Chapter 412: Ambush

That evening, after casting several curse-breaking spells in succession, Allen stayed quietly inside his tent, studying materials.

Beside him, Annie held a basket of freshly made red bean cakes while reading a book. The two chatted idly, neither showing any intention of going out to celebrate.

That said, the Gryffindors were clearly having the time of their lives—they had defeated their longtime rivals once again.

Just as Allen was about to head out to grab some food to bring back, a sudden commotion broke out in the distance.

But almost immediately, dozens of spells lit up the sky—

FLASH! FLASH!

—and the disturbance was swiftly suppressed.

After all, this was the most heavily guarded moment of the entire event. Whoever had caused trouble now was practically asking for death.

Allen originally wanted to go take a look—but just as he took a step forward, he stopped.

Yeah, no thanks.

With my luck today, if I go over there, I’ll definitely get dragged into something.

So instead, Allen casually grabbed some food and moved away from the crowd. Thanks to everyone gathering to watch the excitement, he didn’t even have to line up.

======

On the other side of the campus, several wizards tasked with maintaining order wore grim expressions.

They had just proudly dealt with an illegal intrusion earlier that day with zero casualties...

And yet, by evening—something had already gone wrong.

On the ground, dozens of young wizards were clearly divided into two factions. Nearly all of them bore injuries—

Seven or eight had broken noses, and a few even had broken arms, clutching them as they groaned in pain.

Under normal circumstances, they would have been treated immediately.

But today, the wizards handling the situation showed no such intention.

Children were never easy to manage—

Especially when each of them held something as dangerous as a weapon comparable to an RPG.

And no, wizards were no more obedient than ordinary rebellious teenagers.

They would even attack their opponents before a Quidditch match, trying to send them to the hospital beforehand to gain an advantage.

Slytherin had attempted such a stunt against Gryffindor before—

And the most terrifying part?

It was completely within the rules.

The punishment at most was just detention.

Compared to the very real possibility of players dying during a match, such behavior barely registered as a problem.

From the moment Quidditch was born... it carried the scent of blood.

If that was the case within the same school—

Then what about between different schools?

...Alright, maybe that sounded a bit too heavy.

Simply put:

A group of upper-year troublemakers from Ilvermorny had set up an ambush along the route of the Japanese team.

To avoid drawing the attention of the faculty, they used Disarming charms to knock away their opponents’ wands—

Then relied on their superior physical strength to charge straight into the opposing group and start a full-on brawl.

It was actually a clever strategy.

Compared to using magic directly, injuries caused by fists were far less likely to attract the professors’ attention.

Unfortunately for them—

Today was an exception.

The attacked Japanese students were quickly sent to the hospital for treatment.

However, one of their Chasers and a Beater had suffered serious injuries. Whether they could participate in tomorrow’s match was uncertain—and even if they did, their performance would undoubtedly be affected.

Before long, the furious roar of Ilvermorny’s headmaster echoed across the grounds—

Even Allen, hiding in his own camp, could faintly hear it.

"You cowards! Trash! Despicable ambushers! Shameless wizards! The disgrace of Ilvermorny!"

"Who filled your primitive brains with such filthy ideas and had you carry them out?!"

"Is your sense of honor worth so little?!"

"Could you not fight fair and square?!"

"Who’s the leader?! Step forward!"

Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, the wandless students trembled under the gaze of their professors.

Yet not a single one stepped forward.

Nor did anyone point fingers.

Their headmaster’s icy gaze swept across them. The authority he had built over the years pressed down on each of them, forcing their heads to lower—none dared meet his eyes.

And still... no one spoke.

The already stiff expression on his face grew even darker.

He called over a professor and whispered a few instructions.

The professor visibly flinched in shock—but when he met the headmaster’s emotionless gaze, he backed down.

Soon, a brown whip stained with dark blotches was brought forward.

The moment it appeared, the surrounding professors fell silent.

And the legs of the offending students began to tremble uncontrollably.

This whip had been passed down since the school’s founding—

The ultimate tool of punishment, second only to expulsion.

"Perhaps," the headmaster said calmly, even restoring his usual polite smile,

"someone would like to tell me now—who came up with this idea?"

But instead of relief, his smile only made the students feel as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over their heads.

At that moment, one of Ilvermorny’s prefects stepped forward.

His movements were slow—his legs trembling slightly.

"Headmaster... it was me."

The response was immediate.

CRACK—!

The whip sliced through the air with a piercing shriek.

The prefect collapsed instantly, curling up on the ground, clutching the struck area as a scream tore from his throat.

From the exposed wound, one could see arcs of electricity dancing—

The deep red welt swelled rapidly, as if something alive was writhing beneath the skin.

"It was you?"

CRACK—!

Another strike tore through the air, ripping through thick winter clothing and drawing another scream.

"You dare say that so shamelessly—as if this were some kind of celebration?!"

Fueled by rage, another lash came down—

But this time, the force was so great that it struck the ground instead, leaving behind a deep black scar.

The watching wizards collectively sucked in a breath.

But the headmaster showed no intention of stopping.

Instead, he swung the whip in reverse—

CRACK—!

A nearby adult participant was struck and sent flying, his clothes torn open by the blow.

Like a harvester, Ilvermorny’s headmaster began lashing out relentlessly.

Not a single student was spared.

One by one, they were all struck down to the ground.

Only then did he return to the barely conscious prefect.

"Cowards!"

CRACK—!

"Shameless!"

CRACK—!

...

By the end, even the insults had run dry.

Only the sharp sound of the whip cutting through the air remained.

The prefect lay there, his clothes torn to shreds. His body was covered in swollen purple welts, with patches of dark red where blood had been seared dry by the lightning-like strikes.

Finally, unable to watch any longer, the headmaster of the Japanese wizarding school stepped in to stop him.

Even so—

Two final lashes were delivered.

CRACK—! CRACK—!

Then, the whip was thrown aside.

Leaving behind a ground full of groaning students, the Ilvermorny headmaster turned and vanished without another word.

.....

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