Chapter 226: Murder, Arson, and the Dark Lord – Savior Saint Potter

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A ragged man was running through a jungle swamp, a place where the ground could silently devour a person. No one knew if beneath the seemingly calm mud hid a vicious and terrifying false-toothed crocodile, a creature with a jaw powerful enough to snap a steel rod the thickness of an arm like a candy cane, and teeth that were virtually indestructible—deadly tools for this savage hunter.

People should count themselves lucky that this magical creature, classified as R6 by the Amonra Wizarding Kingdom, was inherently lazy. Unless provoked, it wouldn't move its body recklessly but instead waited quietly in a small area for prey to come to it.

The man running was named Yamamoto. As a dropout from the Magic Academy, he had been in Kijata'ro for a week. He had mostly memorized the dangerous areas near the camp, but at that moment, he couldn't care less about whether he was intruding on the territory of a false-toothed crocodile.

In his mind, being bitten in half by that terrifying crocodile, writhing and struggling on the ground for an hour before dying, would be far preferable to falling into the hands of that monstrous figure because of running too slowly.

That figure was none other than the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort—the brutal, cruel, vicious, evil, and sinister Dark Wizard!

Yamamoto had escaped Japan, along with eight others, all of them dropouts from the Magic Academy.

The reason he fled to the distant land of Africa was simple: back home, a nationwide movement was underway. To avoid becoming the testing ground for a hydrogen bomb explosion, the slogan "One cup of purified water per person, health for all Neon citizens" was being shouted loud and clear.

As a White-Robed Wizard, Yamamoto had no sense of patriotic duty. As a wanted criminal, he had been tasked with handling the purified water, ensuring it went into the mouths of those corrupt politicians who didn't want to drink it themselves.

Let's not get this twisted. In Japan, being called a White-Robed Wizard wasn't a compliment. In a country that was known for its habit of turning things upside down, white did not symbolize purity.

At the Magic Academy, students wore special robes that changed colors based on their studies. If they graduated successfully, their robes would turn gold, symbolizing that they had mastered all the knowledge. However, if the robe turned white, it meant they had practiced illegal magic (dark magic), and they would be expelled immediately.

In the past, a student like Yamamoto, expelled for his practices, wouldn't have been thrown into prison. But now, with the prison doors wide open and welcoming human purification devices, Yamamoto, who had committed only a minor offense, was about to be arrested and sent to the Wizard Prison.

Among the others in his predicament were eight more people. But as they recalled the terrifying scenes they had witnessed, Yamamoto's legs wobbled uncontrollably. The man named Voldemort had merely disliked someone, and as a result, he publicly used magic to peel off the skin of a camp guard, nicknamed "Jack with Severed Fingers." He dismantled the bones, even removing the muscles piece by piece until nothing was left but bare, exposed bones. Jack's heart was still beating, and he lived through it all.

This horrifying act led to a retaliation from Jack's subordinates, a powerful poaching group that had established a semi-permanent camp in Kijata'ro, consisting of over one hundred ruthless rogue wizards under Jack's command. However, their revenge brought disaster upon the entire camp.

A vicious green snake slithered through the camp, not a fatal curse, but a far more malicious form of magic. Those ensnared by the green serpent appeared to have their life force drained from them. Their flesh dried up, their hair turned pale, and all their vitality was sucked away until they were reduced to a pile of withered bones, dying amidst agonizing screams.

Yamamoto was incredibly grateful for his eight companions. If they hadn't drawn the snake's attention, he would have had no hope of escaping the camp.

This place was located at the border between Kijata'ro and the outside world, with a ten-kilometer stretch marking the outermost border of Kijata'ro. The magic here was volatile and chaotic. While it didn't greatly affect the magical creatures with tough hides, for wizards, this area acted as a natural interference zone. Spells like Apparition, Portkeys, Floo Powder, or even more complex spells like rockets and missiles would be disrupted to varying degrees here.

It was precisely due to the difficulty of moving freely that the semi-permanent black-market camp had been able to establish itself.

Without the high mobility needed for a quick retreat, even if Amonra Wizarding Kingdom's inspectors discovered the camp, gathering enough forces to wipe it out would be a risky and challenging endeavor.

Yamamoto had no idea how long he had been running, but he knew the magical energy around him was beginning to stabilize. Whether he was leaving Kijata'ro or heading deeper into it, either option was good for him.

As long as he entered a stable magical zone, he could leave this hellish place with a spell. He wasn't sure where he would wander next, but he swore he never wanted to return to Africa again.

His exhausting run had nearly drained his stamina. Gasping for breath, Yamamoto, relieved that he hadn't been followed, reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of raw materials used for potion-making. These were the main ingredients for creating stamina-restoring potions—though they carried a slight toxicity and could cause diarrhea, they were not fatal.

At the Magic Academy, potion-making was highly valued. The academy's wizards were regulars at potion-making competitions. Despite being a dropout, Yamamoto knew quite a bit about potion-making.

A sharp, bitter, tingling taste was tormenting Yamamoto's tongue and mouth. As the bitter, chewable liquid was swallowed, his exhausted body gradually regained some strength. Sitting slumped on a pile of rotting leaves, he shook off a blood-sucking leech that had somehow found its way onto his hand. His pale lips had regained a hint of color.

"You don't know the way, do you?"

A lazy voice suddenly appeared less than two meters behind him. Yamamoto almost twisted his own head off in shock, only to find the nightmarish figure standing there calmly.

The black robe was wrapped in swirling dark mist, and the thick, inescapable stench of blood gradually drifted outward with the faint breeze. It resembled lava flowing from a volcano, though more like coagulating blood.

The camp of "Jack with Severed Fingers" had nearly three hundred wizards. As a medium-sized camp, it wasn't particularly overcrowded. But now, the once-bustling camp had turned into a desolate ruin, its only inhabitants the starving beasts released from their cages, devouring everything in sight. The dark wizard, wrapped in vengeful spirits and blood, seemed to relish this blood-soaked feast.

"You're not much use, then."

The right hand that was lifted didn't grip a wand, but instead had a thin thread wrapped around a slender, pale finger. A lifelike little snake, its tongue flicking, revealed its sharp, poisonous fangs.

"Qiao Dou Ma De!"

With a scream, Yamamoto wildly swung his arms. His lower body seemed to stagger backward while his upper body appeared to bend forward in an awkward bow, the disoriented movements making him look almost comically absurd.

"Oh, you're Japanese?"

The dark wizard's eyes revealed a hint of surprise, as though intrigued.

"Yes, yes, I am... sir! Sir! Please don't kill me! I'm still useful, I'm still useful!" Yamamoto stammered in broken English, his mind racing as he desperately searched for something that could save his life. Despite his intense desire to survive and his determination to squeeze out every ounce of potential, he seemed to have nothing left to offer.

He was a fugitive, a prison escapee. If it weren't for the overwhelming number of prisoners and the shortage of Aurors, he and the other eight escapees wouldn't have managed to flee. Even if they had managed to sneak back and retrieve their confiscated wands, gold and silver treasures weren't things they could carry around. Without magic to steal food along the way, they wouldn't even have made it this far.

"Wait, wait! I have this!"

A sudden flash of inspiration struck Yamamoto. He quickly fumbled through his clothes, pulling out a wallet-like pouch—his only possession apart from his wand.

He clutched a magical photograph in his hand, pointing to a woman in a kimono on the photo and speaking rapidly, a forced, flattering smile spreading across his face.

"This is my onee-san, the academy's super-popular girl who completed the Hundred-Man Slaughter at fifteen! She's called the once-in-a-thousand-years beauty! A top-tier actress signed by Tokyo Hot! If I send her a letter..."

His face flushed with an unfamiliar, almost manic enthusiasm as he desperately turned into a frantic salesman, pitching his sister to the dark wizard in front of him.

A stream of incomprehensible, bizarre words and mysterious phrases spilled out.

The tense atmosphere shifted awkwardly. Even the dark wizard, known for taking lives without hesitation, wore a rare expression of bewilderment.

"Finished?"

After watching Yamamoto struggle to swallow dryly, the dark wizard spoke softly after a long pause.

"Then it's time to go."

The green snake seemed ready to leap from his finger, its deathly intent freezing the pleading face before it.

"I'll allow you to struggle a bit. I've never seen how a wizard from the Magic Academy fights."

"Since you have the courage to venture into this deathtrap of a place, I trust you won't disappoint me."

"Come—"

A long, pale finger curled, and the wand that had been discarded earlier flew back into Yamamoto's hand. It was a Model 94 pistol wand, caked in mud, but it didn't affect its magical function.

"Start your performance. If you manage to satisfy me—"

The dark wizard's voice paused.

"I'll make your death a quick one."

"Remember," the dark wizard continued, his tone shifting, "death isn't the scariest thing. The scariest thing is desiring death and being denied it."

The image of Jack with severed fingers being flayed alive and dismembered flashed before Yamamoto's eyes once again. The echoes of that maddened, lunatic laughter, the sickening joy of trampling on life, reverberated in his ears.

Yamamoto didn't want to die, but more than that, he didn't want to beg for death and not receive it.

Clutching his familiar pistol wand, his heart filled with despair, Yamamoto pulled the trigger. But the barrel was aimed at his own body. Perhaps suicide would be a better fate than being tortured to death by this terrifying dark wizard.

However, a single finger extinguished his last hope. The finger blocked the spell shooting from the wand's barrel, and the magic meant to hit flesh barely caused any noticeable damage to the finger. A faint red mark was all that remained—the full extent of the spell's effect.

"Is that a Cutting Spell?" the dark wizard mused, retracting his finger and speaking slowly.

"Did you know? After a person's head is severed, their mind remains active for up to seventeen blinks. Death is not instantaneous."

He bent down slightly. Yamamoto, now fully aware of his appearance, saw the face of a young man no older than twenty, with soft black hair and bright, obsidian eyes. His expression was kind, with no hint of arrogance or malice, as if the terrifying words he'd just spoken belonged to a different person. This young man in front of him was all about charm and elegance, his handsome demeanor softening the chilling threat.

The dark wizard's beauty was striking, particularly in his youth. At twenty, he was in the prime of his attractiveness, no longer naive but not yet tainted by age.

"Perhaps I should remind you—now is not the time to daydream."

"Heart-wrenching."

The light incantation slipped from his lips. A horrific wail filled the air, rising with intensity. Yamamoto, his senses numbed, finally snapped out of his stupor. Trembling, he grabbed his wand again.

"AHHHHHH!!"

He screamed frantically, unleashing a flurry of spells.

The magic taught at the academy had a familiar feel to it, like the wizards Yamamoto had faced back in North America. Their spells differed subtly from those of European wizards, influenced by regional variations. But at their core, the spells were the same as the ones used by European wizards.

"Shikigami? Witchcraft? Ninjutsu?"

The dark wizard waved away one spell after another with ease and sharply demanded, "What I'm seeing here are just poor parlor tricks. If all you can offer me are these—"

"The Academy doesn't teach Shinto witchcraft," Yamamoto hastily explained, feeling the snake's presence on his shoulder. "Only the Sennō Shrine is allowed to teach these arts."

"We're not permitted to learn them. Only selected young wizards, chosen by the Sennō Shrine, are sent to the shrine in southern Ryukyu to study Shinto witchcraft. The rest of us, who aren't chosen, can only study at the Academy."

Yamamoto swallowed hard. "Japan's Shinto witchcraft... it's been gone from Japan for centuries. The divine children selected each year are the ones we offer as atonement."

"I see now," the dark wizard nodded slowly, as if the pieces had fallen into place. He had only heard scattered rumors, never imagining there was such a complex history behind it all.

"I've misjudged you."

Yamamoto's dull eyes suddenly sparked with a glimmer of hope. But the gaze that met his wasn't one of mercy or forgiveness. Instead, it was the green glow of the small snake.

"Krii-Lun-Aus" (Kill-Drain-Suffer)

The green snake bared its fangs and opened its mouth, growing to the size of a human thigh in an instant. It bit into the head, which was shrieking in agony. As the life force was swiftly drained, the shriveled body could no longer produce even a sound, and the corpse collapsed to the ground. The small snake returned to its master's side, transforming into a green bracelet that wrapped around his wrist.

"That's not enough."

The dark wizard glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist. "To block the Sun Dragon's laser cannon, this little bit of life force won't be enough."

"But soon," he murmured, "it should be sufficient."

As he spoke, the once-handsome black-haired youth transformed into a more muscular and attractive black-haired young man.

With the change in appearance, the bloodthirsty vengeful spirits that had once clung to his black robe vanished.

The dark wizard who killed and set fires—Lord Voldemort—was now reborn as the saintly savior, Potter.

Tom Riddle's misdeeds had nothing to do with Harry Potter, and Professor Flitwick could attest to that. Harry Potter had come to this deathtrap for adventure, with the official permission of the Amornla Wizarding Kingdom, and he had never intended to do anything wrong.

(End of chapter)