Middle East God of War, Limited-Time Return

Quirinus Quirrell had graduated from Ravenclaw at Hogwarts. Known for his intelligence and talent during his school years, he possessed an exceptionally solid theoretical foundation and was a highly practical person.

After graduating, he became a professor at Hogwarts, teaching Muggle Studies before transferring to Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.

Though he came from Ravenclaw, Quirrell was not someone who blindly trusted books. In order to better teach this crucial subject—one that might one day determine whether students could be saved when they encountered danger—

Quirrell had decided to personally put the contents of the textbooks into practice. He traveled abroad in search of werewolves, vampires, Inferi, and other terrifying Dark creatures, hoping to obtain firsthand information on the practical use of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Practice brought true knowledge, and he wanted to avoid teaching his students incorrect survival skills.

He had been a responsible teacher.

But it was precisely that sense of responsibility that led to his tragedy.

During his research journey, he encountered Voldemort in Albania, and the course of his entire life changed.

Once a man with limitless prospects, his mind was ravaged. He submitted to darkness and became possessed by Voldemort, constantly influenced by Voldemort's soul.

Voldemort's soul and will were far stronger than his own.

The once intelligent and responsible teacher Quirrell had now become something ugly enough to release a troll into Hogwarts, disregard the lives of students, and reveal murderous intent toward Harry in order to win favor with his master.

Of course, magic was a miracle born from the dance between the mind and magical power. As Quirrell's mind grew more extreme, the power of certain spells would increase dramatically as well.

That much was evident from how, in his original fate, he had been able to curse Harry on the Quidditch pitch and directly contend with Snape, who was trying to lift the curse, without falling behind.

Though Snape had cast aside the mindset of his youth, the foundations he had accumulated in his teenage years were enough to let him grow extraordinarily powerful.

Quirrell's eventual defeat had purely been because the Love's Magic left behind by Harry's mother was too terrifying. Even Voldemort had little means of dealing with it. It was not something Quirrell could hope to challenge—touch it, and he died. His loss was hardly undeserved.

This beginner-village boss for Harry was quite formidable.

Roger looked at Quirrell, who stood opposite him with a grave expression, and drew his wand.

Quirrell felt that, as a genius and a professor who had studied magic for so many years, being only seventy-thirty against a child who had studied magic for at most three months was rather absurd.

But since that was Voldemort's judgment, Quirrell ultimately chose to trust it.

He would treat this battle with caution and crush Roger's thirty-percent chance of victory to zero! Following the etiquette of a formal wizard's duel, the two raised their wands and bowed, then...

"Reducto!" Professor Quirrell, who truly regarded Roger as a formidable opponent, opened with a highly lethal killing curse! Roger raised his wand and gave it a flick.

Summoning Charm, a sack of flour.

Like the Vanishing Charm, the Summoning Charm was a spell under Transfiguration, a spell that manipulated the "existence and absence" of matter.

The larger the object summoned, the greater the consumption.

Bang! The sack of flour struck by Reducto burst apart, and flour billowed through the air, obscuring Roger's figure.

Transfiguration—Animal Transfiguration.

Beneath the cover of flour dust, chunks of earth and broken stones on the ground were struck by Roger's Transfiguration.

As the dust dispersed, seven "Rogers" appeared before Quirrell.

Animal Transfiguration could not grant true intelligence, so Roger could not control them with great precision. But that did not matter.

The next moment, a silent Levitation Charm activated.

The seven Rogers floated into the air, then began circling Quirrell at high speed.

If there had only been one, Quirrell's eyes could have followed it. But with seven, he quickly lost track of which one was the real body.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Spells came flying at him from time to time, and Quirrell relied on his sharp senses to wave his wand and deflect them.

Then, seizing an opening, he said, "Protego."

The Shield Charm enveloped him. With his defenses secured, Quirrell swiftly began chanting his next spell. "Avis!"

You moved at high speed, so he would use a Summoning Charm to project a high-speed area attack spell capable of pursuing targets automatically.

Under this spell, Roger's "duplicates" were struck down one after another, reverting to bricks and stones.

Six, four, two... the last one turned into stone as well.

...The last one? Seeing that every "Roger" had been fake, Quirrell noticed that after the final Roger dispersed, a wand remained behind amid the bricks and stones. He reacted instantly.

That wand was an alchemical item inscribed with a spell and capable of casting magic.

Those weak Petrificus Totalus spells just now had not been probes. The alchemical item simply could only fire magic of that power.

So Roger's real body should be...

He swept his gaze across the front, back, left, and right, finding nothing. As Quirrell raised his head to look at the sky, he swung his wand downward and fired a moderately powerful Diffindo at the ground.

But that clever move to prevent an attack from underground only backfired.

The ground, which had already been hollowed out by Transfiguration and left with only a thin shell of soil, shattered completely under Quirrell's blow.

Quirrell stepped into empty air and fell into the ground, which Roger had turned from stone into mud, now thin sludge.

"Wingardium Levio..." Quirrell had only gotten halfway through his Levitation Charm after reacting.

Transfiguration—Animal Transfiguration.

Monkeys transformed from stones seized Quirrell's ankles in the mud and dragged him into the mire.

The Shield Charm could defend against attacks, but it could not defend against being grabbed.

Quirrell still wanted to struggle, but he felt something hard pressed against his throat.

"Do you want me to cast a spell?"

Hearing the Prophet's voice, Quirrell froze.

It was a wand.

Quirrell had fought wizards before, but he had never experienced this kind of battle.

There was no exchange of spells, no contest to see whose understanding of magic ran deeper or whose Mental Power was stronger.

Instead, it meant making use of everything available, confusing the enemy, creating favorable terrain, constantly advancing one's tactical objectives, and ultimately claiming victory.

...It felt a little like Muggle warfare.

"Not convinced?"

"Today's opening special gives you an opportunity. Half an hour. You can challenge me as many times as you like within that half hour. Because of the oath, it won't count toward the conditions for victory, but you can use this chance to try it out—to witness it."

"The... abyss-like gap between you and me!" Roger's voice was meaningful, making the hairs on Quirrell's back stand on end.

Yet Quirrell's resolve did not waver in the slightest.

He had only one reply: "Then let's continue."

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang...

Oppugno unleashed a barrage, leaving him bruised and swollen all over.

Boom! Confringo exploded violently, injuring himself instead.

Cough, cough—blegh!

A Tongue-Tying Curse, as unrestrained as a heavenly steed yet perfectly timed, made Quirrell miscast his spell, causing the magic to backlash.

Second battle, fourth battle, tenth battle, thirteenth battle!

Quirrell had thought he would adapt to Roger's fighting style and grow strong enough to suppress him.

But to his surprise, he lost faster each time.

"Again..." Before Quirrell could finish asking for another battle, a sharp pain suddenly struck the back of his head.

"Enough. Stop making a fool of yourself, you worthless trash." Voldemort's low voice came from behind him.

Quirrell had yet to understand what was happening, but Voldemort had already understood Roger's methods through his eyes.

Roger's gaze appeared to be focused on Quirrell, but that was false.

Those dilated pupils were watching something else.

The Prophet was watching fate!

Why had Roger been regarded as a religious prophet in the Middle East?

Of course, it was not because he could flap his lips and fool idiots into believing him.

It was because Roger could lead people to survive.

It was not just landmines and missile strikes. During the war, the people of Kuwait would inevitably face attacks from multiple armies.

Sometimes they were strategic targets. Other times, they were simply in the way, unpleasant to look at—or the pressure of war had grown too great, and soldiers wanted to kill for fun to ease their own moods.

Roger's method of leading people to survival was not avoiding danger in advance.

When the enemy army was determined to make trouble for you, there was no avoiding it.

Roger's chosen method was...

To hold an AK and carve through the enemy army by himself! He relinquished all control his conscious mind had over his body and handed every movement over to "premonition," letting it act before conscious thought.

As if standing on the far shore of the river of time, gazing toward this shore, continuously choosing the most correct path.

Through a rain of bullets, not a leaf touched him! Prophecy—Ultra Instinct!

Over the course of all those battles, if not for the fact that crippling enemies and creating wounded soldiers inflicted greater psychological and logistical pressure on the enemy than killing them outright, producing greater strategic results, then aside from scum who absolutely had to die, Roger generally did not strike lethally. His kill count probably would not stop at several thousand.

A false prophet predicted tactics from the rear.

A true prophet activated his prophecy and became unmatched on the battlefield! Roger's fighting style only changed somewhat after "the fifth" shard of shrapnel embedded itself in his body, tearing through flesh and shattering his arrogance, making Roger realize that he was not a chosen son of destiny, merely an ordinary man with limits.

Though Voldemort did not know the exact details of Roger's prophetic ability, he could still tell that Roger was toying with fate in battle.

...What method could break a prophet's techniques?

Voldemort could not help falling into thought.