Ian felt like a balloon.
As if he had been stuffed full of things that weren't his.
"I'm tainted!"
A sea of surging bloodlust churned inside Ian's little head, nearly crushing his reason completely. The boundless bloodlust was like a raging flood, desperately seeking an outlet.
Perhaps it was because Mara was guiding him.
Or perhaps it was instinct.
After hearing Mara's instruction, Ian's ears ringing with her words, he recited the incantation almost without hesitation.
"Avada Kedavra!"
It was practically a roar.
Ian had never imagined he would cast the Killing Curse under these circumstances.
As the incantation resonated,
magic and bloodlust gathered and merged inside Ian, flowing to his fingertips and pouring into the unknown wand. Green light nearly illuminated the entire castle.
It shone like a meteor.
Brilliant and dazzling.
Overwhelmingly powerful.
Unfortunately, there were no living beings or souls where Ian's wand was pointed—only an ancient, mottled gray-green wall.
The spell only worked on living beings, so naturally it wouldn't damage the wall itself. Even so, green light spread across it like a web.
It flickered for a long while.
Then gradually faded away.
With the bloodlust Mara had instilled in him released, Ian's reason regained the upper hand. Beside him, the witch seemed very satisfied with the result.
"It seems your dullness is limited to certain areas. At least when it comes to magic, you have a talent superior to many others." The witch didn't hold back her praise.
"Oh my goodness!"
Ian stared at the green light slowly fading from the wall, unable to believe he had cast the spell himself.
He.
An eleven-year-old wizard.
Who hadn't even begun studying at Hogwarts.
How could he possibly—
have cast such a terrible, wicked spell!
The Killing Curse!
The foremost of the Three Unforgivable Curses! A spell that made countless people blanch at the mere mention of it!
And he'd learned it just like that? There were people born to be kings and ministers in this world—could there really be people born to be prisoners of Azkaban, too?
Ian knew that the main reason his Killing Curse had been so powerful was the bloodlust Mara had instilled in him. Everyone knew the spell's power was closely tied to bloodlust.
However,
even so,
it didn't change the fact that he had learned the Killing Curse.
Name: Ian Prince Profession: Bloodline Warlock Magic: Level 4 Skills: [Lumos (Level 1): 76/100] [Levitation Charm (Level 1): 11/100] [Killing Curse (Level 1): 7/100] ...
The panel couldn't lie.
He had only cast the spell once, with Mara's guidance and help, yet Ian had directly mastered the Level 1 Killing Curse—and already gained seven points of proficiency!
What did Level 1 mean?
It meant that even if he received no further help from his teacher, he could still cast the most basic form of the Killing Curse. He had also gained a wealth of understanding about the spell, all of it now knowledge in his mind!
"An Unforgivable Curse, Mara? You call this a slightly simpler spell?" Ian was still reeling in shock, his mind practically frozen. He felt little joy at having learned a new spell.
"In my time, there was no such distinction." The witch walked over to the wall and gently touched it. The remaining green light and tiny cracks vanished completely.
"Wizards who can't even cast the Killing Curse when they're out and about are usually just lambs waiting to be slaughtered." Her explanation was unexpectedly difficult to argue with.
In Ian's opinion,
Mara was at the very least a wizard from before the Middle Ages.
For wizards of that era,
learning a bit of the Killing Curse before heading out did seem to make some... sense?
"Remember how it felt today."
The witch turned and reminded Ian,
"This spell requires intense bloodlust. You don't look like you'll grow up to be a good person, but it's not easy for a wizard your age to feel such intense bloodlust... I suggest you try hunting some animals. That can also help you build up the bloodlust needed to cast spells."
"Of course, it can't compare to killing a person, or to malice toward your own kind. If you could kill someone with your own hands, perhaps you'd truly master this spell."
The witch clearly hadn't realized how far Ian had progressed. Her patient instruction carried a hint of temptation.
As expected,
what kind of benevolent white witch would teach her apprentice the Killing Curse right off the bat...? Ian's earlier hunch about his teacher was probably right.
"All right, I'll take on some part-time work as an animal butcher..." Ian certainly wouldn't follow the witch's final suggestion, which she'd tossed out as if it were an afterthought. He wasn't Voldemort, willing to do anything for power.
Besides,
he had already learned the Killing Curse. He didn't need to build up more bloodlust to cross that threshold. But Ian didn't think he should tell the witch that.
It wasn't about keeping a trump card hidden.
Why worry about such complicated things in Limbo?
Aside from Ian,
he had never heard of anyone being able to communicate with the souls in Limbo. Even if any secret was exposed here, it wouldn't affect his life in the real world in the slightest.
The only reason he didn't want to tell the witch this astonishing fact was that she already thought poorly enough of him. He didn't want to reinforce her impression that "you don't seem like a good person."
After all,
even with the witch's special teaching method, any wizard who could learn the Killing Curse in one go had to be exceptionally talented in Dark Magic, right?
Well,
Voldemort might even have called him a kindred spirit?
Looking at the seven whole points of proficiency on his panel, Ian wished he could make the same sort of progress with other spells, advancing a thousand miles in a single step.
"Mara, could you teach me another spell? One that's a little less dangerous..." Ian suspected his progress with the Killing Curse might have been a special case.
"Greedy."
The witch replied coolly.
However,
the next moment, she suddenly chuckled.
"But greed for knowledge isn't a bad thing, and it isn't irritating, either." Clearly, Ian's "thirst for knowledge" was exactly the sort the witch admired.
But
despite Ian's eager gaze,
the witch didn't start teaching him. Instead, she smiled and reminded him in a teasing tone,
"Are you sure you have enough time to learn a new spell?"
Perhaps
this teacher had some way of sensing how long Ian could remain in Limbo. Almost as soon as she finished speaking, Ian began to feel his surroundings grow blurry.
"Huh!?"
Ian's figure slowly began to fade.
Everything around him seemed to be drifting away... As his soul was about to leave this sanctuary, Ian only vaguely saw the witch tear off a corner of her dress.
She inscribed some words on it, then placed it in Ian's hand.
"Think of it as homework."
"My dear apprentice, don't disappoint me..."
The vision vanished.
Reality returned.
When Ian opened his eyes and looked at the clock,
the witch's expectant whisper still seemed to echo in his ears.
He sat up.
Raised his hand.
The fragment of the dress, bearing ancient knowledge and having crossed the boundary between life and death with him, lay quietly in his palm, gleaming silver in the moonlight.