Voldemort. Dead!

Upon hearing his master's command, Quirrell moved with lightning speed.

The purple turban was quickly wrapped around his head, and then he instinctively looked toward the door.

Then, his front door was knocked upon.

"Knock, knock, knock."

The knocking was neither fast nor slow, neither muffled nor sharp.

Quirrell's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he took his wand into his hand.

"Wh-who, who is out there?"

Quirrell did not originally stutter; if he had, he would not have so smoothly obtained a teaching position at Hogwarts after graduation.

Even for a fluff course like Muggle Studies.

He wasn't just nervous—fine, he was nervous.

But a wizard capable of traveling alone into the Albanian Forest to gain combat experience should not, by any measure, have such poor mental fortitude.

His current stuttering was more a reflection of soul damage manifesting in his body.

When Voldemort punished his servants, he did not care if the methods caused physical harm.

He only needed his servants to suffer.

If a servant cared about physical injury, that was even better; if they didn't want to get hurt, they had to work hard for him.

Unfortunately, Quirrell's aptitude was far inferior to those original Death Eaters who followed him.

To put it bluntly, it wasn't that Quirrell had a bad attitude; he was simply "trash."

"Quirinus, it is I." Dumbledore's aged yet gentle voice sounded from outside the door.

In the past, whenever Quirinus heard Dumbledore's voice, he would only feel at ease.

But now?

This voice echoed in his heart like a soul-reaping incantation.

Dumbledore was here!?

Dumbledore had actually come to his doorstep!!!

Master, Master, what should I do!

Dumbledore had used only one sentence to make Quirrell's limbs go weak.

"Fool! Calm down!" Voldemort's voice echoed in Quirrell's mind.

If he weren't currently attached to Quirrell's head, Voldemort would have wanted to finish Quirrell off with a Killing Curse right then and there.

It's just Dumbledore at the door, what the hell are you panicking about?

"Open the door! If Dumbledore wanted to deal with you, you wouldn't have a chance to resist anyway."

"He might just be passing by."

Voldemort's words were crude but accurate; he truly knew how to alleviate his subordinate's tension.

Once Quirrell heard this, he felt that his master was absolutely right.

If Dumbledore really wanted to take him out, he truly would have no power to fight back.

Since there was no ability to resist, what else was there to say?

"Du-Dumbledore Professor, I didn't expect you, you would come here."

"Oh, Quirinus, you don't look like you're in very good shape. Has something happened?"

"No, nothing, Professor Dumbledore! Just some after-aftereffects from my adventures."

Quirrell had thought things through quite well just a moment ago, but unfortunately, when he was truly face-to-face with the greatest wizard of the age, all his so-called mental preparation vanished like bubbles.

Human fear does not disappear simply because of preparation.

Dumbledore ignored Quirrell's flawed and erratic posture, though he sneered inwardly.

Tom, my dear student... have you really reached the point where you can no longer choose the quality of your subordinates?

"Very well, since you are fine, would it be convenient to help me call Tom out, Quirinus? It has been a long time, and I have some things I would like to discuss with him."

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

This is fatal!!!

How could Dumbledore know!?

A massive wave of fear washed over Quirrell, and at this moment, he didn't even need Voldemort's command.

He gripped his wand as if it were a sharp sword, pointing it straight at Dumbledore.

"Avada Kedavra!!!"

A thick bolt of green light erupted from Quirrell's wand, aimed directly at Dumbledore.

This curse was imbued with chilling malice; in this moment, Quirrell held the resolve to kill Dumbledore at all costs.

Unfortunately, Quirrell's resolve was utterly useless; his Killing Curse didn't even come close to touching Dumbledore.

Without a spell, without a flick of his wand, Dumbledore vanished into thin air right before Quirrell's eyes.

The next second, Dumbledore appeared behind Quirrell.

Dumbledore pointed the Elder Wand at Quirrell, and a flash of crimson-gold light struck him square in the back.

"Dumbledore—

Ah!!!"

Quirrell shrieked in agony, his body first turning into charred "cinder" before disintegrating into ash.

Voldemort's "temporary mount" couldn't even survive a single exchange with Dumbledore, suffering a forced logout.

Voldemort, possessing Quirrell, had no intention of going head-to-head with Dumbledore.

He might be a bit insane, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

Even when he was in his prime, he wouldn't have dared to challenge Dumbledore directly.

Now that he was nothing more than a wandering soul, did anyone really think he would try to fight Dumbledore to the death?

Don't be ridiculous, he couldn't win!

Voldemort immediately transformed into a mass of black mist, billowing toward the window of Quirrell's house.

"Tom, we've only just met after all this time, why are you in such a hurry to leave?"

Dumbledore gave the Elder Wand a sharp flick, and every door and window in Quirrell's home slammed shut instantly.

Voldemort had no intention of stopping, his black mist slamming violently against the windows.

"Hum."

Just as the black mist was about to touch the glass, a pale red, transparent barrier shimmered into existence over the windows.

Despite the impact of the black mist, the barrier flickered but remained as solid as a rock.

The next second, Voldemort recoiled, a shrill, piercing shriek filling the entire room.

This sound didn't target a wizard's hearing, but struck directly at the soul.

If Quirrell were still alive, this scream from Voldemort would have killed him all over again.

Voldemort didn't escape unscathed; the black mist he had become visibly faded.

To cast a spell that would be considered evil even for a dark wizard while in the form of a wandering soul, Voldemort had to pay a price.

Dumbledore didn't even blink.

It was the Elder Wand again, and again, he cast without a single incantation.

This time, the light shooting from Dumbledore's wand wasn't crimson-gold, but a blinding green.

Avada Kedavra, a powerful curse that acted upon the level of the soul.

This spell was perfectly suited for Voldemort's current state.

"Dumbledore, I curse you!" Accompanied by Voldemort's venomous curse, the black mist slowly turned into ash.

The wandering soul of a generation's Dark Lord dissipated just like that, in the middle of a Muggle community he despised so much.

Dumbledore stood there with his wand for a long time, and only after confirming that Voldemort would not rise from the ashes did he finally put his wand away.

"Tom..." Dumbledore wiped his glasses and left Quirrell's house.

Hogwarts, Headmaster's office.

Isaac sat across from Dumbledore, his eyes filled with inquiry and anticipation.

"How did it go, Professor? Did you find Voldemort?"

This was a bold attempt by Isaac; as a transmigrator with such an advantage, what was the point of cowering in fear just to avoid disrupting the so-called plot?

Before I transmigrated, I followed the rules and never dared to step out of line, but if I'm still going to be that stifled after transmigrating...

Then what was the point of transmigrating in the first place?