Chapter 171: Laughing to Death
The heavy thud of boots echoing from the narrow train corridor bled through the compartment door. Inside, Quirinus Quirrell's posture stiffened. The nervous, stuttering professor vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating servant of the Dark Lord. His fingers twitched, sliding instinctively up his sleeve to grip the smooth wood of his wand. A single, swift Killing Curse would silence the three reckless fools outside before they even realized their mistake.
"Stay inside, Quirrell."
The voice was soft, yet it carried the absolute authority of a monarch. Tamara Riddle did not bother to turn her head. She merely raised a single, slender finger, freezing Quirrell in his tracks.
There was no trace of panic on her pale, exquisite face at the prospect of being robbed. Instead, the corners of her lips curled into a smile so cruel, so utterly predatory, that it seemed to drop the temperature in the cabin. For an entire year at Hogwarts, she had played the role of the flawless, angelic student. She had endured the suffocating warmth of her peers, the sickeningly sweet smiles of her professors, and the endless, nauseating charade of goodness. The tyranny and the deep-seated thirst for slaughter buried in her bones had been suppressed to the breaking point.
Now, a trio of brainless punching bags had conveniently delivered themselves to her doorstep. It was time to stretch her muscles.
Her delicate hand slipped into the pocket of her robes, her fingers wrapping lovingly around the familiar eleven-inch holly wand. The wood hummed against her palm. Naturally, an underage witch casting magic outside of school grounds would trigger the Ministry of Magic's Trace. But the Trace was a flawed, blunt instrument, relying on a rough estimation of magical activity in the immediate vicinity.
, they were no longer breathing the damp air of Britain. This was the chaotic, lawless borderland of Eastern Europe, where judicial jurisdiction was nothing more than a bad joke. Add to that the fact that they were currently hurtling forward on a high-speed transnational train. Even if the incompetent fools at the British Ministry received an alert, by the time their sluggish Aurors handled the bureaucratic nightmare of international extradition, they wouldn't even be able to catch the scent of the train's exhaust.
Free from the shackles of the law, she would naturally use her wand. Wandless magic had its uses, but only the focused, concentrated output channeled through a wand core could deliver that exquisite, ultimate sense of absolute destruction.
Out in the corridor, the leader of the bandits—a hulking brute with a jagged scar tearing across his face—stared at the twelve-year-old girl stepping out of the compartment. Seeing her draw a wand instead of cowering in fear, he threw his head back and barked out a harsh, grating laugh.
"Hahahaha! Is this little brat completely mental? What do you think you're going to do with that twig, little girl—"
He never finished the sentence.
Tamara's wrist executed a flawless, elegant flick. She bypassed the cumbersome incantation entirely, her sheer will forcing the magic to surge violently from the tip of the holly wood. The blasted system in her head had recently rewarded her with a mysterious little spell designed to spread happiness.
The Cheering Charm.
In the hands of an ordinary witch or wizard, it was a gentle piece of White magic, a harmless remedy used to lift spirits and chase away melancholy. But when channeled by a tyrannical Dark Lord, fueled by an ocean of terrifying, concentrated magical intensity, the fundamental nature of the spell warped into something entirely different.
"Pfft..."
Scarface let out a sudden, involuntary snort. A split second later, his features twisted into a grotesque mask. The corners of his mouth stretched upward, tearing at the skin as they formed a horrifying, unnatural arc that defied the limits of human musculature.
"Haha... Hahahaha!"
The laughter exploded from his throat, raw and jagged. He wasn't alone. The other two Dark Wizards dropped their wands as if the wood had turned to molten iron. They clutched their stomachs, collapsing to their knees in the cramped corridor, rolling against the carpeted floor as manic, shrieking laughter tore from their lungs.
"Stop... haha... help... ahahaha! Avada... hahahaha—"
The Dark Lord's massively overloaded Cheering Charm acted like a sledgehammer to their nervous systems, instantly shattering their synapses. Their lungs convulsed violently, the relentless spasms of wild laughter making it physically impossible for them to draw in oxygen. Tears and mucus streamed down their distorted faces. Desperation took hold. Their hands flew to their own throats, fingernails clawing frantically at the flesh, tearing deep, bloody gouges into their necks in a futile attempt to crush their own windpipes and stop the eerie, unending cackling.
In a mere thirty seconds, the three previously fierce and malicious bandits were reduced to thrashing animals. Blood began to seep from their eyes, noses, and ears. Their eyes rolled back into their skulls, the whites flashing as they hovered on the very brink of suffocating to death on their own manic joy.
Tamara stood over them, looking down at the Dark Wizards twisting and twitching on the floorboards like salted maggots. They were quite literally dying of laughter. Watching them suffer, she felt a long-lost, intoxicating thrill wash over her—a pure, unadulterated high that required no fake smiles, no forced empathy, and no sickening bonds of friendship.
[Ding! Host detected performing a brave deed, successfully subduing three heinous Dark Wizard bandits!]
The system's obnoxiously cheerful electronic voice chimed right on cue inside her head.
[Punishing evil is the duty of a good person! You have used happiness to resolve violence, completing a great feat!]
[Congratulations to the Host for obtaining a reward: Courage +2! Current Courage: 51!]
[Ding! Courage value has broken the 50 mark, successfully unlocking the spell—Oppugno!]
[System Note: This is a fun little prank spell! When encountering bad people, you can summon surrounding small objects to fly over and peck them like angry birds! Please use it for child-like self-defense!]
Listening to the system's perky, utterly idiotic broadcast echo in her mind, Tamara had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud herself. This blasted machine actually awarded her Courage points for this? It genuinely processed the act of torturing three men until their brains melted out of their ears as punishing evil simply because they were bandits?
'What an absolute idiot. Though I suppose it does have a rather excellent sense of humor,' Tamara mocked internally, her mood soaring to unmatched heights.
As she watched the men bleed onto the carpet, a brilliant, wicked idea began to take root in the Dark Lord's mind. If this rigid, binary system unconditionally categorized her violence as a brave deed so long as the targets were classified as heinous villains... then couldn't she simply use the righteous banner of punishing evil to wantonly satisfy her craving for slaughter? Not only would she avoid those infuriating electric shocks, but she could actively farm endless attribute points and unlock new spells from this stupid machine by torturing the worst scum society had to offer!
A cunning, icy light flashed through Tamara's dark eyes. The magical world was practically overflowing with reckless scum, corrupt officials, and rogue Dark Wizards. They would serve as absolutely exquisite material for her daily venting, a renewable resource for her to farm points while indulging her darkest whims.
She turned her head, her gaze landing on Quirrell. The man was standing frozen in the compartment doorway, looking utterly dazed.
"What is the matter, Quirrell?" she asked, her tone light and breezy. "Surely a few pieces of trash laughing themselves unconscious hasn't frightened you?"
Quirrell shuddered violently. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, rolling down his pale face in thick drops. As an outstanding former student of Ravenclaw, he possessed a deep academic understanding of spellcraft. He knew that an excessive application of the Cheering Charm could induce uncontrollable laughter. But achieving such an effect normally required continuous, sustained casting over a long period, and even then, it would at most send a victim into a few hours of harmless hysteria.
To take a gentle, everyday piece of White magic and weaponize it to instantly shatter the nervous systems of three adult wizards... to leave them bleeding from their facial orifices and hovering on the brink of total brain death in mere seconds... That required a level of magical output that defied logic. It demanded a perverted, terrifyingly careful control over the very essence of magic itself!
But what chilled Quirrell to his very marrow was the sheer sadism of her method. Ordinary Dark Wizards relied on the Cruciatus Curse to torture their enemies. It was a straightforward, brutal Black Magic spell specifically designed to inflict agony. Yet his master had casually taken a spell meant to bring joy and warped it into an instrument of torture that rivaled the Cruciatus in its sheer, unadulterated horror.
In that moment, Quirrell realized with absolute clarity that the Dark Lord's comprehension of magic had entirely transcended the boundaries of human limitation.
"N-no... no, Master!" Quirrell stammered, bowing his head low. "Your great power... it simply amazes your servant!"
Tamara felt no pleasure from his trembling flattery. She lowered her gaze to the holly wand in her hand, a sarcastic, bitter curve forming on her lips. If she had a choice, she certainly wouldn't bother expending so much mental energy micromanaging her magical output just to force a basic White magic spell into a hellish overload.
How wonderfully efficient the Cruciatus Curse was. It was a flawless creation, a masterpiece truly born for the art of torture—simple, pure, and striking directly at the victim's soul. One only needed to tap into their most primitive, unfiltered malice to effortlessly tear apart an enemy's sanity and reap the reward of their glorious, agonizing screams.
Unlike her current predicament. To appease the sickening love and peace system squatting in her brain, she, the greatest Dark Lord in history, was forced to rack her brains like a clumsy beginner. She had to fight with one hand tied behind her back, constantly searching for loopholes in the rules just to find a roundabout way to vent her murderous intent without getting electrocuted.
Still, seeing the look of absolute, terrified awe plastered across Quirrell's face, Tamara naturally had no intention of explaining her internal frustrations. Let him think she was simply showing off.
"Quirrell," she commanded softly, stepping back into the compartment. "Dispose of this trash."
Dispose of them. Among the ranks of the Death Eaters, the phrase was a polite synonym for killing them and dumping the bodies.
"As you command, Master," Quirrell replied instantly. He stepped over the twitching forms, drawing his wand and preparing to finish off the unconscious men with a quick Unforgivable Curse.
[Warning! Warning!]
The perky electronic voice that had just been throwing virtual confetti in her mind instantly morphed into a piercing, blaring red alarm.
[Host detected instructing a subordinate to commit deliberate murder! As a future good person full of love and peace, how can you cruelly kill criminals who have already lost their ability to resist?]
[Please stop your subordinate immediately! Bind them and hand them over to the local Ministry of Magic! Otherwise, the system will forcibly judge—]
'Stop your noise, you brainless idiot,' Tamara calmly interrupted the system's frantic alert.
Over the past two years, she had thoroughly dissected and mapped out the Virtue System's rigid, high-sounding moral logic. She knew exactly how to play this game.
'You honestly believe handing them over to the Ministry of Magic is an act of kindness?'Tamara responded internally, carefully injecting a tone of deep, sorrowful compassion into her mental voice.'This is the Eastern European border. These Dark Wizards are organized bandits. They have long since used their stolen gold to grease the palms of the corrupt officials within the local Ministry.'She let out a heavy, mental sigh.'If we hand them over, they will be quietly acquitted by tomorrow morning. And then? They will return to the shadows, continuing to rob, torture, and slaughter innocent civilian wizards and helpless Muggles! Are we supposed to just stand by and watch more innocent blood spill simply because we were too cowardly to act? Because of our misplaced mercy?'
[This...]
The system's blaring alarm stuttered, the red warning lights in her mind flickering as its core underlying logic frantically attempted to process the complex moral dilemma she had just fed it.
Tamara pressed her advantage mercilessly, her mental tone becoming heavy, resolute, and dripping with self-sacrifice.
'True kindness is not found in hypocritical forgiveness. It is found in having the Courage to bear the sin of pulling evil out by its very roots! To protect the lives of countless innocent people, I am willing to dirty my own soul. I will carry the darkness of this slaughter so that others may live in the light. This is the true resolve a good person must possess!'
The system went dead silent.
For a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Then, a series of distinct, digital sniffles echoed in Tamara's mind. The machine was actually producing electronic sobs, as if moved to tears.
[...Host, you are so right! To apply true light, to not hesitate in dirtying your own hands for the greater good... what a noble, what a truly great spirit of sacrifice! The system has learned a valuable lesson! Please, execute according to your justice!]
With the system's restrictions completely neutralized, a deeply satisfied smile bloomed on Tamara's face.
Out in the corridor, three blinding streaks of eerie green light erupted from the tip of Quirrell's wand in rapid succession. The Killing Curses struck true, instantly and precisely extinguishing the lives of the three paralyzed Dark Wizards.
Quirrell moved with practiced efficiency. He swiftly looted their pockets, requisitioning their stolen galleons and dark artifacts without a second thought. Then, with a few skillful flicks of his wand, he cast the Levitation Charm. The three still-warm corpses were hoisted into the air and unceremoniously dumped out of the train's open side door, tumbling away into the pitch-black Eastern European wilderness.
"Well done," Tamara murmured.
She retreated into the compartment and leaned back against the plush velvet sofa. Reaching out, she picked up her teacup. The porcelain was still warm. She took a slow, elegant sip. She listened to the rhythmic, metallic roar of the train wheels grinding against the tracks. She breathed in the faint, metallic scent of fresh blood that still lingered in the corridor air. And she listened to the stupid system in her mind, still quietly weeping in awe of her great sacrifice.
Tamara's mood had never been so utterly, perfectly joyful. This was the life she was always meant to live.
She turned her gaze to the window, watching the endless Eastern European night deepen into an impenetrable abyss. Reflected in the glass, her dark eyes seemed to flicker with dancing black flames.
"How wonderful."
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