Chapter 31: A Troll? How Did You Also...

Cohen blew open a corner of the cave entrance—not to bury the troll inside, but simply to create enough of a commotion to lure it out.

Though the troll was dim-witted, it was not deaf.

The racket Cohen made sounded as if another troll had come to wreck its home.

Could it stand for such an insult? It had only just learned how to swing a club.

With a loud thud, it came charging out of the cave in a fury and fell right into Cohen’s trunk.

"Job done." Cohen latched the trunk shut and clapped his hands with satisfaction.

It was a good thing he had reinforced it with a spell; otherwise, this troll would surely have smashed the trunk to pieces by banging around inside.

By the time he returned to the castle with the Count, who had been thoroughly cleaned by a scouring charm, it was already late afternoon.

He had missed his class, so Cohen decided to head back to the Forbidden Forest. That spider colony should have hatched plenty of new offspring by now, and before Cohen finished off half of them, they were bound to have unhatched eggs left.

If there were little ones… then Cohen could hardly be blamed for killing the old ones.

"You have chosen the path of death."

"Why are you here again!"

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, Aragog caught the familiar scent. His angry voice was accompanied by the clashing of giant pincers—perhaps this was what passed for "gnashing of teeth" among spiders.

Cohen had snuck in once again—the path was already littered with the overturned carcasses of Acromantulas.

If souls had weight, Cohen would be stuffed full by now.

"Mosag and I were only just—"

"Getting on in your old age, are we? Impressive, impressive. I see your colony is multiplying quite rapidly, so there's no real problem." Cohen looked at the swarm of small spiders behind Aragog, enough to sustain another small tribe—the other creatures in the Forbidden Forest would not allow them to expand indefinitely anyway. "I’m doing this for your own good—"

"To hell with your—!" Aragog hissed, "We—"

He wanted to threaten Cohen, but he felt as though he had no bargaining chips at all—they didn't even know what Cohen actually was.

After all, Dementors never entered the Forbidden Forest; Dumbledore wouldn't allow those things near the school—except for Cohen.

"See you next time—"

Cohen waved goodbye. His soul integrity had already reached 20%, and unsurprisingly, he had hit another bottleneck.

The sky outside the forest had slowly turned dark, and Cohen spiraled upward, drifting toward the castle just above the treetops.

For some reason, the centaurs used to let out shrieks of warning or attempts to drive him away, but Cohen hadn't heard a peep from them in the last two weeks.

Once, Cohen had even bumped into a centaur, but the creature had merely watched him drift toward the Acromantula territory without making a move.

It seemed the centaurs had tacitly accepted Cohen's spider-slaying crusade.

Upon reaching the edge of the forest, Cohen saw the brightly lit Hogwarts Castle beneath the veil of night.

"Heh heh heh..."

Cohen cracked his knuckles and shook the suitcase in his hand.

Selecting an empty basement classroom, Cohen released the troll from the trunk.

It was a bit groggy at first, but upon seeing a living creature like Cohen, its pea-sized brain harbored only one thought—

Smash this living thing to death.

As soon as the troll let out a low growl, Cohen darted out of the classroom, slammed the door shut, and cast a locking spell.

Who told Dumbledore not to let him read the crucial parts of the alchemy textbook! He would wreak havoc on the school to fulfill a dream he hadn't completed in his previous life.

Besides, the blame would fall on Quirrell in the end; Cohen was merely being coerced by him...

[Ding! Sin points +200]

[Note: Your wickedness has driven you to betray this school; you have lost your noble morals and conscience.]

"These things are inedible anyway."

Cohen was quite dissatisfied with the system's evaluation. If only kindness points could be exchanged for soul fragments, Cohen might have tilted his priorities toward doing good deeds.

This system just didn't want anyone to follow the "good" ending!

Besides, Cohen felt he acted with great restraint and had plenty of justification.

Everything he did was to protect the beauty of this world!

If he didn't grow stronger, how could he defeat Voldemort and become the second—how could he protect his family?

Could kindness points do that? Could they?

"Cohen?!" Quirrell's voice rang out from the doorway of the next classroom. "Why aren't you in the Great Hall..."

"Quirrell?!" Cohen’s eyes widened as he looked at Quirrell, whose actions mirrored his own, and who also carried an empty suitcase.

Only Quirrell would keep the "murder weapon"—Cohen had destroyed his trunk the moment the troll came out.

"Are trunks the only things wizards can use to carry living creatures? Newt does it, Barty Crouch Jr. does it..." Cohen grumbled.

"Why are you here?" Quirrell even forgot to stutter.

"Bringing a troll in, obviously? Didn't we agree on this last weekend?" Cohen replied righteously.

"I thought you meant for me to find a troll—forget it—"

Before Quirrell could finish his sentence, the trolls in the two adjacent classrooms simultaneously smashed through the doors.

"Run!"

Cohen was dragged away by Quirrell, and the two trotted toward the Great Hall—they didn't need to worry about being caught, as trolls moved very slowly, especially in the twisted, complex, and multi-layered space of the castle; they couldn't run at all.

"Go eat first, then I'll go to the Great Hall to report the news. While the teachers are away, head to the fourth-floor corridor." Quirrell explained the plan as they jogged. "The Dark Lord is pressing hard... but don't expose yourself."

"Don't worry, I won't be exposed—"

Cohen promised.

They parted ways at the entrance of the Great Hall, and Cohen slipped in through a side door—thankfully, he had brought his schoolbag, so it looked like he was just returning from private study.

"Cohen! Where have you been? We didn't see you all afternoon!" As Cohen squeezed into the Gryffindor table, Ron asked with his mouth full of food.

"I went to Professor Quirrell's to ask some questions. I had already self-studied the afternoon Herbology lesson, so I didn't feel the need to waste time." Cohen shrugged, shoved his bag under the bench, and pretended to take a few bites of food.

He felt as though two gazes from the faculty table were fixed on him.

Dumbledore had likely figured it out, and the other gaze was probably Snape—he had been watching Quirrell constantly, and now that Cohen was close to Quirrell, he was certainly keeping an eye on him too.

But those who are favored are always fearless.

"Troll!"

Ten minutes later, Quirrell suddenly burst into the Great Hall.

His large turban was crooked on his head, and his face was full of terror.

Everyone in the Great Hall stopped talking and stared straight at him.

Quirrell walked up to Professor Dumbledore's chair, leaned against the table, and gasped:

"Two trolls—fighting in the dungeons—thought you knew."

Is this what a veteran actor looks like?