The Headmaster was still grinning like he'd already won when the first idiot charged.
Big guy, scarred knuckles, big knife.
John didn't even step aside properly—just twisted his hips half an inch.
The knife scraped air.
John's left hand clamped the wrist, snapped it like dry wood. Before the scream started, the wand—still held backward like a shank—jammed straight into the eye. Pop. Twist.
Out came half the socket with it. Body hit the floor leaking.
One.
Next two came together. John let the rebar guy swing first—ducked under, came up inside the reach, drove the wand through the soft spot under the jaw. Up into the brain.
The man gargled, dropped the bar. John caught it mid-fall, spun, cracked the second guy's temple open with it. Wand stayed in the first corpse's mouth while he worked. Pulled it free wet, red to the knuckles.
Three.
The rest swarmed after that. No more clever circling—just panic meat piling in. John waded through them.
A lab tech in a white coat tried to grab his arm. John reversed the grip, stabbed the wand into the meat between thumb and forefinger, pinned the hand to the man's own thigh. Then yanked upward, tearing tendons.
The scream was high and wet. John silenced it by ramming the wand through the open mouth, out the back of the neck. Used the twitching body as a shield while two more stabbed at him.
Their blades sank into dead meat instead. John shoved the corpse forward, bowled them over, stomped down once—crunch—then stabbed downward twice.
Throat. Eye. Done.
Eight. Maybe nine.
Counting got fuzzy.
Blood was everywhere now—on the mask, in his eyes, soaking the robes so heavy they slapped against his legs.
Didn't slow him.
A thick-necked Auror type barreled in swinging a metal tray like a club. John caught it on the forearm—felt the bone creak but hold—then hooked the wand behind the man's knee, yanked. Down he went. John dropped a knee on the throat, crushed the windpipe, then drove the wand through the ear while the legs kicked uselessly.
A hooded man came at him from the side, katana already drawn in a two-handed grip. The blade sliced down diagonally, shoulder to hip.
John stepped inside the arc, caught the descending wrist with his forearm, stopped the cut dead, twisted the arm hard—pop. Grip failed. He snatched the katana mid-fall, reversed it, and rammed the point through the open mouth. Out the back of the skull with a wet crunch.
Fifteen? Twenty? Who gives a shit?
The Headmaster wasn't grinning anymore.
...
The dungeon.
For half a month, Musashi had been imprisoned there.
His face was deathly pale, his hair greasy, his beard unkempt.
He looked utterly haggard.
But in reality, he hadn't been idle.
On his seventy-something attempt at wandless magic, the tightly shut door finally reacted.
With a loud boom, the lock was blown apart.
A trace of joy surfaced on Musashi's face. Had his wandless casting finally succeeded?
"Musashi-kun, I'll get you out of here."
"..."
Shizuka pushed the door open. She had been waiting for this moment all along.
This was the time when Mahoutokoro had the fewest people. The Headmaster was currently taking Johnny Silverhand to that door.
It was the perfect opportunity for Musashi to escape.
"Shizuka," Musashi said, "I need a wand."
His wand had been forcibly confiscated when he was captured.
Shizuka had already anticipated this. She handed him a cherrywood wand and grabbed his hand, about to leave with him.
"Expelliarmus!"
A red flash knocked Shizuka's wand from her hand. Musashi spoke with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, Shizuka. I can't leave. I've decided to completely destroy that place."
Shizuka's face changed drastically when she heard this. "Have you lost your mind? That place isn't something you can deal with at all. And the person you brought in won't be able to leave either."
"No, Shizuka. You don't understand Lord Silverhand," Musashi said in a low voice. "His strength far exceeds your imagination."
"Leave now. Get out of here before I destroy this place."
Musashi had already made up his mind. Shizuka was about to try persuading him again when a red glow suddenly flared within the dungeon.
Musashi's expression changed. Instinctively, he stepped in front of Shizuka.
There wasn't enough time to cast the Shield Charm. The red light struck his body, and he convulsed, his face turning deathly pale.
The Cruciatus Curse.
"Minamoto Shizuka, you actually dared to help that damned disgrace, Akino Musashi?" A figure slowly emerged within the dungeon.
That pale, effeminate face carried a sinister air, like a venomous snake coiled in the shadows. He was one of the instructors who had appeared before John that day.
"Kra," Shizuka gasped when she saw him. Her face drained of color as she tried to pick up her wand to fight back, only for a silver flash to strike the ground beside her, blasting a pit into the floor.
Shizuka didn't dare make a reckless move. Kra, however, clearly relished this slow, step-by-step approach to forcing someone toward death.
A malicious smile crept across his sickly pale, effeminate face.
"I've disliked you for a long time," Kra said with vicious delight. "Back when we were students, you opposed me at every turn." He burst into laughter. "And now that you've fallen into my hands, Akino Musashi, you'll wish you were dead."
As the final word fell, the agony of the Cruciatus Curse drilled into Musashi's mind once more.
His body spasmed violently, and Kra showed no intention of stopping.
"Kra, stop! If you keep this up, he'll die!"
"Shut up!" Kra snapped impatiently, flicking his wand. Shizuka was blasted into the wall, then bound tightly as a conjured rope wrapped around her.
Turning back to Musashi with cruel satisfaction, Kra said, "The Headmaster won't spare you. As a former Golden Robe student, your pride and dignity will be ground into dust beneath my feet, little by little."
He brought his shoe down on Musashi's fingers. Ten fingers, ten hearts.
As the crushing pain surged into his mind with every grind of the sole, Musashi let out a scream.
Such screams stirred no pity in Kra. In his narrow, venomous eyes, there was only cruelty and savagery.
When he finally seemed satisfied with the torment, he raised his wand toward Musashi and pronounced the death sentence. "Your end has come, Akino Musashi."
Musashi couldn't speak. He clenched his teeth hard, barely keeping himself from blacking out as the pain assaulted his mind.
Kra swung his wand, and a green light flared inside the dungeon.
Musashi opened his eyes, only to find that Kra, who should have killed him, was lying on the ground lifeless.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I just saved your life," Gus's irreverent face came into Musashi's view. "That fifty-fifty cut we talked about earlier—consider it settled."
"Gus?" Musashi struggled to his feet and asked, "How did you get here?"
"The dumb way. Flew in on a broom," Gus said as he stepped forward and pulled Musashi up, grumbling. "Calling me over on such short notice was way too rushed."
Musashi froze for a moment. "I didn't notify you."
"Of course not you. It was the boss," Gus said greedily. "One job like this pays as much as that Selwyn business."
Johnny Silverhand sent Gus over?
How did he manage that?
Musashi was full of questions, but there was something more urgent right now.
"Lord Silverhand has been taken to a room in the library. He might be in danger."
"What? Someone dared lay a hand on my boss?" Gus exploded with rage.
________
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