Lord Voldemort scoffed when he saw Lucien raise a Muggle weapon.
His early experiences had given him an understanding of Muggle life, so he naturally knew about handguns and their power.
He knew he did not even need to dodge or take cover. He simply layered several Iron Shield Charms and Obstacle Charms around himself.
Even if Lucien produced more powerful Muggle firearms, they would not penetrate his shields. It would only be a waste of magic.
A mocking sneer curled his lips as Lord Voldemort prepared to teach Lucien a proper lesson.
Since he had talent, he should devote himself to exploring the mysteries of magic, not turn back to those dull Muggle tricks.
Lord Voldemort was about to subdue Lucien and let the boy see the vast gulf between them… when—
Bang!
The gunshot rang out, barely having time to echo through the room.
Several phantom cracking sounds followed almost at the same instant.
Lord Voldemort's smile had not yet fully spread when a sharp sense of alarm suddenly flared.
As a faint pain struck him, his body erupted in a thick black mist.
For a moment, everything inside became unclear.
"LUMEN."
Following Lucien's call, net fire burst from Lumen's body, instantly engulfing the entire room.
The black mist dispersed, revealing Lord Voldemort's figure.
A large portion of his left chest and abdomen was missing, his beating heart faintly visible.
Lord Voldemort stared at Lucien, at the revolver in his hand, at the dark muzzle.
"Lucien, you really can surprise people. Is this alchemy?"
"No, it doesn't seem like it. To pierce and break through magical shields so instantly… interesting."
Completely unconcerned about the damage to his body, Lord Voldemort was already accustomed to such pain, and besides, this was not his own body.
His gaze shifted to the workbench behind Lucien, to the small crystal vial containing a potion on the table.
Lucien, too, marveled at Lord Voldemort's reaction. After all, he was the Dark Lord who had nearly ruled Britain, truly exceptional in the fields of Dark Arts and survival.
However, admiration aside, Lucien's hands did not pause for even a moment.
He waved his wand with one hand and fired his gun with the other.
Lord Voldemort, in turn, forcibly squeezed Quirrell's flesh, and the body beneath his control withered further.
Not a single drop of blood flowed from the horrific wound in his chest and abdomen. It had all been converted through Dark Arts.
The price for this was a brief but tremendous surge of magic.
Amid a sea of crimson-gold fire, with the air distorted by searing heat, dazzling spells flew wildly in every direction.
After Lord Voldemort attempted to block the bullets with objects conjured through Transfiguration and found it ineffective, he shifted his focus to movement and evasion.
Yet the pressure he placed on Lucien became increasingly evident. After unleashing his magic without restraint, Lord Voldemort began using an even greater variety of spells, linking them with remarkable fluidity and precision.
It felt less like a battle and more like conducting a concert.
Spells became notes, composing an elegant symphony under the guidance of Lord Voldemort's wand.
Many of the spells were unfamiliar, and Lucien responded and defended with utmost focus.
Lord Voldemort was already a highly mature wizard, possessing his own unique combat system.
For him, spells may have long ceased to be tools and instead become restraints and limitations.
Yet Lucien knew this was also an invaluable opportunity to learn.
Before, Quirrell had only conveyed Lord Voldemort's knowledge, but this kind of unreserved, hands-on instruction was truly rare.
There were no enemies here, only teachers.
At this moment, Lord Voldemort truly resembled a strict teacher, demonstrating his combat philosophy to Lucien.
"Lucien, you are very clever. You must have realized that the knowledge you've been learning from me has long involved the Dark Arts."
"Those Dark Arts are truly powerful magic. People reject them simply because they fear their power!"
"But Dumbledore, that hypocritical old fellow, would never allow first-year young wizards to come into contact with such things, would he? If he knows, he'll call you dark! But I won't!"
Lord Voldemort expected to see fear and tension on Lucien's face, like a venomous snake waiting to seize a weakness.
But there was none.
Lucien remained calm, answering Lord Voldemort only with a barrage of spells and a volley of bullets.
Seeing this, Lord Voldemort's words grew sharp and mocking.
"A noble wizard, yet using Muggle weapons. Truly shameless."
Lucien was unfazed. It was just trash talk—anyone could do that.
"A few days ago, I saw a medal in the trophy room with a name engraved on it."
"Hmm. Tom Riddle. That sounds very much like a Muggle name."
Lord Voldemort fell silent instantly.
The next second, a green light flashed.
"Avada Kedavra."
Facing Lord Voldemort's furious attack, Lucien dodged the Killing Curse directly.
At the very moment Lucien moved, a wisp of black mist suddenly shot out, snatching the crystal vial from the table.
Seeing this, Lucien repeatedly pointed his wand, firing spell after spell, but they were all deftly avoided by the snake-like mist.
The black mist, carrying the crystal vial, returned to Lord Voldemort's side.
Looking at the potion, Lord Voldemort could not help but laugh aloud.
"Lucien, you are still too young."
Lucien watched Lord Voldemort's delighted expression and shook his head.
"Aren't you afraid it's poison?"
"I have my own methods of investigation. Besides, it is filled with rich vitality and magic."
Lord Voldemort opened the stopper and took a light sniff, unable to hide his intoxication.
"Why would a normal person go to such lengths to brew poison with the Philosopher's Stone? Boy, you're far too naive!"
Watching Lord Voldemort drink the potion in a single gulp, Lucien merely pointed his wand at the workbench.
The glow of Transfiguration enveloped the table.
What usually took only an instant was now proceeding very slowly.
Magic surged within it continuously, reshaping and then condensing.
As Lord Voldemort felt the potion being digested, he laughed heartily at Lucien's actions.
"Lucien, I hear you have quite a talent for Transfiguration."
"But you must understand—Transfiguration and so-called white magic, however marvelous, will always be inferior to the Dark Arts in terms of power."
"Your talent in the Dark Arts is clearly outstanding, and haven't you already tasted their allure?"
"The Dark Arts methods I taught you—you use them very smoothly. So why do you still refuse…"
Lord Voldemort muttered on, but time passed little by little.
Yet he seemed to feel no effect from the potion at all.
He was certain he had personally seen Lucien brew it with the Philosopher's Stone inside the mirror.
Suddenly, Lord Voldemort felt his nose clear slightly.
Quirrell's body had caught a chill during the earlier trials, but the congestion in his nose was no longer uncomfortable.
"I saw Professor Quirrell sneezing earlier, so I helped him brew a nasal decongestant. Even though you drank it, it makes no difference."
"Brewing potions with the Philosopher's Stone really is convenient. It saves time and extends the effects. Hmm, this body probably won't catch a cold or have a blocked nose for an entire year."
Lord Voldemort was stunned. Using the Philosopher's Stone to brew such a potion?!
Unspeakable rage surged from the depths of his twisted, fragmented soul.
"You utterly un—"
However, Lord Voldemort did not finish his sentence.
A violent dragon's roar suddenly echoed.
Lucien heard the system notification and let out a relieved smile.
Ding.
Loki's Mask (Annual Loan) has been repaid!
________
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