Ian felt like a balloon, filled with things that didn't belong to him.
"I'm not clean anymore!"
Murderous intent, as turbulent as the ocean, churned in Ian's little head. His rationality was almost completely suppressed, the boundless killing intent urgently needing an outlet—like a raging flood.
Perhaps it was Mara's guidance.
Or perhaps it was instinct.
After Mara's instructions echoed in his ears, Ian chanted the incantation without the slightest hesitation.
"Avada Kedavra!"
It was almost a roar.
Ian had never imagined he would cast the Killing Curse under such circumstances.
Accompanied by the resonance of the incantation, magic and murderous intent converged and fused within Ian's body, flowing to his fingertips and pouring into the unknown wand. The green light nearly illuminated the entire castle.
Like a meteor—shining. Bright and dazzling. Powerful.
It was just a pity that Ian's wand was aimed at a place where no living beings or souls resided—only a piece of ancient, slightly mottled, cyan-gray wall.
This was a spell that only worked on living beings, so naturally it did not damage the wall. Even so, the green light spread across it like a spiderweb.
It flickered for a long time before gradually dissipating.
Once the murderous intent instilled by Mara had been released, Ian's rationality returned. Beside him, the witch seemed quite satisfied with the effect.
"It seems that your dullness is limited to certain aspects. At least when it comes to magic, you have a talent that surpasses many," the witch praised without hesitation.
"Oh my god…"
Ian stared at the fading green light on the wall, unable to believe this was a spell he had released.
He—an eleven-year-old wizard who hadn't even stepped into Hogwarts— had cast such an evil and terrifying spell.
The Killing Curse.
The first of the three Unforgivable Curses. A spell that makes many pale with fear.
And he had learned it so easily?
In this world, there are born kings and generals—could there truly be born Azkaban prisoners?
Ian knew the power of the Killing Curse he cast was mostly due to the murderous intent Mara had instilled in him. Everyone knew the effectiveness of this spell was closely tied to intent.
Still, even with that explanation, it didn't change the fact: he had indeed learned the Killing Curse.
Name: Ian Prince
Occupation: Bloodline Sorcerer
Magic Power: Level 4
Skills:
[Luminary Charm (Level 1): 76 / 100]
[Levitation Charm (Level 1): 11 / 100]
[Killing Curse (Level 1): 7 / 100]
The panel doesn't lie.
Just by performing the spell under Mara's guidance, Ian had directly mastered the Level 1 Killing Curse—and even gained seven points of proficiency.
What did Level 1 represent?
It meant that even without help from his teacher, he could now cast the most basic form of the Killing Curse. Many insights about the spell had already become knowledge within his mind.
"Unforgivable Curse, Mara… and you call this a simple spell?" Ian was still gripped by horror and mental exhaustion, unable to feel any joy from learning a new spell.
"In my era, there was no such classification," the witch said, walking to the wall and gently stroking it. The residual green light and cracks vanished at her touch.
"When you're out in the world, wizards who don't even know the Killing Curse are merely lambs to be slaughtered." Her explanation was difficult to refute.
To Ian, Mara was likely a witch from before the Middle Ages.
For wizards of that time, learning the Killing Curse before venturing out into the world almost made… sense?
"Remember today's feeling."
The witch turned to him and instructed:
"This spell requires strong murderous intent. You don't seem like a good person when you grow up, but it's still not easy for a wizard your age to harbor such intent… I suggest you try hunting animals—it can help build the murderous energy needed to cast this spell."
"Of course, it's not as effective as killing people, or harboring evil thoughts toward your own kind. If you kill someone with your own hands, you might truly master this magic."
The witch clearly misunderstood Ian's progress. Her patient teaching style carried a hint of bewitchment.
Indeed, what kind of witch teaches the Killing Curse upon first meeting? Ian's earlier suspicion about her wasn't wrong.
"Great, I'll work part-time as an animal butcher…" Ian muttered. Of course, he wouldn't follow her final suggestion. He wasn't Voldemort, willing to do anything for power.
Besides, he had already learned the Killing Curse. There was no need to accumulate more murderous intent to unlock it. Still, Ian didn't feel like telling the witch this.
Not because he wanted to keep a trump card.
It was more that—why bother?
In the Dead Realm, no one else could interact with the souls here. Even if a secret was exposed, it wouldn't affect Ian's real life.
No, the reason he stayed silent was because Mara's opinion of him was already low enough. He didn't want to reinforce her belief that "you don't seem like a good person."
After all, a child who learns the Killing Curse in one go would probably be considered talented… in black magic?
Hmm. Even Voldemort might call him an expert.
Looking at the seven points of proficiency on his panel, Ian wished he could progress this quickly with other spells.
"Mara, can you teach me another spell? One that's not so dangerous…" Ian hoped his Killing Curse progress was just a fluke.
"Greed."
The witch replied coldly.
But the next moment, she chuckled.
"However, greed for knowledge isn't a bad thing—nor is it annoying." Ian's "thirst for knowledge" seemed to be the kind she appreciated.
However, just as Ian looked at her with hopeful eyes, the witch smiled teasingly.
"Are you sure you have enough time to learn a new spell?"
Perhaps she had some way to sense how long Ian could remain in the Misty Realm. Almost as soon as she spoke, Ian began to feel the world blur.
"Ah!?"
His figure began to fade.
Everything around him receded… and just as his soul was about to leave the pure land, Ian vaguely saw the witch tear off a corner of her dress.
She engraved some words into the fabric and placed it into Ian's hand.
"Consider it homework."
"Dear apprentice, don't let me down…"
The illusion 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 torn piece of fabric, which had crossed the boundary between life and death, now lay quietly in his palm— glowing faintly silver under the moonlight.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are enjoying this story please consider voting with power stones and add to your collection. This will motivate me to keep going with this serialization.