Return of Salazar Slytherin

100- I Was Also Called “God”

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Daphne waited for a long time, but death did not come.

hmm..?

Her long eyelashes trembled, and then she opened her eyes to find a tall wizard in a green robe and a wizard's hat standing in front of her.

Daphne noticed that the cuffs of the wizard's robe were embroidered with silver trim.

As for the killing curse, it had vanished without a trace.

Standing in the middle of the clearing, Voldemort's facial features twisted in horror—he couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

How could someone erase his Killing Curse?!

Was it space magic?

Some kind of illusion?

Or had he used a spell to interfere with his senses?

His brain worked furiously, almost smoking from the effort. At that moment, the mysterious wizard spoke.

"I've always had a small disagreement with my friends. They believe I've been researching dark magic, while I think that magic itself is neither good nor evil; it's the user who makes the difference."

His voice was pleasant, mature, and steady yet retaining a youthful warmth. Daphne even sensed an inexplicable familiarity in it.

The wizard in the green robe was, of course, Rhys!

He had caught up with them while Daphne was brewing the fire-resistant potion and had been following closely behind. Finally, when Daphne was in mortal danger, he revealed himself.

He felt it was time to put an end to this trial.

"Oh?" Voldemort lowered the tip of his wand towards the ground and squinted.

Although there was still a hint of moral decay in this person's words, it was intriguing enough.

Just the first part of the sentence confirmed for Voldemort that this man was indeed a dark wizard, and a highly skilled one at that.

"However..." Rhys suddenly changed his tone, contradicting himself. "I now think they were right. There truly is magic that reeks of evil from start to finish, enough to corrode the soul."

Voldemort snorted coldly. "I thought you might say something worthwhile, but you're just like those foolish people—a bird of a feather. You haven't even seen the Killing Curse, have you?"

Rhys nodded.

Voldemort burst into wild laughter.

Although he didn't understand what trick the man before him had used to block his Killing Curse, it didn't stop him from mocking someone who had never seen it before.

Rhys suddenly waved his hand, and Voldemort's expression changed.

Just moments ago, while laughing, Voldemort had launched an attack on Rhys. According to his plan, several snakes would suddenly emerge from the ground, binding his opponent's ankles to restrict his movement. Then, a golem made of dirt would appear behind him to deliver a fatal blow—if the Killing Curse couldn't get him, how about pure physical force?

But his spell dissipated as it neared Rhys.

Rhys sighed.

"It seems you really don't understand this aspect of knowledge. No matter, let me demonstrate." As soon as Rhys finished speaking, the entire room's floor began to churn, transforming into a swamp.

Initially, Voldemort remained unperturbed by the changes beneath him.

Although the scene was dramatic, it was merely intimidating in appearance.

All he needed to do was fly up—!!

Then, his pupils contracted sharply in shock. He realized that the swamp beneath him was like a powerful adhesive, firmly anchoring his feet to the ground.

In other words, he was now a sitting duck for that man!

Instinctively, he raised his wand, firing spells at Rhys like a machine gun.

Voldemort decided to use offense as a defense, trying to turn his unfavorable situation around.

Rhys was unfazed by these spells. He waved his hand, causing some spells to dissipate mid-air while others were encased in clumps of mud that had suddenly risen and fell back to the ground, dissolving into the swamp.

While Voldemort resisted, the room's scene continued to change.

First, the soil turned into a swamp, then the grass and shrubs, and now even the trees were being gradually enveloped by the mud, becoming part of the swamp.

The Nightmare's movements weren't restricted. It quickly ran to Daphne's side, let her climb onto its back, and then retreated to a safe distance.

The central battlefield now belonged to Rhys and Voldemort, not to small fry like Daphne and the Nightmare.

"Tut. Tut. Your generation seems to never consider the relationship between spells and magical power. Your spellcasting is excellent, but your understanding of magical power is superficial. In this room, wizards like you are no different from Muggles in front of me."

"Arrogant!" Voldemort was furious that the other dared to compare him to a Muggle. But after a few curses, his expression suddenly changed.

"Do you feel it? Your magical power is running out—are you surprised that the seemingly endless magic you've had since becoming a wizard can actually be exhausted? Don't worry, if you can't figure it out, you have plenty of time to think." Rhys smiled and snapped his fingers.

"Impossible!"

"Impossible?!"

Voldemort screamed hysterically. He couldn't comprehend what was happening: the vanishing Killing Curse, the bizarre swamp beneath his feet, or the sudden disappearance of his magical power. It all shattered his understanding of magic, creating a vast chasm with his past experiences.

Rhys stood quietly, listening to Voldemort's raving—Voldemort had gone mad. He wasn't even trying to attack with magic anymore.

Perhaps due to his extreme agitation, a fine layer of sweat appeared on Voldemort's bald head. The droplets grew rapidly, from the thickness of a hair to the size of rice grains, and finally to the size of soybeans, falling to the ground.

The body that Voldemort occupied, Quirrell's, was like a water bottle punctured with holes, rapidly leaking water. Voldemort quickly noticed something was wrong and tried to use magic to stop the loss of moisture, but it was futile.

When the sweat was gone, it was followed by blood. Voldemort couldn't even speak anymore, only letting out incomprehensible howls.

"Why impossible? After all, long, long ago, those ignorant Muggles also called me a [God]." Rhys tilted his head, casually extracting the last drop of moisture from Quirrell's body.

Quirrell turned into a complete mummy, drier than even those found in the Egyptian desert.

Boom!

After realizing that the person in front of him was beyond human power, Voldemort acted decisively and detonated all the magic power in Quirrell's body, causing an astonishingly powerful explosion. He then restored himself to the state of a residual soul and desperately escaped to the outside world.

"As long as I can escape, as long as I can escape--" Now he only wants to return to the dense forests of Albania and linger there.

However, even this humble wish is difficult to achieve.

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