The unicorn truly lived up to its name as a mighty magical creature—one kick of its hooves had sent Voldemort flying.
But Voldemort was not so easily dealt with. Judging by his movements, he must have taken plenty of kicks while hunting unicorns these past few days; he'd even built up some "experience" from it.
The moment he hit the ground, he bounced back up and launched himself at the unicorn a second time. This time, the creature didn't react quickly enough—Voldemort managed to latch onto its neck, pressing a wand beneath its jaw.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of sickly green light flared beneath the unicorn's chin. It screamed in agony, rearing on its front legs as silvery blood spilled from its nostrils and mouth.
Unicorns possessed incredibly high resistance to magic; ordinary spells could barely harm them, and even the Killing Curse often failed to strike them down in one blow.
That was why Voldemort had resorted to this brutal, close-range casting—pressing the curse right against its head.
Even stripped of most of his power, his hunting expertise more than compensated for the lack of raw strength.
One more beautiful unicorn collapsed lifeless to the forest floor. Voldemort crouched over its body, tearing into its veins, gulping the blood down in great mouthfuls before it had the chance to clot.
Unicorn blood could grant life to the dying, but at the terrible price of a curse—an existence of endless suffering, neither living nor dying.
But Voldemort didn't care. All that mattered was keeping Quirrell alive. As for the torment Quirrell would suffer? That wasn't his problem.
Suddenly, Voldemort stiffened, sensing a presence. He turned his head sharply—just in time to see a mass of water rising from the earth and coalescing into a breathtaking human form.
In her hand was a long golden whip, gleaming like an ornament that seemed to have been born with her, too striking to ignore.
It was Chuan.
"Voldemort? You really are as crude as a beast," Chuan said icily. Her tone toward him carried none of the gentleness she showed Louis—only haughty disdain.
"You again." Voldemort wiped the silvery blood from his lips. "Why are you here? To watch me make a fool of myself?"
"I've no time to watch a stray dog hunt," Chuan shot back coldly. "I'm only here to ensure the student I'm overseeing doesn't get killed by one of the exam questions."
"What nonsense are you spouting?"
Her words stoked Voldemort's fury, but the message hidden within them made him pay close attention.
"Heh… I think the headmaster and several professors already suspect you and your host. Yet here you are, acting as if nothing matters. Are you waiting for them to finish their discussion before they come to seize you?"
Her laugh was razor-sharp.
Louis, observing, realized this was the perfect role for Chuan—the cold, aloof, domineering beauty. Around him she was far too gentle, softening her aura.
A bead of cold sweat slid down Voldemort's face. He forced a snort. "So what if they suspect me? Without evidence they can do nothing. And until I obtain what I want, I won't leave this place!"
"Then you truly are a fool. If you remain under constant scrutiny, how do you expect to get anywhere near the Philosopher's Stone?" Chuan looked down at him from on high, her blue eyes brimming with disgust and scorn. "What you need now is to reduce suspicion on your host."
"Easier said than done! And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" Voldemort demanded. "Your so-called solution is to frame others, to redirect attention—but who in this castle is even worth suspecting?"
"That's your problem, not mine. I've already given you a path to think on. Do you expect me to plan everything for you as well? Perhaps I should just take the Philosopher's Stone myself while I'm at it."
Chuan snorted coldly. "Figure it out yourself."
And with that, just as she had arrived, she dissolved into a pool of water and vanished.
Voldemort's wary gaze lingered on the spot where she had stood. Once again, he was reminded of the terrifying weight of that strange group—the so-called union of villains across the world.
Whether it was Dio Brando, suspected to be their leader, or this self-proclaimed examiner, both filled him with an undeniable sense of danger.
Their powers were bizarre and terrifying… and yet, not magic at all.
And then there were their subordinates—those three with mediocre stealth skills but combat strength surpassing Death Eaters.
Every single person connected to that organization left Voldemort sleepless, unsettled.
Though, admittedly, the organization's name sounded laughable no matter how you thought about it.
> [Your subordinates have further convinced Voldemort to believe in and fear the fabricated organization you created.]
> [The impact runs deep.]
> [You gained Trick Points: 500. Current total: 94,000.]
> [You gained: 1 Legendary Lottery Draw.]
Louis once again earned a Legendary draw. Truly, Voldemort lived up to his reputation. Even in his weakened state, the Trick Points he yielded were meager—but the bonus Legendary draw?
Absolutely worth it.
Watching Voldemort sink into brooding silence, Louis stroked his chin and suddenly felt something was off.
All he'd wanted was to stir some trouble, but he hadn't known in which direction to push things—so he'd called on Chuan, handed her the task, and let her handle it.
Chuan had known the direction in which to cause chaos, but apparently not the specifics. So she'd simply tossed the direction at Voldemort, leaving him to figure out the details.
"…What kind of corporate office politics nonsense is this?" Louis shook his head, clearing away the absurd thoughts.
"Forget it, time to draw. A Legendary draw like this—before Voldemort's chaos fully erupts—is a once-in-a-lifetime chance."
Louis lay back on his bed, excitement rising, and began the Legendary Lottery.
> Current draw: Legendary
> Attempt consumed
> Lottery starting…
Amid rainbow-hued brilliance, silhouettes drifted past before his eyes. Louis stared tensely at the figures, anticipation mounting for his fifth-ever prize.
… … …
A sword immortal soaring on his blade, an immortal shrouded in glowing clouds, and even a flash of a blue raccoon cat darting past.
"Holy crap—don't scare me like that! Don't tell me I'm about to pull Doraemon!" Louis clutched his chest.
If it were Doraemon's gadgets, fine—though they wouldn't work in Hogwarts, at least they could still make life at home convenient.
But if he actually pulled Doraemon's template? His life would be ruined.
Just the cat's crippling fear of mice would be nauseating enough—not to mention the cursed fate of being a useless sidekick doomed to suffer while helping others live happily ever after.
Finally, the prize settled on a towering silhouette. Too tall. So tall Louis was dumbstruck.
He raised his head, recognizing the familiar colors, the familiar face—and at once felt dread crawling up his spine.
"Oi! No way! Don't you dare screw me over!"
As his scream echoed, the figure dissolved into a beam of light and landed in Louis's hand. At the same time, the system kindly delivered its message:
> [You obtained a Legendary Enhancement Item: Spark Prism Rod infused with the power of the Giant of Light.]
Louis's expression went blank, even a little broken, as he stared at the all-too-familiar size and shape of the object in his hand.
That's right. A transformation wand. The Spark Prism Rod—the one that turns broth into Ultraman. The rod that turns you into light.
"This is absolute crap!" Louis's eyes blazed as he hurled the rod furiously to the floor.
Ultraman, of all things?! He'd have accepted a four-dimensional pocket, sure. Even a cameo as a certain blue raccoon cat would've been fine! But turn him into Tiga Ultraman?!
"Do I look like someone with light in his heart? All my magic runs on darkness, damn it!"
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