"Bang!"
It wasn't until Flint's cheek slammed into the cannonball-hard object that he realized it wasn't a fist at all.
It was the solid spherical handle of a walking stick!
His head snapped to the side, his brain buzzing like a struck gong, and then a searing pain ignited along his jawline.
Flint's eyes bulged wide.
A sneak attack?!
"You son of a—" He whipped his head around, fury boiling over as he cocked his fist for a counterpunch.
An iron grip clamped down on Flint's shoulder from behind.
He twisted to look and found himself staring into the menacing glare of the burly Cedric.
Flint: 6
Ethan smiled, all easy charm. "Feeling calmer now?"
Flint: Calm, calm, my dear father.
Everyone gawked in stunned silence at Ethan's sudden arrival.
Even Hermione, freshly rescued, stood there with her mouth hanging open, too dazed to process it.
It was like he'd summoned an eldritch horror just to rough up a pack of playground thugs.
"Here, have some tea."
A soft, otherworldly voice drifted from behind Hermione.
She turned and saw Luna gazing at her with gentle worry.
Hermione took the offered teacup on autopilot and sipped. "Thank you—Pfft!"
Bitter! So bitter!!
It tasted like she'd just gnawed on a mouthful of spoiled earth; Hermione had never encountered tea this vile, and her face twisted into a grimace on instinct.
Was this deliberate?!
She fixed her eyes on Luna's serene, untroubled expression, and it hit her like a Bludger—she screamed it silently in her mind:
*What kind of normal person lugs around a full tea set when they head out?!
It's downright bizarre!!*
A faint blue subtitle flickered into view before Ethan's eyes.
[You exercised your body and strengthened your physique]
[You gained the entry "Vigor"]
[Vigor: You are refreshed and can now paint for longer]
[You also have stronger resistance to illness]
Immediately.
A rush of revitalizing energy surged through Ethan's veins.
It banished the fog of his all-nighter, even soothing the dull throb in his skull from hours of obsessive brushwork.
His thoughts sharpened, settling into crystal clarity.
On top of "[Erudition]," he'd unlocked a "Vigor" entry too?
Ethan blinked at the subtitles in mild astonishment, a theory clicking into place about why it hadn't shown up before.
Probably because he so rarely threw himself into the fray personally.
His artwork did the heavy lifting just fine.
He hadn't anticipated stumbling onto fresh territory this time.
In that instant, Ethan's gaze softened toward Flint with a warmth that bordered on paternal affection.
Flint shuddered, his gut screaming at him to bolt.
But all he saw was the other boy extending a hand.
Flint: ?
Ethan's voice dripped with solicitous concern. "You okay there?"
"If you're feeling peachy—how about we go another round?"
Moderate exercise is great for the constitution, after all. Flint: ?!!!
For one wild heartbeat, he actually wondered if this fiend had a shred of decency buried under all that menace!!
Flint mentally kicked himself for the lapse.
He smacked Ethan's hand away with a savage swipe and hauled himself up from the dirt.
He leveled a glare at Ethan, lips working furiously for what felt like ages before he spat out what he figured was the ultimate burn:
"You filthy Mudblood—!"
Ethan lifted a hand, halting the others mid-lunge, and leaned in close, his whisper a silken blade:
"Oh? And what does that make you, you little troll? The unfortunate result of your dad and grandma getting a bit too cozy."
Flint: !!!
What the hell was that for?!
The stocky boy's face drained of color, then flushed a furious crimson.
His mouth flapped open and shut, but not a syllable of comeback clawed its way out.
Right then.
A delicate porcelain hand appeared, proffering a teacup.
"Here, have some tea to soothe that throat of yours~"
"Oh—uh, thanks."
Flint snatched it without thinking and downed it in one go. "Pfft!!!"
What fresh hell is this brew?!
Flint hurled the cup to the ground, heaving for air, his glare scorching Ethan and his crew alike.
They were a straight-up infernal syndicate!
"—Don't get cocky, Ethan Vincent!"
Flint ground out through clenched teeth.
"Just you wait—we Slytherins aren't letting this slide!"
With that, he stormed off from practice.
He barreled straight into Neville on his way out.
But he hadn't made it far.
He froze mid-stride.
Then pivoted and marched right back.
Under the collective stare of the group, cheeks blazing like Fiendfyre, he scooped up the fallen Nimbus 2001 from the grass.
Slytherin: "."
So mortifying, it could curdle Merlin's beard!!
Ron gaped, at a loss. "He's... he's not actually part troll, is he?"
Hermione's brow furrowed, her fist balled tight. "Those loathsome Slytherins!"
Maybe it was because Ethan had just taken a "Mudblood" slur to the chin too—
But right now, Hermione wasn't just not upset.
She felt an odd flicker of camaraderie, like they'd weathered the same storm.
Harry: "Unless you crush them like you did Malfoy—make 'em terrified of you."
"Otherwise, they'll keep coming back for more scraps."
Just like his aunt and uncle.
Once the disdain took root, nitpicking and payback flowed as easy as breathing.
But—
Everyone knew the score.
One Malfoy? Manageable.
A whole cohesive Slytherin house? Good luck dismantling that without a war.
The Enlightenment Society members couldn't help shooting glances at their leader.
They froze at the sight: Ethan's mouth was quirked up in the strangest, most predatory smirk!
Not the grimace of a man facing a nightmare, but the gleam of a hunter watching dinner stumble into the snare!
The why of it was straightforward.
Thanks to the [Vigor] entry, one of his grand serpent masterpieces was about to wrap up.
"The first lamb to the slaughter, lining up at my door already—"
Ethan murmured, his lips twisting into a sharper grin.
Slytherin Round Table Council?
Watch me pick you off, one by one!
Let my Enlightenment Society shine as Hogwarts' one true beacon.
Ethan whipped around, flashing his club a dazzling, teeth-baring smile that left them all rooted in place:
"Alright then—time to kick off our inaugural training session."
"And the focus? Oh, naturally: how to survive me."
?!!!
"Wait, hold on! Ethan! You're diving straight into the deep end—Ahhhhhh!!!"
"Holy hippogriffs! How's Ethan's wand firing off three spells at once?!"
"Coach, teach me that one!"
Shrieks exploded into the air.
They carried across the windswept lawn like echoes from a cursed chorus.
Nearby.
Students glanced up from their lounging, murmuring in bemused awe:
"Are they prepping for Halloween this early?"
Those wails sounded way too authentic!
Like they were one miscast away from the grave.
Hah—hah?
End of October.
Ethan leveraged the [Vigor] entry to forge the skill [Robust Physique Lv.1].
This meant.
Not only did the rampant Hogwarts flu glance right off him, but he stayed sharp as a goblin-forged blade even after pulling all-nighters at the easel.
At long last—
The great serpent's [Body] was finished.
Deep in the Chamber of Secrets.
The air hung thick, congealed.
It warped into a heavy, foreboding haze that clung to the stone walls like a shroud.
The colossal Basilisk lay coiled in the cavern's depths.
It didn't dare twitch a muscle, every sinew locked rigid, as if it could will its own heart to silence.
It had once reveled in its supremacy—a killer whose stare alone claimed souls.
Yet.
Before that thing, it shrank to insignificance.
Even though the form drew from its own essence, capturing just a segment of its frame.
["Merlin's beard—"] Tom muttered, transfixed by the emerging shape on the canvas, ["What sort of abomination are you birthing here?"]
Across the canvas towering dozens of meters high, a body of inky black unfurled.
From a distance, it evoked a writhing chain of jagged peaks.
The scales exuded a visceral revulsion, a gut-deep loathing that twisted the stomach at first sight.
Evil incarnate.
Born purely from hungers for ruin, devouring, and endless bloodletting.
And this was merely one-fifth of the whole.
[Painting: Serpent Body]
[Rank: First Order · golden legend]
[Type: Living Painting]
[Description: One-fifth of the complete painting]
[Effect: When existing alone, it can only cause intense fear in onlookers, impacting their minds]
[When the five paintings are combined, their effects and rank will undergo a revolutionary change]
Ethan flicked his wand, threading the faint psychic wisps of the great serpent into the artwork.
Frail as they were, they lent [Serpent Body] a lifelike ripple and sway.
"Hmm, just fear? That's a touch underwhelming—"
Ethan mused aloud.
Inspiration struck like lightning, and he stretched out his metaphorical talons toward his stockpile of cards.
Time to fuse a few in—layer on the nightmare fuel for the serpent's grand portrait—
Nightfall.
Ethan slipped back into his dormitory, a satisfied purr in his step.
"Hoo-hoo!"
His and Luna's owl perched on the windowsill, waiting patiently.
Ethan ran a hand along Carrot's plump chest feathers, plucked the letter free, and scanned it:
"Slytherin Pureblood Honor Club—"
[Ethan Vincent, we sincerely invite you to participate with us in the Hogwarts Halloween Dare Challenge event]
[Betting on honor]
[A competition to see whose club is superior]
[The loser must not only publicly apologize to the other party but also announce the dissolution of their club, never to engage in activities again]
[Do you dare to accept, Ethan Vincent?]
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