I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 90: Escape Room Adventure - Don't Add Your Own Scenes, Professor!

Many monster scales can resist wizard spells.

For example, the Blasttails cultivated by Hagrid have shells that can reflect most magical spells.

The more artificially cultivated it is, the stronger these magic-resistant scales become.

After all, it's done through manual screening.

The fire magic just now, though not Fiendfyre, still possessed a high temperature capable of burning through steel plates.

As for the basilisk, it was only burned on its abdomen, and the curled-up creature was almost unharmed by the flames.

"So sometimes, a sword is more effective than a spell." Owen glanced enviously at the Gryffindor sword in the old headmaster's hand.

If nothing unexpected happens, he estimates he will never be qualified to use this weapon in his lifetime.

Ah~ So, why did Lady Hufflepuff leave behind a golden cup?

If only the Holy Grail were kept!

He immediately summoned Saber King! One Curry Stick took down the utterly hideous creature before him.

"Hmm, perhaps you're right." The old headmaster nodded slightly, a fleeting, almost imperceptible excitement flashing across his face. Back in the day, he was a notorious troublemaker in Gryffindor, but now that he was older, the adventures of those young people seemed too childish to him.

But—doesn't every serious man have a boy inside him who never grows up?

The Gryffindor sword, with a ruby ​​the size of an egg set in its hilt, was raised by the old headmaster.

It gleamed with a cold light!

"Bang!"

The coiled-up basilisk seemed to realize just how terrifying the old wizard, with his white beard and hunter's attire, truly was.

Suddenly, its curled-up body sprang out like a slingshot.

However, the target was not Dumbledore, but Owen, who was watching the show from the sidelines.

"Um?"

The sudden turn of events startled Irving.

He was really just idling there.

Just watch the pros farm monsters; there's no need to interfere, lest you interrupt their combos.

However, since there are people offering themselves up for grabs, why wouldn't they take them?

Just as Owen reached out his wand, preparing to unleash an ancient spell to take down this foolish basilisk...

No sooner said than done, the old principal took a quick step.

Holding a silver sword in one hand and a magic wand in the other, he instantly Apparated to appear in front of him.

Then golden light flowed from the wand in his hand.

The bright light almost blinded Irving.

The flowing, cloud-like light transformed into an indestructible high wall.

The little snake monster tilted its head back and crashed straight into it!

"Hiss!"

A painful roar reached Owen's ears, and then, in his tear-filled eyes, which were now only slits, he saw the reflection of Principal Dumbledore.

He opened his arms.

He arrogantly raised his head and stared at the basilisk, roaring, "You shall not pass."

"???"

That book on your desk is indeed "The Lord of the Rings"!

You're really cosplaying Gandalf!

"Ugh~~~ Stop adding unnecessary drama to your life, Professor!!!"

"It's just a tiny basilisk!"

"Hiss!"

The basilisk struggled violently, but to no avail; the chains formed from white light bound it firmly.

Its dark green scales reflected a blurry figure.

It's Dumbledore.

He raised the sword in his hand, a sword from Gryffindor from a thousand years ago.

He swung it suddenly.

With a muffled thud, the basilisk's massive body crashed to the ground.

The blood, as black as ink, gushed out like a torrential downpour.

This sword strike severed its head.

Limited Edition: Gandalf Dumbledore, the Grey Swordsman.

The old headmaster stood before the basilisk's corpse, his heroic bearing and imposing presence truly reminiscent of a legendary wizard.

"Professor," Owen walked over and looked sincerely at Dumbledore, "promise me you won't read those frivolous fantasy novels anymore, okay?"

"At your age, shouldn't you continue to contribute to the magical world?"

"How many papers have you published in Transformation Weekly this year? Are your alchemical experiments still ongoing? Also, have you considered writing a book, such as 'Decoding Advanced White Magic'?"

"Have you spoken to the school board? When do you plan to start renovating the girls' restrooms on the third floor? Any news from the International Wizarding Federation? Any new developments from Nicolas Flamel?"

"Iphamoni, Busbarton, Durmstrang, Castorbusher, the Magic Institute, Vagado, Cordosdoris, do you still keep in touch? Can the academies organize exchange meetings?"

"Look at you, you're so busy, how do you still have time to read novels?"

Irving launched into a long, rambling critique of Professor Dumbledore's increasingly lazy work style and his conservative, self-serving mentality.

"Let me tell you, Professor, the last time, the last time I scared them with a spider, out of the thirty-odd young wizards there, only Harry and his friends fought back, the rest all turned and ran away!" At this moment, it was as if Owen was the headmaster of Hogwarts, standing in the empty Great Hall of Secrets, talking and laughing, pointing out the world.

"How can this be allowed!"

"From now on, the world's greatest magic school will be renamed Illuminati!" Owen shook his head.

He casually pulled a small bag from his pocket, and took out a silver knife, a dozen glass bottles, and twenty ceramic jars.

Then he walked step by step toward the basilisk's corpse.

"I've always felt that there's something wrong with Hogwarts' education system. What can you learn in a mere seven years? In the Muggle world, that's just high school graduation!"

"High school! I could kill several Cambridge and Oxford students by throwing a brick in London. What's the point of high school?"

"Magic is a craft. After graduation, you'll need a mentor to guide you through the experimental research and spell practice."

While preparing barbecue ingredients—ah—no—preserving the precious magical materials, Owen continued, "Hey! Never mind me, you go back to your office now and think things through, and have a good talk with the portraits of the past principals."

"Regarding the issue of Hogwarts' current situation and long-term development—don't worry about it—think of me. Your time should be devoted to the cause of liberating wizards for the rest of your life. I—"

"Hey! Hey!!! Don't pull, don't pull! It's going to fall off, it's really going to fall off!"

Owen, who was crouching down with his eyes shining, ready to loot the corpse, suddenly felt a pain in his right ear and was lifted up.

Oh! The captain discovered he was trying to steal equipment!

Professor Dumbledore placed the Gryffindor sword back inside the Sorting Hat, then twisted Owen's ear into a pretzel. (Actually, no.)

"I was wrong, I was really wrong." Seeing his grandmother's anger, Owen quickly pretended to be in pain and said.

Professor Dumbledore immediately released his grip.

I did nothing wrong, where did I go wrong?

(End of this chapter)