When the final magic-formed raven crashed down, the black cloak behind Allen scattered into countless ravens once more, dispersing into the air.
At this moment, Allen did not rush to collect Voldemort's remains, nor did he hurry to rescue the stunned bystanders on the ground, nor did he suddenly collapse from overexertion of life force or magic.
So, what was he doing?
The answer was simple:
He was frantically dodging missiles from the sky.
Yes, actual missiles, launched by the very same ravens that had just helped him achieve victory.
Once the spell controlling them faded, these summoned ravens returned to their wild instincts, and after such a large-scale battle, they turned to the only thing they could do besides feeding and reproducing.
Half because they had lost control and wanted freedom.
Half because, revenge.
If you were controlled against your will for that long, you wouldn't be happy either.
Allen couldn't exactly turn on them after using them, so he blocked half the attacks with magic and dodged the rest using sheer agility.
By the time he finished avoiding them, the unlucky people trapped on the ground finally regained the ability to move. The moment Voldemort died, all the sand-puppets collapsed, sparing them from total annihilation.
However, when they finally stood up and looked at Allen, their expressions were full of shock, like they were staring at a monster.
His entire style of magic was nothing like theirs.
What he had just displayed… was simply not something someone at their level could even dream of reaching.
Even the three Aurors silently dropped their earlier idea of using Legilimency to peek into Allen's mind for secret magic techniques. They had been planning to quietly see if he had hidden spells they could steal.
And yes, this was absolutely a massive violation of wizard law.
But, ha. Wizard law?
They were American Aurors.
When had they ever cared about wizard law?
Right now, they only wanted to say one thing to Allen:
"Hey, big guy, collecting payment is perfectly legal. Killing us to silence witnesses is actually not legal. Please be a good, law-abiding citizen. Thanks."
But Allen had no interest in their concerns. His top priority was retrieving the inheritance.
Once he stepped onto the sand where Voldemort fell, the system's notifications rang wildly. In the stunned eyes of the exhausted wizards, dark golden motes of light surged up from the ground, pouring rapidly into Allen's body.
No one dared to object, payment had already been agreed upon, and none of them were in any condition to try anything anyway.
If Allen got annoyed and wiped them all out, who would they even complain to?
More chaotic notifications followed:
"Ding! Nasus, the Curator of the Sands, Hero Shards: 3/3!"
"Ding! Amumu, the Sad Mummy, Hero Shards: 6/3!"
"Ding! Renekton, the Butcher of the Sands, Hero Shards: 3/3!"
"Ding! Xerath, the Magus Ascendant, Hero Shards: 3/3!"
"Ding! Azir, the Emperor of the Sands, Hero Shards: 9/3!"
Wait, why extra inheritances?
Why did Amumu and Azir's inheritance increase so much?
Allen suddenly remembered something.
Based on Voldemort's behavior, he must have already absorbed part of the stolen inheritance. Could that deeper understanding have caused additional layers to unlock during the recovery?
But he had no time to think further, because more prompts rang out.
"Ding! Congratulations! You have received 300 Gold!"
"Ding! System upgrade available. Upgrade now?"
Allen immediately selected No.
The battle had just ended. If he stood there unresponsive while receiving an upgrade, the others might think he was possessed, or worse, think he was now the boss and try to kill him.
Turns out, he worried for nothing.
When he returned, everyone greeted him with huge smiles, so exaggerated he wondered whether Voldemort had cursed them to laugh forever before he died.
After Allen paid them their promised rewards, the wizards barely glanced at their share before hurrying away, no disputes, no demands for overtime pay or hazard compensation.
They left so quickly it felt like they were escaping.
So Allen stared at Annie, looking depressed.
"Hey, Annie, answer honestly, did I get hit by raven poop or something?"
This earned him a chorus of giggles.
After being teased for quite a while, Allen angrily declared:
"That's it. We camp here tonight. I'm not moving!"
Not because he was too exhausted.
And not because he planned to skip paying for an inn.
No, because the real loot hadn't been collected yet.
Voldemort's buried treasure.
The treasure he had believed could cure his curse.
Even though Allen had Soraka's healing inheritance and could ignore non-lethal curses, something like this could be sold.
And considering it was from a pharaoh's tomb?
There was no way this was something simple.
A pharaoh, broke?
Impossible.
The chance to get rich was right in front of him.
And Allen did not mind playing the role of the righteous bandit, well, righteous-ish.
Of course, he would be the one getting rich.
No need to mention the "help the poor" part.
He hadn't heard that beautiful ching of gold in so long.
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
The next morning, inside the camp, Annie woke up to see Allen's slightly darkened eye bags, clearly he'd stayed up the whole night cultivating magic.
"Brother, nobody came last night, right?" Allen asked nervously, despite the early warning barrier he'd set.
"No one. Tibbers kept watch all night. Nothing happened." Annie shook her head.
Good.
He was afraid someone might come back for revenge.
"Come, eat."
Allen took out two large boiled ostrich eggs he bought from the nearby village, trying something new.
"Eh? Brother, what's that?" Annie pointed at a wrapped bundle.
Allen opened it proudly, revealing: candles, a black donkey hoof, and a pangolin claw he bought from a local house…
"Brother… what is that for?"
"Protection supplies. For warding off curses."
"But don't you already have magic to block curses?"
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
"Brother?"
"Don't talk to me. Let me think quietly…"
Why does it feel like I just bought a scam starter kit…
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
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