As a new day dawned, the sky above Tashipangkha Village was painted in dreamlike colors. Countless wizards and spectators gathered beneath the Tower, holding their breath for this historic moment.
The three candidates emerged from the ancient stone temple and stood side by side on the platform atop the old tower, each wearing a different expression.
Tom Riddle wore a faint smile, as though he had everything under control—or perhaps—
As though he simply did not care about any of it.
Tom Riddle was unusually pleased today—
Soon. Soon. Soon, it would all be over.
Everything was proceeding according to his plan.
From his lofty position, Tom Riddle surveyed the witches and wizards who had come to witness the final stage of the International Magical Federation presidential election, his gaze sweeping over the bustling crowd.
Some people quailed beneath Tom Riddle's gaze, hurriedly lowering their heads and not daring to meet his eyes. Others angrily raised their heads and glared at him.
But even more people smiled at Tom Riddle and nodded in greeting—
The ideas Tom Riddle had displayed during the debates might have been radical, but they suited their tastes perfectly.
Wasn't this era in need of such radical voices?
Thus, the vast majority supported Tom Riddle's election.
If the International Magical Federation presidential election had not been required to go through the Qilin Prostration process, they would have wanted to assassinate the other two candidates outright and put Tom Riddle in power.
As time passed, sunlight began to bathe the entire gathering place, illuminating every corner—and exposing the tension on every face.
The moment that would decide their final fate had finally arrived.
An old man in a cumbersome robe slowly emerged from the temple.
Behind him followed a majestic Qilin. Its towering body stood nearly twice