"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 392: The Art of the Flick
Deep within the abandoned mine, the narrow passage marked by the magical radar yawned open like a hidden fissure, dragging Douglas and Lupin from the suffocating stillness into an entirely different world.
The air here was no longer arid and choking. Instead, it breathed with the ancient, damp scent of earth, tinged with a faint whiff of sulfur—the unmistakable breath of veins buried far beneath the surface.
Droplets of water seeped from the rock walls, catching the dim light and scattering it in ghostly glimmers. Each drop fell with a crisp, lingering echo, like the heartbeat of this forgotten place.
The tunnel twisted and turned, at times so narrow only one person could squeeze through sideways, then suddenly opening into rough-hewn chambers scarred by long-ago miners.
In Douglas's hand, the magical radar pulsed with a steady green glow, the trace of life standing out like a beacon in the darkness.
They walked for what felt like ages—ducking under low arches, weaving around jagged pillars, their footsteps crunching over loose stones, every sound unnaturally loud in the hush.
Lupin followed close behind, the pressure of that faint, flickering life force growing ever more tangible in the air. It felt like a candle guttering in a draft, threatening to go out at any moment.
At last, the green dot on the radar stopped—directly above their heads.
"We've been circling right above it," Lupin murmured, eyes fixed on the three-dimensional map hovering in the air. The green point was pinned to a spot beneath their feet, like a tack driven into the floor.
Douglas didn't move forward, nor did he attempt to climb up.
He simply stood there, his gaze drilling into the stone beneath them, deep eyes seeming to pierce through rock to whatever secrets lay below.
He stepped back, raised his wand, and spoke an incantation Lupin had never heard before. It wasn't Latin—more like some ancient Eastern tongue, the syllables clipped and powerful.
"Zao sui ru jing."
As the words left his lips, the solid rock below didn't explode or shatter. Instead, it melted away, silent as warm butter, parting to reveal a perfectly round shaft plunging straight down. The walls were smooth as glass, as if nature herself had carved them.
At the same moment, the radar in Douglas's hand updated—the green life signature now extended downward, merging seamlessly with the new shaft.
A clear rush of water echoed from below, the sound bouncing around the stone in hollow, cavernous waves.
Lupin stared, puzzled, at this strange scene, the distant water noise making him uneasy.
"Did we hit an underground river? Is someone hiding down there?"
His voice reverberated up the shaft.
Douglas lowered his wand, a sly, almost triumphant smile on his lips.
"No, that's landing water. It's a compound spell. Creates a deep enough pool to cushion our fall, so we can jump straight down and not end up as a splatter on the rocks."
He paused, then added, "And it'll wash off any tracking spells or little surprises that might be clinging to us."
He gestured to Lupin, like a host inviting a guest to try a daring new ride.
Without another word, Douglas leapt into the abyss.
Lupin saw only a dark blur vanish into the shaft, followed by a soft splash.
He waited, listening—no cries, no struggle, just the gentle lap of water settling.
Taking a deep breath, nerves tight but trust unshaken, he jumped after Douglas into the unknown.
Icy water closed around Lupin in an instant, but the shock was expertly absorbed. He landed smoothly, feeling not a hint of pain.
He surfaced quickly, shook the water from his hair, and realized he was standing in a dry tunnel, solid rock beneath his feet.
Looking back, he saw the pool above—the magically conjured water slowly fading, the shaft reverting to unbroken stone.
Not far off, Douglas had already climbed out of the pool and stood in the center of the tunnel, his gaze fixed ahead.
The passage was now brightly lit by Douglas's own illumination charm, casting away every shadow.
At the far end, a hunched figure cowered in a corner, as still and forgotten as a discarded stone.
It was an old man, his life force so faint it was barely a flicker, his presence almost lost to the world.
He wasn't lying down, but slumped against an ancient stalagmite—his final support, as fragile as a breath.
His body was covered in ghastly wounds. Some were charred black, the skin curled and stinking of burnt flesh—marks of dark curses. Others glowed with a corrosive, holy gold, as if some sacred acid had eaten into his flesh.
Two utterly different forces had left their scars, tearing at what little life remained.
As the sudden brightness faded from his eyes, the old man's hand trembled violently. With great effort, he raised a battered wand and pressed it to his temple.
His gaze was cloudy, brimming with longing for death and terror of the unknown—as if only oblivion could end his endless torment.
"Don't!" Lupin cried out, his voice raw.
But it all happened too fast.
Just as the wand tip touched the old man's temple, Douglas's wrist flicked with barely a motion.
A silent, wordless variant of the Disarming Charm—the Art of the Flick—shot out, swift and invisible.
No incantation. No flash of light.
A pulse of force, as deft and precise as a stone flicked by a mischievous child, struck the wand from the old man's hand.
Clack.
The bloodstained wand bounced off the rock wall and rolled into the shadows.
It was less like magic, more like a masterful feat of physical skill—so fast that even Lupin saw only a blur.
The old man hadn't expected any of it. His single eye widened in disbelief.
Deprived of his last weapon, his body gave out. He collapsed, limp as a rag doll.
"...Hah... hah..."
Desperate, ragged breaths sawed from his throat, like a bellows on the verge of breaking.
In that clouded eye, the hunger for death was swiftly replaced by a deeper, blacker fear of the unknown.
He curled up on the ground, trembling with pain and terror—like a dead leaf shivering in the wind.
He craved death, but even that right had been stolen from him.
Softly, Douglas said, "He's a werewolf."
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