Memory

"Interesting fellow."

Tom plunged headfirst through the unknown doorway, and even Herpo the Foul on the other side was shocked by his courage—or his recklessness.

"As a barbarian from beyond the peninsula, you managed to study your magic independently without a mentor, and develop magic to a level sufficient to defeat my servant. It truly makes one eager to see what prey you might become... You're right. Why can't I be a god?"

Tom raised his head. The scenery around him was shrouded in hazy mist, leaving only a staircase before him that stretched upward, with no end in sight.

"I am researching a kind of magic that can see through the human heart," Herpo the Foul's voice sounded beside his ear. "Perhaps before long, your wisdom will be of use to me."

He made no attempt to hide his absolute desire for control, nor did he avoid mentioning the eventual fate of those who offered up their "loyalty," but Tom still heard a trace of anticipation in his tone—anticipation that Tom might show something different from the others.

"Tell me, what are you best at?"

The mist was drawn into Tom's stomach, and even his mind fell into a momentary daze because of it. In the lair of the most despicable dark wizard, such vicious and sinister traps were laid everywhere. Even though he had always instinctively maintained Occlumency, Herpo the Foul's questioning still rang in the depths of his soul like a brain-piercing demonic sound.

"Me?"

Tom struggled to resist the weakness brought on by his surroundings and tightly gripped the gold coin in his hand. Its icy touch cleared his mind considerably. His left hand flicked nimbly, the gleaming golden coin spinning back and forth between his fingertips, while the pattern of laurel extended into a dazzling