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You've just landed in New York City and immediately found yourself surrounded by a pack of NYPD officers aiming guns at you, while helicopters circle overhead.
So what do you deal with first?
The ants on the ground? Or the flies in the sky?
Local specialties came flying at Tom like rain.
After all these years, the anti-Muggle version of the Shield Charm that Laos Wilkinson had taught him was finally getting its moment.
(A/N: In Chapter 161, The Threat of Muggles)
"Protego Maxima!"
The energy barrier deflected every bullet off course. At the same time, the random force layered onto them sent the bullets ricocheting wildly, their trajectories completely unpredictable.
What should have been a hail of bullets aimed at Tom turned into a terrifying roulette of death.
Each round picked a random "lucky" victim nearby and sent them straight to sleep forever.
By the time the magazine was emptied, Tom was completely untouched.
The police officers who had opened fire had already collapsed to the ground. While the ones still standing stared at the boy like he was the devil incarnate.
At the same time, they were cursing their ancestors for doing such a half-assed job during the witch hunts. 'If you'd just finished the job back then, would these freakish wizards still be alive today?'
"A monster! He's a monster!" One NYPD officer cracked under the pressure and ran screaming into the distance.
Others stayed behind cover, crouched behind cars and frantically calling for backup through their radios.
Up in the sky, the previously scattered helicopters began converging toward his location.
Tom had no interest in wasting time with them. With a flick of his sleeve, the clear sky above suddenly blackened with storm clouds.
Thunder rumbled like rolling drums.
Technology wasn't invincible. Under the interference of an intense magnetic field, the helicopter instruments began buzzing and sparking, systems failing one after another.
Tom briefly considered ignoring his scruples and wiping out every last annoying attacker. But the moment the thought surfaced, an invisible pressure settled over his heart. He had the feeling that something very bad would happen if he actually went through with it.
Tom frowned.
Then he clenched his hand.
In an instant, thunder and lightning erupted. Hundreds of silver bolts danced wildly through the sky, indiscriminately striking every airborne target.
One armed helicopter after another was hit in midair. Flames lit up the Manhattan skyline.
The strikes weren't strong to destroy the helicopters outright—just enough to give the people inside a chance to escape.
Suddenly, Tom's face darkened.
After killing hundreds of enemies—even though it was self-defense—Tom began to feel something. A faint but unmistakable sense of… rejection, perhaps. Or maybe it was the curse of the dead.
Either way, in that moment, Tom finally understood why legends like Ravenclaw and Slytherin had never slaughtered primitive Muggles without restraint, despite their overwhelming power.
This feeling made the mind restless. And this was only the most basic effect.
If he lost his mind and insisted on carrying out a slaughter, the consequences would only become worse.
No wonder Herpo only made people insane instead of killing them. Tom sighed deeply, but then he kept wondering why this effect only applied to wizards. Muggles could kill freely—so why not them? Was that the price of having magic?
Feeling the uncomfortable sensation in his body, Tom frowned.
Then, deep within his bloodline, a roar echoed. In an instant, the discomfort vanished.
Or rather, it had been crushed beneath the power sleeping in his blood.
A smile curled at the corner of Tom's lips.
"Let's track down the source of that chaos."
Following the fluctuations of magic, he headed toward the epicenter.
With every step, the sensation grew stronger.
When Tom arrived at the intersection where Herpo the Foul had first appeared, that feeling sharpened even further.
Like in Detective Conan, where criminals often linger at the scene of the crime, Herpo was still here.
"..."
Tom's gaze dropped to a manhole cover.
A tap of his wand sent it flying.
"Not coming out?" Tom said to the dark opening below. "Mr. Herpo, I know sewers didn't exist in your era, but honestly, it suits you."
"I heard the phrase 'a rat in the gutter.' And I think a snake in the gutter works just as well."
A few seconds later, hissing echoed from below.
A massive black snake squeezed itself up through the sewer, writhing grotesquely before shifting into human form.
It was Herpo—that ugly old man.
"Tom Riddle?"
It sounded like a question, but Herpo's tone carried absolute certainty.
Tom smiled and nodded, "What an honor. To have a thousand-year-old ghost remember my name."
After saying that, he glanced around.
The city was in total chaos.
Angry shouting, terrified screams, and the sound of smashing glass rang out from the skyscrapers around them.
It was as if everyone had fallen into hysterical madness.
All of it was Herpo's doing.
On his way here, Tom had already figured out the spell's effect.
It amplified human negative emotions, then harvested the resulting energy to restore Herpo's strength.
A brilliant piece of dark magic. And terrifyingly effective.
"Impressive."
Herpo didn't seem offended by the insults. Instead, he sighed in admiration, "When I was your age, I was only an apprentice under a weak dark wizard."
"He taught me nothing worthwhile. I had to secretly read his spellbooks, and all I learned was how to brew a slow-acting poison. In the end, I killed him with it, inherited everything he owned, and started my own path into magic."
"And yet when I was just starting out, you've already nearly reached the end of the road."
"The end?" Tom shook his head, rejecting the idea. "Magic has no end. The fact you think it does only proves how narrow your vision is."
Herpo narrowed his eyes. "So not only are you strong, you're arrogant too."
Tom just smiled.
Herpo's voice turned cold, "That's fine. I'll teach you how the world works, little by little."
Tom tilted his head, looking genuinely curious. "Then allow me to ask, Mr. Herpo... who saved you? And who told you to cast large-scale magic here?"
"That," Herpo said calmly, "I can answer."
"As it happens, the man could be considered your senior. You studied at the same magic school."
Tom raised an eyebrow, "Hogwarts?"
Herpo nodded. "That's right."
"The person you're looking for is called... Corvinus Gaunt."
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