bacchusnovels Chapter 413 Satellite Phone
Chapter 413 Satellite Phone
Chapter 413 Satellite Phone
Sean stood behind the podium and gently clapped his hands, breaking the brief silence.
"Every lesson from now on will be a challenge. I will not be lenient. Starting today, everything you do will directly determine whether you can stand out in the three-way competition."
After he finished speaking, he took a deep breath, looked around, and his gaze fell on a student in the corner, Viktor Krum.
The Quidditch prodigy who was shining brightly on the field was now looking down, completely ignoring Sean's gaze.
"Alright, let's begin now." Sean gestured slightly, indicating for everyone to stand up. "Next, please each of you stand in the center of the classroom, tell me your name, and what you believe is your strongest area of expertise in magic."
The students looked at each other, not understanding why Sean would have them start with something so simple, but under Sean's gaze, everyone stood up, took turns announcing their names, and briefly described their area of expertise in magic.
"My name is Anna Stewart, and I'm skilled in Transfiguration," a blonde girl said nervously.
"My name is Elijah Vesto, and Transfiguration and Dark Magic are my specialties," a tall, thin boy added nervously.
Sean nodded, signaling them to continue.
The whole process was simple and straightforward, but he observed that many students had a hint of smugness in their eyes.
For some reason, he had a feeling... that he had arrived at Slytherin's headquarters.
That's not surprising. Being able to advance to the fifth or sixth grade in a school like this already makes one a prodigy among their peers.
However, the rumor seems to be true—every student at Durmstrang is adept at Transfiguration.
"Very good," Sean said, finally turning to Krum, who was standing in the front row. "Krum, what about you?"
The classroom fell silent as everyone stared at the legendary basketball hero, awaiting his answer.
Krum slowly raised his head, his expression completely unchanged.
"My name is Viktor Krum, and I am skilled in Transfiguration and Flight magic," he said briefly.
Sean nodded. "Flying magic is indeed your biggest advantage on the Quidditch field."
His gaze lingered on Krum for a moment before turning to the other students: "Everyone has unique strengths in their own field, but in the training ahead, I will make you realize that strengths alone are not enough to make you strong. When facing real challenges, you will need more endurance, perseverance, and teamwork."
At this point, Sean's tone turned slightly somber: "I have no intention of easing the pressure on anyone, especially some of you."
They don't seem to realize how serious this match is.
He paused, his gaze sweeping around the room, settling on the somewhat impatient students. "Your opponents are not only representatives of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons; your true enemy is yourselves. If you cannot overcome your inner fears and anxieties..."
Even the most powerful magic wouldn't be of any use then.
Sean then waved his hand, signaling everyone to get ready.
He pointed, and a corner of the classroom was immediately illuminated by a bright light.
"Alright, today's first training exercise is 'Mind Control'," Sean said calmly, his gaze falling on each student. "You must concentrate all your attention and clear your minds of all distractions within five minutes. I will detect any wandering thoughts. Those who fail will be punished."
The students were taken aback.
They hadn't expected Professor Phillips to act unpredictably.
As mentioned before, Durmstrang's courses are mostly dry text-based instruction, with surprise tests only conducted right before the end of get out of class.
However, they reacted quickly.
After Sean gave the order, some people began to lower their heads and try to compose themselves.
However, some students, like Krum, did not seem to panic much and remained quietly in place.
Sean stopped talking and began to use magic to create an invisible barrier in the classroom, isolating it from all external interference.
Five minutes passed, and the classroom fell silent.
A similar situation is happening right now in Little Hangleton.
Little Hangleton is a relatively isolated traditional town located in southeast England.
You may not have heard of Little Hangerton, but if I mention one house here, you'll immediately recognize it—Riddle House.
The house sits on a hillside, from which you can see the whole village.
Riddle House, once a magnificent estate, has now been eroded by time and become desolate.
Although the Riddle family has not lived here for many years, the house remains a part of the history of Little Hangleton and the surrounding area.
It sits on a hillside, overlooking the entire town.
Although it was once the most magnificent and spectacular mansion in the area, now the house's windows are all sealed off, the roof tiles are broken and incomplete, and the ivy around it, like the tentacles of a demon, clings wantonly to devour the entire house.
The story begins half a century ago.
Alternatively, we can glean some insight from Riddle's recollections in his diary.
Of course, this is not the point.
The past is never important, because it's already gone.
Even the great god of time cannot change the established facts that have already occurred.
Therefore, the future is what matters.
What is happening at Riddle Manor at this moment is of utmost importance.
In a dimly lit room, a faint musty smell permeated the air.
Inside the room, the only light source was a dimly burning oil lamp, whose flickering light cast strange shapes on the walls.
Standing by the window was a man in a dark robe, his face pale and his eyes cold. He whispered, "Three days, only three days, and I will be resurrected."
He turned around and looked at a corner of the room.
In the corner, there was a kneeling figure, head bowed, hands tightly clutching a tattered roll of parchment, his expression a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
He looked up at the man: "Master, may I ask how long we're going to be staying here?"
"You just heard it," the man's voice remained cold, "Three days. I've arranged everything. The rest is up to time."
He walked to the table, gently opened an old book, and traced his fingertips across it, as if trying to confirm something.
The edges of the document were yellowed and the writing was blurred, but some words and phrases were still clear: "resurrection ritual," "black magic," "change of fate."
"It's time," the man muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the documents.
The person kneeling on the ground trembled slightly. "Is the resurrection ritual ready?"
"Ready." The man nodded, a hint of smugness in his voice. "What do you think I've been doing all this time? Hanging out with that stupid werewolf, Greyback, it's disgusting." He looked down at his current body. "I'm a little reluctant to part with this body now, but—after all, my own body is still better."
He turned and looked out the window. "Starting tonight, the whole town will fall silent, and no one will notice us. Three days later, all obstacles will disappear, and the magical world will slowly return to my control."
"Do you understand?" He looked at the kneeling man.
The man nodded frantically, his voice choked with emotion: "Understood, Master. I will do my best."
The man smiled. "Okay. Remember, there can be no mistakes. In three days, everything will be completely different."
At the man's signal, the man kneeling on the ground respectfully left the room.
As he stepped outside, his hand unconsciously reached for his waist, where there was... a black brick?
The label above reads: Motorola 1989 Iridium.
If any mobile phone enthusiasts saw this, they would definitely recognize it as Motorola's first-generation satellite phone.
My lord, times have changed.