Even with a potion as powerful as the Breestar Potion—a draught that could turn a regular person into a superhuman in an instant—it wasn't Dudley's most impressive creation.
He still had an even more potent trump card.
Unfortunately, it seemed he wouldn't get to use it.
The main problem was how dreadfully weak these wizards were. They looked intimidating in a crowd, but when it came to a real fight, they had no power whatsoever. Not only did they lack any truly powerful curses, but very few of them could actually hold their own in a duel.
It wasn't just Dudley. Even someone like Sirius Black, who hadn't touched a wand in twelve years, could have easily taken on five of them at once. In just a few back-and-forth clashes, a large number of wizards had already fallen.
No, they aren't Death Eaters, Dudley thought to himself.
Even the worst Death Eaters were at least Auror-level wizards. Besides, most of the Death Eaters were locked up in Azkaban, and the rest held high positions; there was no way they'd show up for a skirmish like this.
There could only be one explanation.
Dudley's eyes narrowed.
These were nothing but cannon fodder.
A feint.
Their true target wasn't Harry after all.
"Morsmordre!"
As if to prove his point, a chilling voice cut through the air from the distant forest, dropping the temperature all around them.
From the darkness, a gigantic, shimmering green object burst forth, leaping over the treetops and soaring into the sky.
It stained the heavens a sickly green.
It was a colossal skull made of countless glittering green stars, with a great snake slithering out of its mouth, like a giant tongue.
The glowing green symbol looked like a new constellation in the black night sky.
In that moment, every wizard still outside stood frozen, staring up at the mark. A terrifying memory they had almost managed to forget surged back into their minds.
Even among the wizards who had been fighting, many cried out in terror.
Over a decade ago, during the height of Voldemort's power, the Death Eaters would leave this very mark after carrying out their evil deeds.
The skull with the snake slithering from its mouth—the Dark Mark.
And now, a single symbol was enough to send a new wave of panic through the entire wizarding world.
The Dark Mark wasn't just a sign; it represented Voldemort himself.
It was his way of announcing to the world that he had returned.
The wizards who had been fighting, whom Dudley had called "rabble," had been able to stand their ground even as Harry and Neville cut them down. But the moment the Dark Mark appeared, they were scared out of their wits.
Even the wizards who had been hiding in their tents couldn't stay put after seeing the Dark Mark above their heads.
In that moment, the wizards finally remembered the fear of being dominated by Voldemort.
Crying, shouting, and screaming echoed across the campsite, which plunged into chaos. Wizards frantically scrambled out of their tents, using every trick in the book—Portkeys, Apparition—anything to get away.
Voldemort's terrifying influence wasn't just limited to England.
It was just that the story happened to take place there.
A being who could petrify ten thousand wizards and send them running for their lives—a being who could silence the entire European wizarding world for twelve years with a single name—was no ordinary character.
Of course, a few wizards didn't leave.
The instigator who had conjured the Dark Mark, a wizard hidden in the forest, let a cold smile creep across his face.
"The Dark Lord will return soon!"
"You're all done for, ha ha ha!"
With that, he turned to leave. His mission here was complete.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A spell shot out, hitting the taunting wizard, who toppled to the ground like a wooden mannequin.
Karlo and a group of wizards had arrived.
"Where's our Minister of Magic, Fudge?" Dudley asked, looking around. "This is exactly when he's supposed to be of some use."
"He vanished the moment that thing showed up in the sky," Karlo said, pointing at the symbol above them.
He said the words with a tone of utter contempt.
But when he looked at the green symbol in the sky, a slight shudder passed through him, even if he didn't say it aloud.
They had all grown up hearing the tales of Voldemort.
The only ones who seemed truly unafraid were Harry and Dudley.
Dudley gazed up at the enormous symbol. There was no way he was going to miss a chance to make a name for himself.
"What are you afraid of? He's nothing but a pathetic relic."
The Dark Mark wasn't just a symbol.
The spell that summoned it was called—Morsmordre.
Just from the name, you wouldn't think it was a light spell.
In fact, the spell was a powerful Dark Arts ritual that was incredibly difficult to dispel once it was successfully cast. The Ministry of Magic had once spent a tremendous amount of effort just to get rid of one.
The spell cast a powerful aura of fear over every living thing within its radius.
Voldemort's arrival was accompanied by the Dark Mark, and the appearance of the Dark Mark would generate even more fear. The fear, in turn, would deepen people's impression of Voldemort.
It was a perfect cycle. Over time, Voldemort had become a taboo in the minds of all wizards.
"Well then..." Dudley raised his wand toward the skull in the sky.
"It's no use!" Even with the Full Body-Bind Curse on him, the wizard on the ground continued to jeer, his voice full of provocation. "You can't do anything but wait for it to fade naturally!"
"The spell bestowed by the Dark Lord has no counter-curse!"
The wizard's face was filled with excitement and glee, like a fanatical zealot.
He was a classic Death Eater, except for his lifeless eyes.
Dudley knew how difficult it would be to get rid of the Dark Mark in the sky. Even with his current magical skill, it wouldn't be easy to remove it in a short amount of time.
But there's nothing I, Dudley Dursley, love more than proving smug people wrong.
If magic was too difficult, he'd just use another method.
Dudley gave his wand a gentle wave.
A gigantic sword appeared in the sky, its hilt and blade subtly resembling the Sword of Gryffindor. Its golden light illuminated half the sky, like the warm, bright morning sun. It filled everyone with a sense of strength and made the green glow of the Dark Mark seem less sinister.
"Oh, really? How about you try my Divine Sword?"
As he spoke, Dudley swung his wand down.
The wizards who were either running or about to run stopped in their tracks, all of them looking up at the sky. They were waiting for the final result.
"It's no—"
The moment the sword came down, the wizard's jeering stopped dead.