Born Warriors

The high-powered magic in Andros's hands would be considered ancient magic by today's standards, and learning it was a nightmare.

It required not only a foundation in advanced theory but also the ability to chew through ancient runes, Cretan, Mycenaean, and the Ionian dialect used in the Homer's Epics. These were all magical scripts; missing even one was not an option.

Therefore, up to this point, aside from the Patronus Charm, the impact curses used to deal with Zabini and his two cronies (which were Andros's bread and butter), and two defensive spells he had just acquired, everything Tom learned was basic textbook material.

Anything higher-level? He couldn't even touch the edges, let alone dream of it.

The Restricted Section might have what he wanted, but the moment he thought about his name, his background, and his status as a Slytherin, he lost his nerve.

Forget it, forget it. He had no desire to wander into the Restricted Section this early; that would be like dancing on Albus Dumbledore's sensitive nerves. It was pure suicide, a sign he was tired of living.

Tom had also realized by now that being sorted into Slytherin was definitely "thanks" to Andros.

The Sorting Hat's comment about "ancient magic purer than Salazar's" must have been a side effect of him siphoning off Andros's magical talent.

In a Slytherin house that obsessed over bloodline, in terms of pure magical power, he was practically the living ancestor of everyone there—even Salazar himself would have to step aside. No one would believe it if he told them.

But after mulling it over, Tom still gave up the idea of finding another teacher. Don't be fooled by the fact that King Realm wizards and Epoch wizards were only one tier apart; their actual levels were worlds apart.

King Realm wizards appeared in every generation, like the four heads of house at Hogwarts, who were certainly qualified in their respective fields.

But Epoch wizards like Albus Dumbledore and Andros were not the kind to pop up every hundred years; they were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

It was better to keep saving up and gather one thousand points to draw an Epoch wizard.

As for the Eternal Saint? That was too far out of reach, like stars in the sky. He would worry about that once he found other ways to earn achievement points.

It was all this lousy system's fault for setting the starting bar so high, making his standards so picky that he couldn't even look at ordinary teachers. It was just asking for trouble.

Tom didn't even know when he had fallen asleep, but he was woken up by a racket.

Zabini and his two lackeys were up earlier than the roosters, giggling and chattering away, giving him a splitting headache. His temper flared instantly.

A furious Tom scrambled up, whipped out his wand, and gave each of them three lashes, cursing as he chased them out of the dormitory: "Get lost and make noise elsewhere! If you wake me up again, I'll whip you to death!"

The world was finally quiet. He turned over and went back to sleep, drifting off into a deep, peaceful slumber.

The three roommates who had been kicked out were grinding their teeth in rage, their faces flushed red. Just as they were about to start cursing at the door, the door to the next dormitory opened.

Malfoy walked out, bleary-eyed and with messy hair. Seeing the three of them standing at the door, he paused, his tone impatient: "What are you three doing standing here? You're blocking the way."

Zabini swallowed the insults on the tip of his tongue, his face twisting in frustration. The other two quickly wiped the anger off their faces, pretending nothing had happened.

It wasn't that they were worried about washing dirty laundry in public; they simply couldn't afford the humiliation. The three of them, pure-blood young masters, had been handled by a "Mudblood" and kicked out of their own room.

If this got out, they'd be laughed at until graduation, especially by this kid Malfoy. They had noticed at the banquet last night that he was acting high and mighty, relying on his two hulking lackeys, and was even more punchable than they were.

Nott's brain worked fast, and he immediately made up an excuse, his voice stuttering slightly: "N-nothing, it's just the first day of school, we were too excited to sleep, so we came out for a walk."

The half-asleep Malfoy didn't think twice, rolled his eyes, and muttered a mocking "ignorant" under his breath.

He then sauntered off toward the washroom, not even bothering to spare them a second glance.

"Damn it, this kid is even more annoying than Riddle!" Zabini stared at Malfoy's back and spat viciously.

He wished he could give Malfoy a few lashes, just like Tom had done to him.

They were all pure-bloods, all from the Sacred Twenty-Eight; what gave him the right to be so arrogant? Just because of his fence-sitting father?

Nott spat as well, his tone gloomy: "Neither of them is any good. Let's take this one step at a time. We'll deal with Riddle first, then we'll handle Malfoy later."

The other two nodded, reaching a consensus.

Perhaps it was the shared experience of being whipped twice, but in just one night, the three had inexplicably formed a strange "comradeship." They found a corner in the common room and huddled together, whispering about how to deal with Tom.

"We can ambush him!" Nott lowered his voice, his eyes shifty. "Find a deserted corner or hide in a classroom and strike from behind. Catch him off guard—it's bound to work!"

"No, no, that's too risky." Rosier immediately vetoed the idea, his arm beginning to ache at the memory of last night's whipping. "As long as he gets a chance to cast a spell, we're sure to lose.

Look at how skilled he was last night—Transfiguration, attack spells—he used them better than we pure-bloods do. If we fail, I guarantee I'll get whipped again, and I don't want to suffer that."

Zabini's face was dark as he gritted his teeth: "We can use a magical artifact.

My family has a piece of Dark Magic hardware; anyone who touches it by accident will be cursed. Then we'll see how arrogant he can be."

"Don't do anything stupid!" Nott was startled and quickly grabbed him, his voice changing.

"This is Hogwarts, Dumbledore's turf! If he finds out, Tom Riddle might be fine, but you'll definitely be expelled. Won't your mother skin you alive then?"

Zabini fell silent, his face turning shades of blue and white.

Slytherin students generally held a mix of respect, fear, and resentment toward Dumbledore, all passed down from their parents.

They didn't want their revenge to alert the Headmaster and end up in a lose-lose situation.

Actually, according to their families, Dumbledore had always favored "Mudbloods" and half-bloods. If things really blew up, they would likely be the ones to suffer. It wasn't worth it.

"How about... we tell Professor Snape," Rosier said slowly, rubbing his still-aching arm.

His tone carried a hint of confidence. "My parents were classmates with Snape, and even 'colleagues.' He'll definitely look after me and deal with that brat Riddle."

Zabini frowned, looking disgusted: "Telling on him? Isn't that too embarrassing? Like a primary schooler. What if he tells my mother about this? I'll be finished."

Rosier was very confident about this, patting his chest: "Don't worry, absolutely not. My parents are already in Azkaban; he can't exactly mail a letter there, can he? Dementors don't act as couriers. It would be a total waste of effort."