Chapter 447: A Violent Duel
"Our dear Professor Quirrell seems to need at least ten minutes?" Dumbledore said with a beaming smile.
Sean didn't answer. Instead, he whispered one more time: "Please, Professor. Whatever happens, do your best to destroy the Resurrection Stone."
"I shall obey your will..."
Quirrell watched, trembling, as a ring appeared out of thin air behind him—Will, the Pukwudgie butler, stood with his bow drawn, looking up at him and nodding with a serious expression. It was clear that Will had silently retrieved the ring from the Wizard's Tome.
"B-but..." Quirrell paused for a second. He looked at the two of them, unable to hold back his concern. Will possessed mysterious magic, and Pukwudgies were indeed stronger than a first-year student, but against a wizard of such caliber, a Pukwudgie was clearly outmatched. And standing between them and Dumbledore was just a student who had barely begun his education.
"P-perhaps you could let me..." Quirrell stammered.
Sean shook his head. If it were Professor Quirrell facing Dumbledore, it would no longer be a practical lesson.
The Fiendfyre roared to life. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed further.
Sean flicked his fingers, leaned forward slightly, and leveled his wand:
[Name: Sean Green]
[Transfiguration Talent: Purple (Transfiguration Master title applied). Note: Average wizard is Green]
[Transfiguration Classes: Magic Transfiguration (Adept 170/3000), Material Transfiguration (Adept 150/3000), Soul Transfiguration (Adept 1500/3000)]
[Evaluation: A master of Transfiguration. You possess the combat capabilities of a legitimate Transfiguration Master; you are a peerless talent in the wizarding world.]
Yes, as his Transfiguration skills all reached the "Adept" tier, Sean's combat evaluation had evolved once more. But it still wasn't enough.
[Name: Sean Green]
[Dark Magic Talent: Gold (Dark Magic Saint title applied).]
[Obstruction Jinx: Master level; Impediment Jinx: Master level; Sectumsempra: Master level; Reducto: Master level; ...]
[Evaluation: You are a rare genius in the history of Dark Magic. Dark Magic embraces you—you are the natural-born King of Dark Magic.]
He was only two spells away from mastering the Dark Arts, and in a real fight, Dark Magic and Transfiguration were undeniably the most practical tools.
In the dead of night, on the narrow, winding dirt road flanked by high, dense hedgerows, the ground was uneven and rocky. It led sharply downward toward a patch of dark, tangled woods.
Sean's eyes shifted into vertical slits, his green irises glowing with a faint, fierce energy. Dumbledore seemed to enjoy this transformation; he raised his wand, pressed it against his hip, and bowed slightly. The dueling etiquette was complete.
"Dragon's Wings!" Sean murmured.
A fire dragon descended upon the gloomy woods, setting the dry brush ablaze. It opened its cavernous mouth of flame and roared, making Dumbledore smile faintly.
"A pleasant exploration. Have you read my notes?" Dumbledore raised a hand, and the fire dragon vanished into thin air before it could even strike.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore. A few trivial explorations."
Sean realized that was a counter-curse—the Vanishing Spell. Even though he had cast multiple layers of Transfiguration on the dragon, he still hadn't managed to stop the Headmaster. The gap between them was simply too vast.
It was difficult. Even under the guise of a "practical lesson," Sean knew he had only one real chance to strike.
"Please be careful, Professor Dumbledore," Sean said abruptly.
He had always feared magical surges or losing control of his power. All his Transfiguration was built upon the foundations of knowledge accumulated by wizards over thousands of years. But stability didn't always mean strength.
"Piertotum Locomotor!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Sean didn't hesitate. His combination technique allowed him to fire two spells in a single instant. He didn't stop there; he threw a sphere into the air—a portable Anti-Apparition ward. He knew that the more powerful the wizard, the shorter the duration of the ward, so he gave himself only one minute.
"Interesting creation. Good dueling technique," Dumbledore said, waving his wand gently to conjure a shimmering silver shield.
Sean didn't recognize the spell, but his own jinxes failed to make a dent. The shield emitted a deep, gong-like vibration—a chilling, alien sound. Dumbledore looked toward the animated stone statues charging at him, then back at the pale student with cold, serpentine eyes.
He told me to be careful... Dumbledore's mood lightened even more.
As Dumbledore shattered the stone statues with a flick of his wand, Sean remained calm, gripping his wand tightly. He appeared motionless, but his robes billowed with unseen energy.
Professor Quirrell was no match for Dumbledore, and Will would be dealt with in an instant. Sean had always known that he was the only one who could complete this impossible task. It was impossible—even his predecessor, Tom Riddle, hadn't managed it, neither in his youth nor as Voldemort. During the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort had been the first to flee.
But there was a turning point. The turning point was that Sean didn't even know his own limits. He had never released his magic at 100%.
Magical Theory states: "When you have mastered a spell, you need sufficient mental power to unleash its true potential." This "mental power" included emotion and willpower. Sean rarely showed his emotions, and he usually didn't rely on them to drive his magic.
But he needed to now. He thought of that greyed-out photograph, the warm candles in the Great Hall, and the stumbling, tragic fate of an old man who had lost his mother in childhood, his love in youth, and had spent his life carrying the weight of guilt and regret for the death of his own kin.
Now, he wanted to stop him.
"Vine-Stone Guardian!"
Sean chanted. The entire valley trembled. Great, terrifying fissures tore open the ground where the hedgerows stood. A thundering rumble sent flocks of birds scattering in terror.
For the first time, Dumbledore looked surprised. In front of him, a colossal hand composed of stone and vine gripped him firmly, isolating him from the rest of the world.
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