Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 929: The Battle Escalates, Voldemort is Injured

Silence...

In that instant, the chaotic battlefield fell eerily quiet. Both Professor McGonagall and the Death Eaters inexplicably lowered their wands, all eyes turning simultaneously toward the center of the battlefield.

A gust of wind swept through, carrying with it a stench so overpowering it was like manure that had fermented in a cellar for a week and had just been unleashed into the open air.

”Ugh...”

Every wizard present felt their stomach churn—Professor Sprout included, despite her usual tolerance for such things.

But they all held it in, especially the Death Eaters, whose mouths were clamped shut, expressions blank and unreadable.

Because the stench was coming from the head of their great Dark Lord—and they had a very clear sense that if they dared to vomit right now, they’d probably die on the spot...

As for everyone else, well, maybe they just felt it would be a bit rude to laugh out loud.

Even the Dark Lord himself was momentarily stunned. He might not have a nose, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t smell.

The stench was vicious—violently invasive, slamming straight into the crown of his head and stabbing at his fraying nerves.

“Pfft…”

Two snorts of laughter escaped from the crowd, despite efforts to contain them.

“Ugh… You Dungbomb... That’s brutal!”

“Totally you, Kyle!”

Fred and George gave Kyle a big thumbs-up, their admiration clear.

They were genuinely impressed—completely floored.

Over the past few decades, plenty of wizards had dared to face Voldemort head-on—Dumbledore, the Hogwarts professors, members of the Order of the Phoenix. Most of them had the guts to draw their wands against him.

But throwing a Dungbomb at Voldemort’s head? Kyle was without question the first.

And the most important part? He actually pulled it off.

Fred and George instinctively looked over at Voldemort, their eyes locking onto the yellowish mess on his head.

They had to admit, the stench was next-level. Even they—arguably the most skilled Dungbomb makers in the wizarding world—were shocked.

This had to be Kyle’s personal concoction. The primary ingredient, stinkweed, looked like it had been enhanced by some unknown potion, releasing a smell so vile that even the wind couldn’t disperse it.

And the color of the liquid after the explosion seemed upgraded too—an eye-burning yellow that even the pitch-black night couldn’t hide.

“Ugh!” Fred and George couldn’t hold back anymore and vomited again.

That sound was like the spark to a powder keg.

Voldemort snapped. Wand raised, he pointed it at Kyle like a madman, green light swirling at the tip and starting to elongate.

“By Merlin’s beard…” Kyle jumped in fright.

It was the first time he’d ever seen a Killing Curse like this—arcing in a wide, ten-foot semicircle.

Wasn’t the Killing Curse supposed to be a single-target spell? This was practically an area-of-effect version! The range had increased by hundreds of times!

There was no way he could dodge it!

Cold sweat broke out on Kyle’s forehead as he instinctively shouted, “Fawkes!”

Almost at the same moment, the phoenix on his shoulder spread its wings and burst into flames.

With a whoosh, the arc-shaped Killing Curse slashed through where Kyle had just been, sparks flying as it brushed the edge of his robes.

But Fawkes had been quicker, managing to Apparate and take Kyle out of harm’s way just in time.

The people behind Kyle weren’t so lucky.

Whether they were Death Eaters, Aurors, or Hit Wizards, they all collapsed like stalks of wheat under a scythe.

A little farther away, Slughorn stared at the fading green light in front of him, his legs giving out as he dropped to the ground.

Three inches—that curse had missed him by only three inches…

If he hadn’t drunk that sip of Felix Felicis before the battle, he’d probably be lying in a heap with the others.

Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, Slughorn raised his head with a trembling breath.

In front of him lay at least thirty wizards, sprawled out in all directions—most of them Death Eaters. It looked like they had been trying to sneak around and ambush Kyle… and had been wiped out in one clean sweep.

“No, this place isn’t safe!” Slughorn scrambled to his feet.

Both the Felix Felicis and his instincts were screaming at him to run—as far away from Kyle and Voldemort as possible, it didn’t matter where.

Slughorn was a man who knew when to listen, so he didn’t hesitate for a second. He bolted toward the castle, all the while reassuring himself...

Sure, the battle outside was important, but dealing with the Death Eaters inside the castle was just as urgent. He was simply changing the battlefield.

...

On the other side of the field, Fawkes had just brought Kyle to a new position when a second arc-shaped Killing Curse came streaking after them.

But compared to the first, this one seemed smaller, slower—less overwhelming. Kyle once again vanished just in time as Fawkes carried him away.

Their coordination was nearly flawless.

The third time, what came at Kyle was a standard Killing Curse.

This time, he didn’t even need Fawkes. He dodged it on his own.

And that’s when Kyle noticed something crucial—Voldemort’s Elder wand looked like it was breaking...

Well, maybe not broken yet, but even he had heard a sharp crack.

In the firelight, Kyle could clearly see two long cracks running down the wand’s surface. Only about a third of the wand’s shaft looked stable now—one more strong spell might shatter it completely.

Under normal circumstances, a wand in that condition would be completely unusable.

No wonder Voldemort had switched back to a standard Killing Curse. Kyle figured those two cracks must’ve formed when Voldemort cast the wide-range version.

One more cast, and that wand would be finished—and Voldemort clearly wasn’t ready to let it go.

But Kyle had no such reservations...

“Sectumsempra!”

“Confringo!”

“Flipendo!”

...

A barrage of spells flew at Voldemort, who instinctively raised his wand to summon a shield, blocking every one of Kyle’s attacks.

Crack...

Another splintering sound—Voldemort’s wand cracked again. Now only about a quarter of it was still intact.

“Damn it!” Voldemort snapped, snatching a wand off the ground.

Thanks to Kyle’s careful spellwork, quite a few Death Eaters had been caught in the crossfire of those earlier Killing Curses. Their wands now lay scattered across the battlefield—easy pickings.

“Reparo!”

Kyle watched Voldemort’s movements, feeling a laugh rise in his throat.

Using a standard wand to repair that wand... only Voldemort would try something so ridiculous—Oh, By Merlin’s beard...

Before Kyle’s disbelieving eyes, the cracks in the Elder wand began to close. Within seconds, it looked as good as new.

That’s not magic... Kyle shouted in his mind.

How could an ordinary wand repair the Elder wand? It was like trying to hammer a nail with a mallet made of tofu—it just didn’t work. They were fundamentally incompatible.

And yet...

Kyle stared at Voldemort, a realization dawning on him.

Could it be because of Voldemort himself?

He was completely baffled, but raised his wand again nonetheless.

“Confringo!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

The two spells collided in mid-air once more, sending up a brilliant spray of magical sparks.

“I’ll admit, you’re not entirely foolish,” Voldemort said coldly, “but this ends now... I’m going to kill you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kyle replied indifferently. “I saw it. That sludge ran right into your mouth. How’d it taste?”

“Oh, and by the way—your followers might need a new name after this. Maybe ‘Dungeaters’ has a nice ring to it?”

There was more than a little schadenfreude in Kyle’s voice.

In truth, he hadn’t seen any of the Dungbomb’s liquid actually get into Voldemort’s mouth. The stuff had only lingered for a few seconds before Voldemort cleaned it up.

But that didn’t stop him from saying it.

After all, it was just the two of them out here—who was going to call him out on it?

Kyle figured even Voldemort himself might not be sure. The instant the Dungbomb exploded, he’d been frozen in place—no way he could’ve noticed where every bit of it had landed.

“You... damn you!”

After a brief silence, Voldemort erupted once more, and a surge of magical sparks began streaking toward Kyle.

Kyle instinctively raised his other hand.

But this time, Voldemort was ready. He calmly sidestepped the spikes that erupted from the ground.

“You really think the same trick will work twice?” Voldemort sneered.

“I know it won’t,” Kyle replied with a grin. “That’s why it was just a distraction.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a flowerpot dropped from above, landing right in front of Voldemort.

The leaves poking out of the pot twitched, as though something had grabbed them—and a grotesque, human-faced creature was yanked up from the soil.

A moment later, the thing seemed to realize it had been pulled from its warm, comfortable earth, and its mouth opened wide.

“AAAAH!”

The Mandrake’s piercing scream rang across the entire battlefield. Though muffled somewhat by the surrounding explosions and roars, the sound still felled many weaker-willed witches and wizards on the spot.

Voldemort included.

The Mandrake had let out its cry right in his face—he didn’t even have room to dodge.

His scarlet eyes went wide, his pupils scattering. Voldemort screamed in agony, and the magical sparks he had aimed at Kyle veered off course and slammed back into him instead.

Unfortunately, Voldemort managed to cut off his spell at the last second and threw up a Shield Charm.

BOOM!

A massive explosion followed. Voldemort stood in its aftermath, disheveled and gasping for air.

It was clear the hastily cast Shield Charm hadn’t fully absorbed the impact of the Blasting Curse. He was injured—blood dripped from his left hand, spattering onto the battlefield.

Kyle didn’t give him a moment’s rest. Even before the smoke cleared, he flung another dozen pots of Mandrakes at him.

Voldemort swung his wand, conjuring a massive serpent made of Fiendfyre. The Mandrakes didn’t even get the chance to scream before they were reduced to ash.

“Fiendfyre? I can do that too!” Kyle’s eyes lit up.

A towering Fiendfyre dragon burst into existence above the flaming serpent’s head and lunged at it.

The two enormous creatures of cursed fire clashed mid-air, sparks flying in all directions, forcing the nearby wizards to retreat even farther.

After all, this was Fiendfyre raining down—getting caught in it would be a nightmare.

Voldemort’s expression darkened. He’d known Kyle was difficult to handle ever since the Hebrides incident, but this time... this time was different. Far worse.

And now that his Horcrux had been destroyed, the pain of his soul being torn apart—especially at such close range—was excruciatingly real. It left him irritable and on edge.

This couldn’t go on.

Dodging a snarl of twisting vines, Voldemort transformed into a cloud of black mist and rose into the air. From above, he issued a command to the surrounding Death Eaters.

“Kill him!”

Barty Crouch Jr. was the first to respond. Without hesitation, he abandoned his father and turned his wand on Kyle, firing a Killing Curse.

The rest of the Death Eaters gradually followed suit, aiming their spells at Kyle.

A downpour of magic came crashing toward him. Although Professor McGonagall and the others quickly engaged the Death Eaters, the assault still took its toll on Kyle.

One of his legs was petrified, and a double-handed sword—at least ten feet long—came slashing across the field, aimed straight for his head!

Fortunately, at that critical moment, a massive figure leapt to Kyle’s side.

The sword barely managed to slice into the Three-Headed Dog’s thick hide before shattering on impact and vanishing entirely...

Kyle seized the opportunity to lift the Petrification Curse from his leg.

“Bah, how shameless!” Kyle spat in disgust, glaring at Voldemort hovering in the sky. “Youʼre supposed to be the Dark Lord? Canʼt even beat a young wizard whoʼs not even twenty—fine, but you still have the nerve to call for backup?

“You piece of trash!”

Voldemort remained completely unmoved by Kyleʼs taunts.

Or perhaps the lingering effects of that Dungbomb were simply too strong—his mood was surprisingly calm, so much so that Kyle’s insults didn’t bother him in the slightest.

What mattered to Voldemort now was figuring out how to kill him.

The earlier tactic had worked well. Kyle might be powerful despite being under twenty, but he lacked experience. When surrounded by a large number of wizards, even someone like him couldn’t possibly keep up.

That made things simple.

Voldemort glanced around and frowned.

The Death Eaters nearby had all been pinned down. That last maneuver had been his limit, and now that Professor McGonagall and the others were on alert, there was almost no chance of targeting Kyle again through them.

But that was fine... he had other options.

Voldemort turned his eyes to the massive pillar of fire in the distance. A cruel smile slowly curled his lips as he said with a touch of delight, “Kyle, I admit youʼve surprised me more than once—but you’re still going to die. Because just like Potter, you have a weakness. Do you want to know what it is?”

Kyle blinked up at him, puzzled by Voldemort’s sudden surge of confidence.

Still, out of courtesy, Kyle put away the Venomous Tentacula in his hand, thought for a moment, and said, “Weakness... too kind?”

“Mmgh...” Voldemort let out a guttural, twisted sound, as though he wanted to say something but forcibly swallowed it back.

It was a while before he spoke again. “You and Dumbledore—both shackled by worthless things... Such a pity. You should’ve killed them!”

In an instant, Voldemort raised his wand and aimed at the Fiendfyre cage encasing the Death Eaters not far away.

A streak of orange light shot forth, and the raging Fiendfyre quickly began to die down, vanishing until only the thinnest layer remained.

The trapped Death Eaters finally saw daylight again.

They had been surrounded by the cursed fire and had no idea what was going on—let alone why it had suddenly begun to fade.

“Look! It’s the Dark Lord!” one of them cried, the first to spot Voldemort in the air.

The rest of the Death Eaters erupted in cheers.

“Hahaha! It really is the Dark Lord!”

“The Dark Lord came to save us!”

“Aaah! Kill! I’ll kill every last one of you!”

They roared and howled in elation, celebrating their impending freedom.

Voldemort hovered above them, face expressionless. Though he was clearly displeased that these useless underlings had been captured so easily, they were still useful to him now—so he couldnʼt be bothered to dwell on it.

“The great Dark Lord commands you.” Voldemort pointed straight at Kyle. “Kill him. At any cost!”

“Yes, Master!”

“Ooooh!”

“You’re dead, boy!”

The Death Eaters turned their gazes on Kyle, waiting only for the last of the Fiendfyre to vanish before they charged in to tear him apart.

Kyle stood there as if stunned, frozen in place, making no move to stop Voldemort.

“No, Kyle—run! Head for the castle!” Professor McGonagall cried out in panic.

There were far too many Death Eaters, and this was an open field. Their side didn’t have nearly enough people to hold them off.

The only option left was to retreat to the castle, where the narrow hallways and staircases could help neutralize the numbers disadvantage.

“Hurry! Don’t worry about us!” Chris shouted as well.

One Auror even stepped forward, deliberately trying to draw Voldemort’s attention.

They had already realized it—Kyle was the only one with a real shot at defeating Voldemort. He had come so close—closer than even Dumbledore ever had!

“Got it!”

Kyle didn’t waste time. He turned and sprinted toward the castle with everything he had.

But whether from panic or unfamiliarity with the terrain, his path didn’t aim directly for the castle. Instead, he veered closer to where the Death Eaters were still trapped...

The battlefield was too chaotic for anyone to notice.

“You wish!”

There was no way Voldemort would just watch Kyle escape. He immediately raised his wand, and green light began to coalesce.

But before the spell could fully form, the Elder Wand cracked again.

Crack...

A long fissure snapped Voldemort back to reality.

Though it had been repaired, the Elder Wand now seemed even more fragile. He had a strong feeling that if he forced the spell, the wand would break for good.

His face turned grim, but there was no other choice. He switched to a regular Killing Curse.

A flash of green light burst forth—but Kyle twisted just in time and dodged it.

The curse continued forward, striking the last remnants of the Fiendfyre directly.

The nearly extinguished Fiendfyre reacted as if provoked—suddenly flaring up and then, with a violent shudder, it exploded!

BOOM!

The blast was even louder than the earlier Blasting Curse, sending a column of fire roaring straight into the sky.

Voldemort turned his head stiffly, staring in disbelief at the scene before him. In an instant, half of the hundreds of Death Eaters were gone. The rest were so badly burned or wounded they could no longer fight.

Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he whipped his head toward Kyle.

Somehow, at some point, Kyle had stopped running—and was staring back at him.