As Sharl swung his wand like a sword, he clearly chanted the incantation: "Sectumsempra!"
Immediately, the magic within his body grew sharper than ever before. That magic surged through his arm and into his wand.
Unlike in the past—when casting Sectumsempra failed due to insufficient magical strength—this time, Sharl's magic had surpassed the threshold. An invisible yet deadly force burst from the tip of his wand. There were no dazzling lights or dramatic visuals. Instead, it felt like an invisible sword slicing through the air. The sheer presence of it was unnerving.
Even Sharl couldn't help but shudder. His hairs stood on end as he sensed the razor-sharp edge tearing through the atmosphere. Though it wasn't lethal to him, Sharl was certain that a direct hit would leave torn flesh and spurting blood.
For perspective, Hagrid—a half-Giant—could twist steel with his bare hands. A hunting rifle made of forged steel was like a toy in his grip. Yet now, Sharl's physical prowess, enhanced by Legendary Life and Legendary Strength, had already surpassed that of Hagrid's. And yet, the Sectumsempra spell made even him feel threatened. That alone spoke volumes about its power.
It wasn't just about raw strength. Sectumsempra ignored protective spells, inflicted deep and unstoppable wounds, and was notoriously difficult to heal. Against magical creatures—like Trolls—it could be a game-changer. Against other wizards, it was terrifyingly effective.
Sharl took a long, calming breath, suppressing the rush of excitement.
"At last, a spell I can truly call my trump card."
Due to its origin in the Dark Arts, he couldn't use it publicly. But just knowing he had it dramatically increased his confidence.
If Quirrell ever dared target him again, Sectumsempra would deliver a painful surprise.
Feeling the high of victory, Sharl couldn't help but reflect on the source of his power surge.
"This harvest really marked a leap in my magical strength."
"Silver-tier rewards... they're the real deal."
His eyes gleamed with ambition.
"If I can cultivate more Piranha Algae..."
"Then not only Sectumsempra, but all my spells will grow even stronger."
"Thirteen water tanks aren't nearly enough anymore."
A tempting idea entered his mind: Why not grow Piranha Algae in the Black Lake?
It was enormous. If he could manage to successfully cultivate Piranha Algae there, he might harvest hundreds of silver-tier reward orbs at once.
But as quickly as the idea came, he calmed himself down.
"Steady, Sharl. Don't let your greed cloud your judgment."
Cultivating Piranha Algae in laboratory tanks was now manageable. But the Black Lake was a wild, living ecosystem. Introducing new species could collapse its delicate balance.
Rare aquatic herbs unique to the lake might vanish, and the algae themselves might fail to adapt and die.
After evaluating the risks, Sharl decisively gave up the idea.
His Herbology skills weren't at that level yet.
"My aunt said I should receive a new experimental plot after Christmas," he reminded himself.
"That will come with more tanks. For now, that's enough."
Composed again, Sharl got to work. He carefully moved the mature Piranha Algae out of the tanks, planted a fresh batch, and then resumed his regular duties in the Greenhouse.
Despite today's major success, he didn't allow himself to slack off.
One skipped day would slow plant growth.
If he justified skipping once, he might do it again. That slippery slope would eventually show in poor soil quality and withering plants.
He'd learned this in his previous life: You can be less intelligent, but never lazy or careless in academic pursuits—especially those involving the land.
It's like rowing upstream: if you don't push forward, you're drifting back.
As Christmas approached, the atmosphere in Hogwarts Castle became increasingly festive.
The common rooms were decorated with jingling bells. Hagrid brought in towering Christmas trees, and students hung ornaments of all kinds. Everyone chatted excitedly about holiday plans.
Even the professors were lenient, letting inattentive students off with mild warnings.
But Sharl remained as disciplined as ever—a tightly wound clockwork. His routine didn't change. To others, he looked almost like an ascetic. But for Sharl, this steady life, with measurable daily progress, was deeply satisfying.
He thought this peaceful routine would last until Christmas.
But then, a letter arrived.
It came via Hagrid's owl. Though the writing was full of spelling errors and rough scrawls, the enthusiasm was unmistakable.
"Sharl, the thing you asked me to find—
I found it.
Traces of a Troll settlement!"
Sharl's eyes lit up immediately.
Earlier, after discovering that Trolls could dramatically enhance Goldfish Vine growth, he had asked Hagrid to search for signs of them in the Forbidden Forest.
But the forest was vast. Even massive Trolls were easy to miss among the towering trees. Add in the recent heavy snowfall, and tracking them became almost impossible.
Not to mention Hagrid's other responsibilities.
As Gamekeeper, Hagrid constantly had to patrol the forest, guarding its many magical creatures from poachers—most of whom were ruthless Dark Wizards. They wouldn't hesitate to kill or kidnap to achieve their goals.
If a student stumbled across them, the consequences would be unthinkable.
So Sharl had braced himself to wait until the snow melted after the holidays.
Yet Hagrid had actually succeeded.
According to the letter, the settlement wasn't large—just four Trolls: two adults and two juveniles.
If Sharl could tame and train them to tend the Goldfish Vine, he could drastically increase production—potentially up to 250 pots.
That meant each harvest could now yield the equivalent of two silver-tier reward orbs.
His upgrade progress—from Gold to Platinum in Magic Perception Enhancement—would skyrocket.
And that boost would ripple through his Herbology, Potions, and Charms studies.
Without hesitation, Sharl set off for Hagrid's Hut.
Meanwhile, back in the castle...
On the floor near the Medical Ward, a pale-faced Quirrell leaned on his crutch, watching from a corridor.
As he saw Sharl leave the castle, his eyes narrowed and he quickly withdrew from view.
There was deep hatred in his gaze.
The brutal beating he had suffered last time at Sharl's hands still left him injured. His frail body had only grown weaker. Each movement was a struggle.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath.
"This is my last chance before Christmas to take that brat down."
"Only if I control him can I steal the Philosopher's Stone while the castle's defenses are weak."
Otherwise, his condition would only worsen.
Lord Voldemort—currently parasitic on his body—depended on him. Keeping the Dark Lord alive required sacrifices Quirrell could barely endure. The fewer extreme methods he used, the better.
That's why he needed Sharl.
Fortunately, he had a plan.
A few days earlier, Quirrell had overheard Hagrid discussing his search for a Troll settlement. He connected the dots: it had to be for Sharl.
That gave him an idea.
The poachers who lurked in the Forbidden Forest were ruthless, willing to kill or abduct for gold.
So, Quirrell posted a bounty on the black market.
A well-known team of poachers accepted the job.
Their mission: capture Sharl and deliver him to a specified location.
And now, the Troll settlement found by Hagrid would serve as perfect bait.
Seeing Sharl rush off confirmed that he had taken the bait.
Quirrell's pale face flushed with excitement.
"I should've thought of this sooner."
Sharl's half-Giant blood made most spells ineffective on him. But these poachers specialized in hunting large, tough magical creatures. Their spells were customized to overcome brute force.
Their protective enchantments were nearly impossible for raw strength to break through quickly.
And their repeated Stupefy attacks could even stun a Dragon.
Sharl—despite his strength—relied mostly on brute force, not sophisticated magic. He was the perfect target.
Quirrell clenched his fists, hatred boiling over.
"Once they deliver him into my hands..."
"I'll make sure that little bastard pays dearly."
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