Knights of the Round Table

Pale yellow carpet, bright lights, just as always.

If one wanted to place, cultivate, or create something, this was the perfect spot.

No one could disturb you.

Looking at the empty room, Glenn lightly snapped his fingers.

The next moment, on the left side of the hall, eight small flowerpots appeared almost out of thin air.

Quite magical.

But the one drawback was that it only provided equipment, not things like soil or fertilizer.

Still, that wasn't too big a problem.

Professor Sprout had given him certain permissions, allowing him to go to Greenhouse One and take whatever he needed whenever necessary.

Thinking of this, the corners of Glenn's mouth couldn't help but lift.

A few days ago, during a private Potions lesson, Professor Snape probably thought he wouldn't use much Horklump Juice, so he let him have free rein to use as much as he wanted.

The result was that all the cold Horklump Juice had turned into warm Invigorating Potion.

But that was fine—it wasn't a waste. Spending materials where they were meant to be used was maximizing their value.

Surely Professor Snape, as the Potions teacher, would understand that.

With that thought, Glenn drew his wand and tapped it against his small money pouch.

From a separate compartment, soil rolled out in a stream, filling all the empty flowerpots to the brim.

The next moment, eight White Fresh fruits followed behind, dropping onto the surface of the soil in the pots.

In an instant, fine cracks appeared on the surface of the fruit shells.

"But it still feels like something's missing," Glenn mused.

Right—there needed to be light!

As this idea formed in his mind, the ceiling above the flowerpots gradually turned hazy and transparent.

A ray of warm sunlight shone down onto the cold soil.

When night came, it would turn into pale moonlight, illuminating the soil that nurtured life.

That was enough.

After leaving the Room of Requirement, Glenn checked the time—right on the dot for a meal.

Nothing was more important than eating.

Turning a corner, he returned to the corridor where he had placed his portrait.

Because of Sir Cadogan's usual "knightly demeanor," most students would rather take a detour than get stuck with this brave knight.

So this corridor, which led straight to the Great Hall, was unusually quiet, to the point that no one noticed a small picture frame hanging right next to Sir Cadogan's portrait.

"Come on, let's fight another round!" Sir Cadogan's voice rang out again, still loud, though this time a bit hoarse.

Looking at the battered knight hanging upside down on his Pony, his face bruised and swollen, Glenn outside the frame fell silent for a moment.

"Why not use a 'Drowsy Draught'?"

Hearing this, "Glenn" inside the frame spread his hands.

"I did use it. He fell asleep, but then he started shouting something about 'battle, courage, knightly spirit' and woke up all riled up after just a few seconds. I couldn't help it—it's not like I could actually kill him, right? Or you could find an empty frame, and we'll just move his corpse out."

"Can't you just burn him on the spot?"

"No, the smell's too strong. It'd be easy to find out. The headmasters' portraits aren't far from here, unless I deal with all of them."

After thinking it over, Glenn shook his head and abandoned the idea.

He hadn't come all this way to return to Hogwarts as a new student just to burn the headmasters' portraits.

"But if I get the chance, I might try knocking out Headmaster Black from behind..."

"Naturally." "Glenn" inside the frame put on an expression that said it was only obvious.

Then he turned and walked away.

"Come back! Don't be a coward!" Sir Cadogan roared from his Pony, forcing himself upright.

Putting away his empty frame, Glenn looked at the knight, whose eyes were wide with fury, and said, "Take a rest, Sir Knight."

"A true knight needs no rest!" Sir Cadogan declared, brandishing his sword, which was full of nicks.

When this stubborn old knight said those words, it meant he had latched onto his opponent.

For the rest of his school career at Hogwarts, Glenn would probably have to endure Sir Cadogan's daily challenges and harassment.

But that didn't mean there was no way out—just a little trick of words.

"Likewise, a true knight does not force someone to raise a hand against an injured old man," Glenn said in a serious tone, "unless he is far less noble than he believes himself to be."

"Sir, I hope our duel will be a noble and fair knightly contest, not a base act of taking advantage of someone's weakness."

Hearing this, Sir Cadogan, who had been brimming with battle fervor moments before, froze. He looked down at his own disheveled state and murmured, "Ah, well, I suppose so..."

For a medieval knight, nothing was more devastating than having his integrity called into question.

"Do not be disheartened, Sir. The next time I come here, I will accept your invitation to duel again... but on the condition that you tell no one about this noble knightly contest."

At these words, Cadogan regained some of his usual spirit and agreed almost without a second thought.

But Glenn continued, "By what name will you swear not to break your oath?"

As if he had been waiting too long to hear this question, Sir Cadogan, despite his recent defeat, suddenly grew excited and solemn. Bracing through the pain, he straightened his chest within the frame.

"By my name as a Knight of the Round Table." As he spoke, he proudly executed a knightly salute.

Returning the gesture, Glenn turned and left the now-quiet corridor.

With words spoken to that degree, no one—not even under threat of death—could pry a single word from Sir Cadogan. Though threatening a painting with death was, in itself, a rather odd notion.

"You don't look sick to me." In the Great Hall, Blaise studied Glenn as he spoke.

"Don't tell me you bought something from those Weasley twins?"

It was an unspoken rule among Hogwarts students.

If you wanted to skip class and fake an illness, Fred and George, the reigning prankster kings, were your best bet. For a small fee, you could get a convincingly realistic sick effect.

"Of course not." Glenn bit into a piece of bread. "Can't I just be over my illness?"

"Then you must have an incredible constitution," Blaise said in a tone dripping with disbelief.

If it were him, getting out of class under Professor McGonagall's watch was no easy feat—at the very least, he'd need a note from the hospital wing.

And what was truly absurd was that even though Glenn had skipped class today, the homework he'd left behind still earned Slytherin three points.

Thinking back to Halloween night, when Glenn said he was just going for a stroll and came back with twenty points, Blaise's mind wandered.

He was like a "merciless point machine"—wandering here, strolling there, and Slytherin's score just kept climbing...

"By the way, do you know any way into the Forbidden Forest?"

Hearing Glenn's question, Blaise's train of thought derailed. "Do you get points for sneaking into the Forbidden Forest?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he caught himself. Letting out an awkward little cough, he said, "Sorry, I was zoning out. Are you planning to sneak into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Of course—not. That would break school rules." Glenn swallowed the last bite of bread, his tone perfectly casual.