Tree trunks flew past, blurring with speed and getting lost in the night shadows. Almost nothing crunched underfoot, neither brushwood nor small animal bones, scattered here, near the border with the acromantula lair, in great numbers, literally everywhere. Despite the fact that there was absolutely no time to think about stealth, I still managed to move almost silently. Some kind of magic. A joke.
The instincts and reflexes of a werewolf donor took over during the full moon. This became especially noticeable now, when I myself gave them free rein, going out hunting, and not suppressing them. Past Amos liked this business, and now I even understand why.
Such freedom, such simplicity, such speed and strength, not clouded by lengthy reasoning, obsessive thoughts, heavy thoughts constantly swarming in my head. Only simple and understandable thoughts and desires. It was possible to briefly release the wolf inside of me and enjoy the simple joys of a night hunt, like primitive people once did, long before our times.
The thought process itself was not seriously deformed, as in real werewolves, who completely lost their minds without the aconite potion, turning into stupid and bloodthirsty creatures, but rather was simplified a little. I could still think on abstract topics and immerse myself in memories, but in the background, without particularly focusing my attention on them. The body seemed to live its own life, although I felt that at any moment I could intercept control and direct it as I wished.
It would be very expensive to carry out complex calculations in my head now, only if I seriously strained my occlumency and forcibly suppressed the current state. But then I could forget about the improved reflexes, perception and instincts of a real death machine until the next full moon.
It's a pity, but without a full moon my combat potential as a close combat fighter was greatly reduced. I'd say by about sixty percent. My physical characteristics remained the same, but what's the point if I can't properly use this power with the wolf dormant inside me. Like powerful hardware without good software. It will take a lot more time to develop my own skills to the point of it being automatic.
Fortunately, now I didn't need the subtle calculations that I had previously carried out for the ritual of creating the undead, this time had already been lost due to the vile hoofed creatures that were chasing me on my heels, but I needed a wolf that woke up on the full moon and was ready to act. And specifically a wolf, not a werewolf.
That continuous aberration that people turned into under the influence of the lycanthropy curse, where a wolf, a man and some fucking black magic were mixed, passed me by. Heh, luck? Maybe. Black luck.
In any case, I had two of the three points, I am a human, and my almost tame wolf. The black rot of the curse, like mold growing in and then eating away at the mind, died along with the donor. I skimmed the cream, taking only the positive bonuses for myself, almost without the minuses.
I have never experienced the inhuman cruelty and thirst for murder and violence that is inherent in those cursed with lycanthropy, because even most predatory animals are not characterized by cruelty for the sake of cruelty. Killing for the sake of survival, protecting their territory and food - yes, but not for the sake of the act of violence itself. Of course, there are particularities, like how a cat plays with a mouse, but honestly, we are not going to compare children's games with what people can do to their own kind if they have absolute power over the life and death of their victim, right? So where does such insane bloodthirstiness come from werewolves?
I would say that it is more of a human trait, multiplied by the dark magic of the curse, so if someone told me that werewolves wake up a beast deep inside during the full moon, I would argue with that, and suggest that it is simply a human being who wakes up inside the beast, charged to the very top with the curse.
But this is all philosophy, which is very difficult for me right now, so enough about it. I will return to this when I have another, more successful day.
A curse is a curse, and I know how much dark magic can change the behavior of a person or animal?
Beyond recognition.
I dove sharply to the side and the arrow whistling nearby dug not into my side, but into the pine tree that stood between us. Ugh, it seems that the leader of their herd is already somewhere nearby. Apparently, he broke out ahead, setting an example and leading the others.
Another arrow flew past, but I seemed to sense where the centaur's attention was directed, and instinctively guessed his next move. Well, of course, he shouldn't have decided to break away from his friends so much.
Pushing off the ground harder, I flew over the thorny bushes, which jerked suspiciously after me, but never reached my feet with their branches.
A fucking living forest. Even the bushes are trying to eat me, that's why it's called the Forbidden Forest, the bitch. This notoriety is well deserved.
It's not for nothing that Dumbledore warns about this every year. At the edge of the forest, closer to the castle, it's more or less safe, as well as near the forester's hut, but I'm closer to the center now. The forest itself is a natural and magical anomaly, stretching for many hundreds of kilometers of folded space around.
From the outside, the forest looks quite harmless, ordinary, and does not occupy such a large area, but in fact, inside it is simply immense. Once you go deeper and find yourself under the crowns of centuries-old trees that block the sky, you begin to understand that you will not be able to pass through it even in two weeks of fast marching.
The stick in my hands whistled sharply, as if releasing the bowstring, sending a spell in response - a gift to my opponent. A dark curse rushed in the direction from which the arrow flew, but, despite the large radius of destruction, missed.
A giant black icicle dug into the trunk of some tree and exploded like a fragmentation grenade. Small shards of dark ice scattered frozen magical acid in a twenty-meter radius of destruction. More precisely, it was a curse that completely imitated acid, but now it was not so important.
Once in warm flesh and blood, such fragments would quickly begin to melt, bringing with them incredible suffering and a very lousy death.
It is not so easy to hit a target galloping through the forest, and the leader of the centaurs managed to leave the kill zone with a long graceful jump. Fast. He should be performing at the theatre, at the races, and not chasing dark magicians through the forests... I would even bet a couple of shekels on him. So what? The jockey is definitely experienced, he has been associated with horses all his life, so to speak. Even too closely associated.
Several trees were completely frozen through and corroded by acid, they began to fall down with a crash, but one nimble centaur did not care anymore, we were moving too fast and had long since left that place behind. But my actions were not without casualties.
One of his subordinates-comrades, instead of doing the smart thing like everyone else and going around the area affected by dark magic, flew in at full gallop. And, naturally, he inhaled deeply the ice chips that rose into the air as a fine suspension due to the fall and crushing of frozen trees. It did him no good. I simply felt that my curse had reaped one intelligent life.
How exactly he died, quickly or in terrible agony, I did not know, and, frankly, I did not really want to know. What a smart guy he was. Apparently, he was still very young. Green. And anyway, they started it first, and I and Amos in the past were used to paying for evil with even greater evil. The centaurs had already hunted Amos several times, destroyed his works and were constantly underfoot. Previously, the previous Amos always ran away, preferring, perhaps, to send his fresh infernals into the last battle, for the creation of which he was caught. But what could one or two spiders do to a whole herd of centaurs? And even acting head-on, without the direct control of their creator. That's why my hoofed friends relaxed a little. No, guys, the good times are over. Now I'm going to give you a punch in the teeth.
Several huge silver arrows flew at me at once, whose white plumage and tips, shining in the moonlight, I, fortunately, could easily discern in the darkness, accelerating my consciousness with mental magic.
I could afford a broken trajectory, evading projectiles rushing at great speed, relying on a strong and agile body that had seriously stepped over human limits, but I was not invulnerable. Oh, now it is clear why the leader used exactly such arrows with white plumage. Blurred my vision.
The first arrow missed, as did the second, but the third one caught my shoulder tangentially, coming from a completely different direction. I noticed the blind spot behind the trees too late and barely managed to turn my head away. Damn it. Black plumage. It was hard to see in the dark, as was the black arrowhead, despite the night vision I had cast on myself, this magic had its limits.
A scratch, but I suspected poison. Why? Well, I would have done the same in his place, so I see no reason why the enemy couldn't do the same. Especially since the first blood had already been spilled. Even if they were originally going on a regular hunt and stumbled upon the ritual site by accident, sensing dark magic, then coating the arrows with poison in advance would have been an extremely stupid idea, since they would have simply poisoned themselves with their own prey, cooking soup from it, but if their original target was one dark mage who likes to walk through the Forbidden Forest at the full moon... then it is very likely that they coated the arrows with something nasty. I would also curse them. The arrows, I mean. Just in case.
I had almost reached the ambush site of my infernals, bringing my... er, horse tail with me, so all that was left was to make a small dash and it would be possible to give battle.
Having snapped at the last with a killing curse, the poisonous green beam of which scattered in powerless sparks on the thick trunk of a spreading oak tree, behind which the leader of the centaurs managed to hide, I stuck my wand in the holster and ran even faster, rummaging through the pouch on my chest as I went, sorting through bottles of emergency potions. Found it.
Bezoar is a universal thing. Useful in cases of poisoning with an unknown muck. I hope that it will help, but if not, then I have more serious potions than this cheap, but reliable, like a Swiss watch, remedy.
True, improved analogues are very expensive, and I simply have nowhere to replenish their supplies. I couldn't find the recipe in the books, not even in the Help Guide, and I couldn't bear to buy them myself. You also have to order them in advance, from a master potion maker. The Guild of Alchemists and Potion Makers guarded their secrets very carefully and jealously. So I guarded this supply of expensive potions, which I got relatively recently, from one of my would-be killers, like the apple of my eye. I don't want things to be as usual - easy come, easy go.
I hope there is no poison at all and I'm just being paranoid. Even if it is neutralized by a bezoar, my whole body will definitely ache and have a fever in the morning. That's the price I pay for the cheapness and availability of this remedy. I've already tried it on myself many times. In my second and third years, they poured poison into me with enviable regularity. Not fatal, of course, but if I had just left it like that, my health would have been seriously undermined. The most vile ones are love potions. They ruined my reputation with girls even more than my passion for the dark arts. Looking for someone in my faculty was now almost useless.
Luckily, I can always find a girl for a couple of nights on the "normal" side of this world if I really need to. Money, looks, social status, I have all of that. Just not in the world of magic. It's a dual and strange feeling. In one world I'm an enviable catch, in another - a scumbag and a dark wizard, with whom only other mudbloods would not disdain to communicate. Funny. But there is a positive side to this whole story.
The jokers no longer try to poison me at every opportunity. Firstly, I made myself a very good identifier of poisons and dubious "healing" supplements, and secondly... curses act much more harshly than potions and are much more difficult to get rid of. At this point, the local nurse will only shrug her shoulders. I need to go to St. Mungo's. And I had long ago switched to exactly these, not even trying to compete with rich kids in the variety of potions available to us. It would have been a fiasco.
I was not bad at potions, but... I was still a student, and they could simply buy a potion of any complexity and cost. What could I have prepared there that they would not be ready for? A laxative with a sleeping pill? Well, once it really worked, because I used drugs from ordinary people bought in a London pharmacy. The first time they were not ready for this. But the second time it did not work. And they took revenge on me in full. Precisely with a love potion. It's good that Carol managed to stop me in time, not letting me do something stupid. I was ready to go and ask for the hand and heart of the local queen of Slytherin. It would have been... In general, the consequences would have been quite catastrophic. But as it was - I got away with it. That time, at least.
After that incident, I started using dark magic and curses in duels even more actively, taking it out on my offenders to the fullest. But I also started getting hit with counterattacks from time to time, but... dark magic just flowed off me like water off a duck's back. Almost harmlessly. I didn't know why back then, but now I understand that I wasted a very rare and unique resource - black luck. Sooner or later, it could have run out if it hadn't been replenished at the expense of these same losers, heh-heh-heh.
Karmic luck among aristocrats who grew up with a gold spoon up their ass was most likely very good, so each of my victories, successful revenge, or their public humiliation made up for my expenses, to some extent. Maybe I even went into the black sometimes? I'll have to check that. Is the indicator of five thousand units a lot or a little? And how much was it initially? Answers that I will have to find through experience, myself.
In general, my enemies were not as comfortable with my gifts as I was. I tried not to repeat myself, so that they would not develop a method of counteraction, so each time we all discovered something new and educational. True, I was the one who was mostly happy about it. My subjects were not so enthusiastic about comprehending the depths of the malefic's path, but who would ask them.
I felt some psychological relief as I slipped the bezoar pellet under my tongue. If I had indeed been poisoned, the universal antidote would at least buy me some time. The wand was back in my hand, just in time, as I flew out of the thicket and into a moonlit clearing.
I began to move the hand holding the concentrator so that my pursuers would not see that I was casting a spell, and when the spell was almost ready, I turned my body and pointed the tip of the wand behind me.
Behind me, a number of fairly deep holes appeared on the ground, as if moles had dug it all up. Horses don't like that much, I know from history lessons. Knights in heavy armor and their hoofed companions certainly wouldn't like it, and how are centaurs any better? At the very least, it should slow them down considerably in a straight line.
I slowed down a bit, clutching my side as if catching my breath. A couple of arrows fired at my back were knocked down by the squall wind of the spell and deviated far from the course. There was a decent distance between us. If they wanted to hit, they needed to get closer.
I could feel over the connection how four of my spiders on the tree branches tensed in readiness, quietly moving along the silver web from one to another. The fifth had long since fallen behind and was quietly mincing after the herd of centaurs hurrying to the other world. He would get behind them and attack if by that time they were still trying to resist or someone was smart enough to go and regroup and give important information to their own. If they did run, then he could intercept a couple of deserters, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Well, one at least.
Unfortunately, the leader of the centaurs was not an idiot, so he did not run out into the clearing alone, but decided to wait for the rest of his horse-loving friends to crush me with a crowd. He did not want to go out into the open. Well, that's understandable, the spells cannot be blown away by the wind, even if he could afford it.
This did not suit me, but I did not rush the pink pony lovers. I gave them a little time to gather into a large group. In the meantime, I continued to move away from them, hiding behind the trees on the other side of the clearing, luring them after me, deeper into the forest, speeding up a little. Supposedly rested. In order not to lose me, they needed to gallop straight through this clearing, which stretched for a pretty decent distance.
The leader of the centaurs hesitated, but still decided to take the risk. Well, whoever did not hide, it is not my fault. From the outside, it may seem like I'm hiding, sliding like a blurry shadow among the trees, but that's not the case. The trap is slamming shut.
The centaurs took a good run, going around the loose earth and holes in an arc, heading exactly where I needed them. I let the first row, headed by the leader, slip into the clearing unhindered, but immediately after they set foot on my territory, their luck ran out. Hunters and prey changed places. Although, in fact, everything was like that from the very beginning.
Behind them, four huge spiders fell on the other centaurs at the same time, digging their powerful poisonous mandibles into the pliable flesh.
Naturally, the centaurs subjected to this sudden landing operation could not withstand and fell to the ground, right under the feet of their comrades jumping behind them. Their bones broke with a dry crunch under their own weight. Their legs resembled damp matches broken in half.
The line following them did not have time to stop, and they flew into their fallen comrades at full gallop, creating a real mess and breaking the already dying comrades to such a state that even an infernal could not be raised from them. Horses, people... oh, stop. But this is not a metaphor. Centaurs, after all. How interesting it turns out.
The terrible screams behind him attracted the leader of the centaurs, he was distracted and stared behind him in fear, watching how his squad, initially consisting of two dozen individuals, was rapidly thinning out.
Yes, my infernals got it too, but they were already dead, so it was no big deal. They continued to attack the confused centaurs, reaping their lives, so it was no pity. Here in the Forbidden Forest lives a huge conveyor belt that creates material for me to study applied necromancy much faster than I could use it. It's called Aragog.
Even in such a broken and half-crushed state, my spiders still managed to crawl among this half-dead pile and treat everyone who wanted to a portion of sweet and quick oblivion through poison. Today I am kind and will give the poor guys a quick death.
A few arrows from the centaurs who remained on their feet, who miraculously escaped the dump, pierced the durable chitin of the giant spiders, but did not bring any noticeable result. Arrows are no obstacle for the dead. Two of my most intact dead men gathered their strength and jumped on the retreating and shooting pair of centaurs, clinging to their backs and rump, injecting poison into their bodies.
But would it have been good if I had just stood and watched? No, I'm not one of those! So, while some were in shock and awe, I slipped out of my temporary shelter and raised my wand, as if making an elegant thrust with a deadly rapier, aiming it at the very heart of the main horse lover. Sparing no effort, I invested well in this blow, increasing the speed of the beam with an additional infusion of mana.
"Avada Kedavra!" - an ominous grin crawled onto my face by itself. This time, the green beam of the spell covered the distance separating us three times faster, finding its target.
The legs of the mighty centaur gave way and he fell to the ground like a lifeless doll, dropping the bow from his weakened fingers. As if all the strings of a puppet were cut in one fell swoop.
The grin immediately disappeared from my face as soon as I felt a certain shift in my black luck. It was impossible to check its value now, since the four uninjured centaurs accompanying their leader turned to me. But the fact that it had definitely decreased, and not increased, was crystal clear to me. This alarmed and upset me.
It seems that the old bearded bumblebee was not lying when he said that by taking someone else's life, you harm yourself as well. He just didn't specify that this was specifically related to a certain spell, and not in general. Bitch.
And here I thought that I had acquired the perfect ultimate means of causing good and inflicting justice. Dreams-dreams. If every life taken with Avada hits the wizard using the curse so hard that even someone with a high resistance to dark magic like me has to use black luck to compensate for the negative consequences in the long run... As I understand it, I'm afraid I'll have to find something less expensive.
There were a thousand and one other ways to kill a centaur, but I decided to take the easiest route and lost a little (or a lot, I'll definitely have to check) of my black luck for it. Was it worth the trade? Absolutely not.
If it had been Dumbledore or the Dark Lord in his place, then yes, of course, the exchange would have been more than profitable... But no, it was some pathetic leader of a centaur hunting party... Fuck.
I already used Avada today, but it went to waste, crashing into a tree without causing any harm to either him or me. So, it triggers negative consequences for the soul or health only if it finds its victim. Well, at least something. A negative result is also a result, I suppose.
The faces of the surviving four centaurs promised me a long and painful death for everything I did to them. But we will boldly tell her "not today". More precisely, I will tell her. The centaurs will soon meet the Eternal Bride. I will provide them with an express date, so to speak.
I go to approach, jerkily weaving from side to side, dodging the arrows fired, deeply piercing the tree trunks and the ground behind me. The enemies are a little confused.
Well, yes, wizards are not big fans of close combat, just like the centaurs themselves. However, they had sabers for such a case. But they still had to be taken out. Two of them continued their senseless shooting, trying to win the necessary seconds for their comrades, and the rest dropped their useless bows and pulled out cold steel. The right decision, but it won't help.
The first archer caught a bombard on his chest and splashed a little across the square, splashing his friends. What a slob. The second managed to break the distance and get out of my trajectory, giving way to a centaur with a saber.
Ooh, his blade flew past my ear, almost deafening me with a sharp whistle, from which unpleasant goosebumps and cold sweat ran through me. It was close. I ducked under it, rushing between my legs.
The claws on my left hand had already grown long enough for me to finally use my furry advantage. My first thought was to rip his belly open, but then another target caught my eye.
Yeah, that's a way to get complexes. Well, envy is a bad feeling, so in order not to envy, I'll probably get rid of the irritant and the object of envy.
Wow, and the centaur became a mare. Or what do they call their females? Centauresses? It doesn't matter, he was now squealing really authentically. It must have hurt, for the poor guy. I guarantee he would have preferred a ripped belly. Not as painful and not as shameful. Look how the faces of the surviving duo turned pale. The injured centaur fell on his side, arched from convulsive pain. He's no longer a fighter. And not a long-term survivor. There are too many arteries and veins in the reproductive organ. He'll bleed to death.
- Dark spawn! Die, Death Eater! Die, dark creature! - the archer screamed in some kind of righteous ecstasy, sending one arrow after another. But all missed. I did not stand still and rushed towards this "smart guy". Honestly, what kind of death eater am I? I don't even have their signature mask on.
The second would-be swordsman rushed to intercept me, his eyes red with rage, but fate did not spoil him either.
That's right, I am the darling of dark fortune, am I not? He-he-he.
My straggler-infernal finally arrived and triumphantly burst onto the impromptu stage, very heroically throwing himself at the feet of the centaur who was rushing at me like an enraged bull. Yes, he took the order to stop the horse too close to his dead spider heart, deciding to give his unlife for me.
I actually wanted him to jump on his back and grab his mandibles wherever he could, but let's be honest, I'm not a master necromancer, and I'm not in a condition to set clear attack parameters in such circumstances, so we have what we have.
He fulfilled his mission with honor and stopped the centaur. Lethally for both sides of the clash. The poor guy broke his neck when he fell, and the spider's head was broken and crushed by a hoof.
There was only one lively one left, running away from me at full speed in the opposite direction.
Smart, huh? Decided not to go in the direction of the carnage, where my equally dead infernals were still swarming among the dead bodies. I chose a different direction, but I'm not a fool and had prepared the area for a successful hunt in advance.
Looking back at the terrible dark wizard pursuing him, gliding after him like a shadow of fate, the centaur missed the spider web stretched along the perimeter.
It was stretched quite low, just at the level of hooves or legs, along most of the perimeter of the ill-fated clearing. It was missing only on the side from which I led the centaurs into the trap.
The logical result - minus another centaur. I finished him off with a regular seko, cutting off his head and cutting off his loud and unpleasant cries of pain. My very sensitive hearing was irritated by this.
I glanced around the clearing and counted the dead. All the centaurs had fallen on the battlefield, none had been left alive to tell of who they had encountered. That was good.
Otherwise they would have complained to Hagrid, who had a crossbow that was a siege scorpion. Thank you, I don't need such happiness. I categorically did not want to kill a half-giant.
He was always kind to everyone around him, including me and Carol, who often came to visit him to drink free herbal tea and hide from problematic and evil children.
Old Amos learned from "visions of the future" what our forester was like and decided to take advantage of his naivety and kindness. Rubeus always had rare and expensive ingredients, the price of which he seemed not to even imagine, and which he got simply by wandering through the forest. Amos really needed them at first, when he was still too weak and inexperienced to get them on his own.
Over time, pretense gave way to genuine respect and friendliness towards such a simple and understandable forester. It's hard to be a heartless bastard when you are treated so sincerely and well. Without a double motive, without intrigue, just humanly. Moreover, Amos was still very small then and had not become so brutal. So I definitely won't kill Hagrid, even if he tries to stuff me with crossbow bolts, not recognizing me in this chic black robe. I'll put him to sleep or run away, but I won't kill him.
I sat down on the edge of the clearing, leaning my back against a small rock, near which a thin stream was merrily babbling. After thinking for a bit, I dipped my hands in there, letting the running water wash away the blood and dirt. I washed my face.
The water was cold and refreshing. I even thought about taking a sip, but didn't dare. Well, screw it. In the Forbidden Forest, drinking water without boiling it a couple of times can be harmful to your health. I'll wait until the base.
After sitting for about ten minutes, resting and fully returning to my human form, removing the claws on my left hand and the sharp fangs in my mouth, I let the wolf go to sleep and began to audit my black luck. I looked closely at the black clover that appeared on the back of my hand and quietly cursed through my teeth. Fifty-five points wasted.
Can my black luck really completely protect me from trouble? I believe that I can protect myself from superficially reading Dumbledore's thoughts if I don't look the headmaster in the eye, but what about that entity that broke into my head as if it were its own home?
Did I really deceive it with my little trick? And if not? Most likely not. Did bad luck cover it up? Doubtful. The Entity clearly knows about this aspect of existence much better than I do.
Perhaps it looked much deeper into my consciousness and even subconscious and was quite satisfied with what it saw there? My next steps... They are not so different from what they wanted from me.
At first, I was going to figure out the transmigrator and test the waters. What if it would be much more profitable for me to be friends with him or her? Then I will act according to the situation, but I would try to suck a little luck out of the favorite of fortune for my own needs. Apparently, some people have a lot of it. They won't go broke.
The next thing on the agenda... of the night was to check the performance of my not quite living assistants. A quick inspection made it clear that out of the five infernals, I only had one left.
The rest had become completely unusable. They were still relatively undead, but honestly, it would be easier for me to create new ones than to fix these ones.
I don't want to do spider surgery, I understand almost nothing about their body structure. In general, burn them all with fire, except for one, the luckiest one, and that's the end of it. That's what I did.
I didn't need the centaur corpses either. I don't know how to make infernals out of them. And I don't need them. Spiders make much better ones, and the scheme is already debugged. I didn't really like making infernals out of people, from an ethical point of view. And from a practical one too. But you can make them out of enemies. However, you'd have to try hard to get me so mad that I'd bother not only with killing, but also with raising the offender as an undead.
So far I've only had a couple of infernals, the material for which was people. Although I personally don't consider these freaks people. They have fully earned their place in my infernal army with their own accomplishments.
In general, Aragog and his wives are trying day and night to replenish the ranks of my army, and I cannot neglect such a wonderful opportunity and ignore their efforts. Of course, they would not be happy if they found out that I am sending their offspring to strengthen my personal army, but they do not need to know about it. Acromantulas make a bunch of new Acromantulas every day, so a dozen of their relatives who have gone missing in a month probably will not even interest them. Lost and good. They probably died somewhere in the forest.
I also collected the centaur's bows. These barbarians made bowstrings for their bows from unicorn hair... I confiscated everything for the needs of poor dark wizards. Me, I mean.
I drained myself a couple of liters of centaur blood. I heard that you can make a good potion from it that increases intuition. And also "performance". But with the latter, I have rather the opposite problems. But for old wizards - just the thing.
I extracted the poison glands from my spiders. There was still a little bit of poison in them. It wasn't much, but it was enough to cheer me up. I had no need for the horsefuckers' sabres. Humans make much better weapons, not to mention goblins. The centaurs didn't have any goblin blades lying around, so I buried everything else that wouldn't burn in the clearing. Maybe it'll come in handy? Soon the forest will cover my tracks, and in a few days there will be nothing to indicate that two dozen intelligent beings died here, having made a mistake in their target, choosing a victim beyond their capabilities. It seems that I can already hear the rustle of thousands of little paws. Living acromantulas are rushing to check the boundaries of their domain.
Okay, time to go back. I had a good time, relieved the stress. Before school, I'll take an aging potion and go to a club or a pub, pick up someone so I can go to Hogwarts with a fresh head.
Maybe Carol cooked something really edible at the base? I'm hungry. Although, knowing her level in potions... I hope I don't get poisoned to death by her cooking. She's even worse at this than me, and that's a level, I tell you.