"All right, what's there to complain about—if you've got the energy, you might as well lend a hand!"
Allen stacked the folded tents as small as he could with his wand, glancing toward the noisy parade releasing magical fireworks down the path. The crowd had already come dangerously close to Hogwarts' camp—if the two schools weren't keeping a safe distance from each other, the rioters might have reached it by now.
Once the tents were packed, Allen waved his wand to help the neighboring campers, and under his urging, the others quickly pitched in as well. Only Marshall looked completely despondent.
"What are you whining about? Your books are fine—I'm just keeping them safe, not confiscating them. So why the long face?"
Marshall wore an expression of utter doom. "Allen… remember how terrifying it was when we first arrived?"
The question sent a shiver down Allen's spine—only a week had passed, yet how could anyone forget those cramped, unbearable days? At first, it had seemed lively, but reliving those days would have been deadly.
"How many tents do you think will be destroyed at this pace?"
"Maybe two-thirds… but the valuables are wrapped up, so that's not a big issue, and our tents aren't exactly—"
Allen cut himself off.
With two-thirds of the tents already looted, it was clear that, whether the school admitted it or not, the boys would have no tents to stay in. Without someone like him taking the fall, the girls would happily cram into the castle for comfort. In this situation, Allen and his friends would undoubtedly retreat into the castle, continuing those painfully unforgettable days. He also knew one thing—restocking tents quickly wasn't an option for the school.
…
Allen froze for a moment—time to think of a solution.
He had high-level offensive spells, but using them now was out of the question; the headmaster would tear him apart. That was why he hadn't acted at the start.
There was only one option—rely on the system.
A grand heroic legacy surely had some solution—but there was a big problem standing in Allen's way.
Money.
Yes, Allen's funds were running low.
This was why he hadn't considered using the legacy earlier, even when he realized his current abilities weren't enough. Now, faced with an even bigger challenge, he had to overcome this financial hurdle to escape a sleepless predicament.
Quickly, Allen found an excellent solution.
Call forth Nami.
Releasing a weakened version of her ultimate ability should be safe given Allen's current skills—it wasn't particularly lethal, but its range was something he could quickly control. The summoned waves would also sober up the drunken rioters.
Perfect. Time to wash these guys' faces with magic!
The problem was nearly solved, except for one final step.
Money.
The legacy cost 450 Galleons, and Allen's shortfall was… 150 Galleons.
After spending on gear, materials, snacks, and even earlier legacies, Allen's pockets were dry. One person had promised a loan, but it was still insufficient.
Even if Allen went to a professor, they might not have enough cash on hand.
Every wizarding shopping street had a Gringotts branch, and wizards trusted goblins implicitly, meaning few carried enough gold themselves…
No choice—Allen decided to be shameless. Borrow it.
After all, he was doing it for everyone's benefit. Otherwise, they'd all be crammed into the castle again—and it wasn't like he wouldn't pay it back.
Allen first turned to his roommates. "Marshall, Shane, Bart—any money?"
"Yeah… Allen, why now? Even if you gave money to those lunatics, they wouldn't stop."
Surprised but cooperative, they dug into their scattered belongings and handed over 37 Galleons.
"Sorry… we went crazy shopping today. This is all we've got. Is it enough?"
"Not quite, but let's start with it!" Allen quickly took the coins—next target.
A new problem emerged: everyone's pockets were light from recent purchases, meaning he'd have to visit several more people.
After a round of borrowing, Allen gathered 100 Galleons—still 50 short.
The next step would be tricky; now he had to explain why he needed the money, unlike with his familiar friends who gave without question.
"Hey—Allen, why do you need this money?"
"I have a spell. Maybe it can save the camp, but it requires gold. It's ancient magic!"
"Oh—okay, here, no problem."
Ancient magic often required material exchange—like Voldemort's resurrection ritual. The rules were unpredictable, but Allen quickly managed to raise 45 Galleons, though the flames at the camp were already visible.
Finally, Allen sprinted to a familiar acquaintance one last time.
He moved so fast he startled the person. "Allen! You scared me! What's going on?"
"I… Allen… money… save camp!"
Although the other didn't fully understand, a pouch of coins promptly landed in Allen's hands.
Perfect—not only enough, but 15 Galleons extra. If only he'd asked sooner!
Allen immediately confirmed the legacy, collecting the gold in full view of the crowd. He had promised—the price was gold.
Of course, anyone skeptical could test it themselves by providing the material cost.
Curious onlookers watched as Allen closed his eyes and began quickly assimilating the legacy. Some trusted him enough to leave their tents unkempt—if Allen succeeded, they'd save themselves from setting them up.
Allen hesitated for a moment—then, after what felt like an eternity, someone cautiously asked, "Allen? Did it fail?"
"No worries—just pay back the money. We can't finish packing anyway. Time to retreat!"
A nearby prefect, trusting Allen, didn't urge them to leave. But any further delay could be disastrous—damaging belongings was one thing, but people's lives were another.
Just as the prefect was about to grab Allen, a bright azure magical circle appeared on Allen's body—and with it came the familiar sound of crashing waves.