, corrupted magic crackling around its limbs.
He watched the approaching figure with cold light flowing in his eyes like winter streams. Previously on Delia Island, he'd felt the overwhelming aura of adult Quintapeds. That strange, evil sensation had made his heart heavy with dread, reluctant to provoke such dangerous creatures.
Even dealing with young Quintapeds had required careful planning and strategy, nearly letting them escape his trap.
But considerable time had passed since that Delia Island expedition. The current him was incomparable to his former strength.
Facing such monsters again, he felt none of the previous oppressive pressure or instinctive fear.
Sharp light blazed in his eyes as he gripped his wand with practised confidence. Having repeatedly experienced death in those training illusions, combat instincts now flowed through him like second nature.
Wand movement, magical surge. Mage Hand emerged instinctively from his focused will.
The charging Quintaped was immediately grasped by an invisible giant hand, suddenly losing balance and caught helplessly mid-air.
Wandless spellcasting completely surprised the monster, its eyes widening with confusion.
As Mage Hand succeeded in restraining it, he cast Sectumsempra repeatedly across the Quintaped's elongated neck. Massive wounds opened with wet, tearing sounds.
The grotesque neck was severed cleanly. The disturbingly human head tumbled to the forest floor with a wet impact. Seemingly dead, with even its eyes closed in apparent defeat.
But after several silent moments, the ground-bound head suddenly leapt up like a flying nightmare, attacking him again with renewed fury.
Strange, inhuman laughter emerged from its throat: "Foolish wizard! Cannot kill us! We are eternal!"
It believed a young wizard couldn't possibly be prepared for this classic Quintaped resurrection.
But the next second, the triumphant laughter ceased abruptly.
Because from his raised wand tip, lightning churned and gathered, engulfing the flying head in brilliant electrical fury!
"Fehu. Thurisaz. Dagaz. F, Þ, D..."
When the lightning dimmed, the Quintaped was finally, truly lifeless.
He exhaled softly, showing satisfaction: "Though this modified Quintaped is far inferior to real adult Quintapeds on Delia Island, being able to kill it so cleanly shows I've genuinely grown much stronger."
Then his gaze fell on the Quintaped's severed neck with growing interest. Strange, dark blood still flowed from the wound in thick streams.
Initially he paid little attention, but soon his expression shifted from mild curiosity to genuine joy.
This blood emitted identical magical sensations to genuine Quintaped blood he'd collected from Delia Island's dangerous expedition.
His gaze suddenly burnt with possibility: "This thing can induce mutant Human-Face Glowing Mushrooms just like real Quintaped blood?!"
He hadn't forgotten that using ancient weather magic to annihilate mutant Human-Face Glowing Mushrooms yielded ancient ashes that dramatically accelerated plant growth.
Previously, his Quintaped blood supply had been completely exhausted, preventing further mutant Human-Face Glowing Mushroom cultivation.
Delia Island remained too dangerous with its mysterious temple and unknown threats. He had no short-term plans to return there.
He'd thought he wouldn't obtain ancient ashes for a very long time. Unexpectedly, he'd encounter such incredible surprises in Quirrell's trap!
Then a brilliant thought emerged in his mind. If he systematically eliminated all Quintapeds here, how much precious Quintaped blood could he obtain? How many mutant Human-Face Glowing Mushrooms could he cultivate? How much ancient ash could he acquire?
Perhaps his ancient plant cultivation research could make breakthrough progress that would revolutionise his abilities!
Now his breathing quickened with excitement. To him, this underground Forbidden Forest represented a treasure trove of unprecedented value.
The only drawback was the area's considerable size. Quintapeds were too dispersed throughout the artificial forest. Finding them all would take considerable time and effort.
Before collecting enough Quintaped blood, Dumbledore and others might charge in for rescue operations. What a tremendous loss that would be!
Thinking this, urgency filled him. The next moment, inspiration struck like lightning.
With a wand movement, laser spell emerged. He deliberately cut his wrist, letting blood's scent and rich life force rapidly disperse in the stagnant air.
Simultaneously, he raised his wand with theatrical precision. Highly concentrated laser light pierced through layers of underground forest canopy, sketching clearly visible text in the artificial "sky" above.
In the oppressive darkness, the laser-formed words blazed like beacon fires:
"I am Ciel Sprout."
"I'm here."
"Don't you monsters want to eat me?"
"Come and get me!"
Immediately, whether attracted by his blood's tantalising aroma or the blazing text's blatant challenge, within his enhanced hearing range, subtle sounds erupted from every direction, all converging toward his position with predatory hunger!