Thinking of this, Voldemort felt his anger flare anew.
If Dumbledore had not interfered, he could have gone further down his own "path of magic," just as Dumbledore had now.
Instead of having to enhance his magical power by drawing upon the Squib Army's "soul power" like this.
Voldemort's eyes held a trace of anticipation. He could barely wait to witness the devastation on the battlefield below.
He had tested them before. The Dark wizards Herpo had offered him were exceptionally skilled in magic, no less capable than his Death Eaters of old.
Dealing with those Hogwarts teachers and students should have been an effortless task...
He had even conceived a plan: if the Dark wizards had moved quickly enough, they should already have subdued Hogwarts' teachers and students.
Then, when he returned to the ground battlefield, he could make Dumbledore beg him in exchange for the lives of Hogwarts' teachers and students.
At the thought of that possible scene, a hint of pleasure curled at his lips.
Compared to Voldemort, whose goal was clear and direct, Dumbledore's task was undoubtedly far more complicated.
While dealing with magic that had grown more powerful yet again, he also had to stay constantly wary of Voldemort's Killing Curse.
Defense consumed far more than offense. Even with Quirrell supporting him from the side, the wounds on his body continued to multiply.
He vaguely sensed that something seemed to have changed in Voldemort's body. Unfortunately, because both he and Voldemort were falling, they had never truly come face-to-face, leaving him unable to confirm his suspicion.
The ground drew ever closer. The night wind rushed against them, carrying the clamor of the battlefield.
The booming Blasting Curses, the endless incantations, and the shrill screams intertwined, making Voldemort even more excited.
Unlike before, he was no