Little Morgan’s Magic talent was indeed ridiculously impressive.
Even though she’d only just stepped through the door into learning Magic, a Spell like Avada Kedavra still hadn’t stumped her; after just a few hours of practice she’d already gained initial control over this powerful Dark Arts Spell.
Of course Ian deserved so of the credit, but it was mostly Little Morgan’s extraordinary talent; the killing intent she’d cultivated from loving hunting since childhood could very easily be converted into the prerequisite for the Soul Seeking Spell.
"This is really amazing." Little Morgan lowered her head and stared at the wild rabbit she had just killed with Magic; faced with the cold corpse, she not only showed no trace of panic, but even looked a little excited.
The nature of a Bad Woman was already beginning to show.
"Rember, don’t let killing intent control you; you’re the one who has to rein in your own killing intent. This is very important—it’s a key standard for judging whether a Wizard is mastering the Dark Arts or being mastered by the Dark Arts."
Ian also gave a tily reminder. After all, not everyone could be like him, naturally immune to all the side effects that ca with casting Dark Arts.
"Okay, I’ll rember."
Little Morgan seed unusually well‑behaved.
You didn’t even have to guess to know it was a bad kid’s act.
Ian looked at the dozens of mounds where Little Morgan had buried "Wizards," then at Little Morgan, who still seed to have so fight left in her; he felt it was still early, and he might as well do a bit more teaching.
"You’ve already mastered the Soul Seeking Spell," Ian clasped his hands behind his back and spoke mildly, "now I’m going to teach you another Spell—this is a tradition of our school of Magic."
His gaze rested on those dozen‑plus mounds. He wanted to popularize his self‑created Magic that nobody at Hogwarts appreciated; perhaps the benefit of having an Apprentice was that you got to shape your Apprentices’ aesthetic sense of Magic.
"Mm‑hmm!"
Little Morgan’s eyes went wide, full of curiosity and excitent. Her cheeks flushed slightly with agitation. Hearing Ian’s words, the young Witch hurriedly nodded hard.
"I want to learn! I want to inherit the tradition! What kind of Magic is it? Is it also Dark Arts?" Her head of curls swayed in the wind, her tone carrying a child’s distinctive childishness.
"Strictly speaking, it does count as Dark Arts, but compared with ordinary Magic, this type is more damaging to morality; it often cos with collateral harm to one’s family."
"Mm, this is a new category of Magic I’ve created. It ought to be called Nine Clans Magic." Ian spoke at length, feeling he had a bit of a founding‑a‑sect aura.
"Nine Clans Magic?"
Little Morgan looked a bit confused when she heard that.
"Yes. This kind of Magic is all about ’if you don’t strike, fine; if you do, you bring disaster on the ancestors and the descendants.’ For example, that Soul Seeking Spell just now—I’ve already opened up a path for tracing the bloodline."
"But that’s not Magic you can learn yet; at the very least you’ll have to wait until you’re my age. What I’m going to teach you now belongs to the introductory tier of Nine Clans Magic."
The twelve‑year‑old Little Wizard raised his hand and gently waved the Magic Wand in it. As he moved, the earth in the graveyard began to loosen; a pale hand stretched out from underground, followed by a second, a third... Dozens of corpses crawled out of the mounds and stood wobbling in front of them.
Little Morgan’s eyes went wide and she subconsciously took a step back. Ian, however, didn’t care at all; he continued to wave his Magic Wand, and the corpses suddenly began to writhe, their movents shifting from stiff to gradually fluid, even acquiring a certain eerie rhythm. Their arms swung and their legs crossed, as if they were dancing a bizarre dance.
"Magic for controlling corpses?"
Little Morgan swallowed; she was quite grossed out by those rotting dead people. After all, each one of them had been personally ordered buried by her, and she was a bit worried that this group of corpses would still rember their hatred from when they were alive.
Of course.
That worry was completely unnecessary.
A corpse was just a corpse; it no longer had a soul, much less retained any mories. No matter how suffocating their deaths had been, under Ian’s control they still danced quite rrily.
"This is the advanced version of Imperio—the Dancing Spell. It not only makes corpses move, but also gives you exquisite control over them, letting you do things normal Imperio can’t."
Ian explained this advanced version of his Magic.
"Like making them dance?"
Little Morgan seed to get it.
She watched the dozens of corpses dancing different dances and could more or less sense how precise Ian’s control over them was. If that level of control were used in battle, it would definitely be extrely effective. Dozens of warriors that knew no fear, no exhaustion, and no pain—that absolutely counted as a very powerful fighting force.
"Not just that. The truly powerful part of this Spell lies in how it’s not rely simple control over corpses, but an extre exploitation and manipulation of human nature."
Ian sounded like he was showing off his Magic.
Before Little Morgan could open her mouth to ask,
he was already controlling the dozens of corpses to emit different voices.
"Ah! Mom! Mom! I’m in so much pain!"
"Hold ! Darling! Hold !"
"Sister! Brother! Where are you? Have you seen my head?"
...
Each voice was different—shrill and miserable, laced with hair‑raising wails. Listening to them made Little Morgan’s scalp tingle; she finally understood what "mastery over human nature" ant.
She didn’t even dare imagine using a thod like this in an enemy’s ancestral graveyard, letting the enemy see their parents and forebears howling like that—just how devastating that would be to a person’s willpower.
It was downright ntal contamination! An ordinary person’s ntality would probably collapse on the spot! As expected, her teacher was a bona fide Magic Master of the Dark Arts, the kind of Wizard so evil he couldn’t be any more evil—Morgan was deeply shaken by what she’d learned, gained a profound understanding of the school’s tradition, and realized that "twisted and uncanny" seed to be the hallmark of their particular school.
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