Chapter 43 Left Hand Crabbe, Right Hand Goyle, Cutting All the Way Through Slytherin
Dudley casually grabbed and yanked, seizing several wands at once. With a little force, the wands slipped from the young wizards' hands.
Without their wands, these little wizards were not much different from ordinary people, unless they could master the advanced technique of wandless casting.
Unfortunately, such a technique was beyond them. Even many elite Aurors who had graduated for years might not have mastered it.
Dudley struck them one after another, knocking them out with ease.
"Data Demon Eye, truly useful."
This ability, gained from completing the Sorting task, not only allowed him to construct a mental image of the room but also displayed highly practical information. For instance, while fighting, it showed him which spot to hit for the most pain, which for instant unconsciousness, and which would hurt yet leave no trace of injury.
It was practically a perfect tool for brawling. And this was only the lowest level—if it were upgraded, it could surely reveal even more.
Perhaps even the complete data of every wizard he encountered.
Like… a measly wizard with a magic value of five? Well, perhaps that was a bit impolite.
The Slytherin students had clearly not expected Dudley to fight back against so many people. They were caught off guard, since they only intended to bully him through numbers. None of them were familiar with real fights or wizard duels.
In just a dozen seconds, Dudley had floored several of them. Their wands were all snatched up and stuffed casually into his pocket.
"Why are you running? He's just one person, and there are so many of us!"
Someone shouted in panic, only to be disarmed and punched down by Dudley.
One punch for each student—Dudley showed no mercy, not even to the girls. To their cries and protests, his response was always a heavy blow.
Once they stood against him, gender no longer mattered.
Though they had numbers, it worked against them. Without training, a mob of young wizards was nothing more than a rabble.
Dudley charged into the crowd like a tiger among sheep, unstoppable as though he had activated a game's invincibility mode.
"Spells! Use spells on him!"
Slytherin was not entirely a gathering of fools. They had their share of capable students; otherwise, they could not have rivaled Gryffindor for so many years. They had even held the House Cup for seven years straight, aiming for an eighth—if they could secure it this year.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
After the initial chaos, someone finally managed to release a proper spell. Dudley, seeing the curse flying at him, was unshaken. He simply grabbed a nearby student and shoved him forward, blocking the spell.
Apart from a few exceptional curses, most spells had visible traces of magical energy. Once one could see the trajectory, dodging became far easier.
For Dudley, with his sharp reflexes, straightforward spells were child's play to evade.
As for spells that curved or tracked their targets, those were the domain of older wizards. These lower-year students certainly did not know them.
The unlucky student struck by the curse instantly turned pale, his body stiffening as his limbs locked up.
That unfortunate shield was none other than Goyle, one of Malfoy's two cronies.
Dudley, who had studied the Standard Book of Spells thoroughly, often understood the spells better than the children casting them. For Petrificus Totalus, the solution was simple—just put another body in the way. With so many around, there was no shortage of options.
So despite their numbers, the students could not gain an edge. For Dudley, fighting them was easier than sparring with Hagrid.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Another curse was cast. A third-year student tried to ambush Dudley, but once again he grabbed a nearby child to block the spell.
With one hand carrying the stiffened body, his other hand deftly snatched away the attacker's wand.
The motion was smooth as silk, without hesitation, as if everything had been choreographed beforehand.
Numbers, in this case, were no advantage at all.
Amid a chorus of cries and wails, yet another wand was snatched away.
These untrained young wizards were hardly worthy of being called a rabble.
This time, the one struck by the Petrificus curse was Malfoy's other crony, Crabbe.
Dudley then pulled a vial from his pocket and hurled it into the crowd. The bottle shattered, releasing a pale yellow gas that spread over the students.
It was a Slowing Potion. Unlike Hagrid, a half-giant with strong resistance, these young wizards had no such endurance. The potion's effects were enough to reduce their mobility by more than half.
They already lagged behind Dudley in reaction and speed, and now with a debuff, their threat dropped to the lowest level.
Taking advantage, Dudley walked over to Goyle, who had already been petrified. Before the horrified eyes of the other students, he lifted both Crabbe and Goyle—one in each hand—as if they were nothing.
What kind of monster was this? He actually picked up petrified people with a single hand?
What sort of monster had Malfoy gotten them involved with?
Wasn't he supposed to be just a slightly stronger mudblood? Weren't they told he could be crushed and bent at will? You call this slightly stronger?
The more cunning Slytherins had already lost their fighting spirit. They wanted to scatter like birds and beasts, but the Slowing Potion kept them from escaping quickly.
Meanwhile, Dudley weighed Malfoy's two cronies by their ankles, finding the balance just right, almost like they were made to fit his grip.
"Hey." Dudley turned his head, giving the Slytherins a "kind" smile. But to the students, it looked anything but friendly.
His facial muscles were taut, the smile forced onto his face.
It resembled a poorly carved puppet—distorted and unnatural.
With Crabbe in his left hand and Goyle in his right, Dudley swung the human weapons through the Slytherin students, sweeping aside a large group. Cries filled the air as bodies tumbled everywhere.
"Savage!"
The brutal sight deeply shocked the Slytherin students.
Worse still, Dudley maintained his stiff, eerie smile the whole time, leaving them with a lasting psychological scar.
It was not only violent but unnervingly strange.
Some of the older Slytherin students, who had thought of intervening when they saw their juniors faltering, froze in place after witnessing Dudley's savagery. Not a single spell left their lips. Instead, they quietly shut their dormitory doors, pretending they had seen nothing.
They had no wish to court disaster, especially when facing such a ruthless brute.
In less than a moment, the entire Slytherin common room hall was filled with groaning students lying sprawled on the floor. Not a single one remained standing—except Dudley. All their wands had been taken by him without exception.
After confirming that, apart from Malfoy, every student had been disarmed and rendered unable to rise, Dudley performed an unexpected act.
He casually grabbed one of the students, pressed him over a table, and raised his large hand to smack down hard on the boy's backside.
(End of Chapter)
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