After purchasing everything, Snape used Apparition to send the three of them back to the entrance of No.
103, Alan Villa Estate.
Then, without a word, he turned and vanished into thin air, as if staying for even a single second longer was an insult.
Watson leaned against the doorframe, his face pale.
It took him a long moment to catch his breath.
“This method of transportation…
*urgh*…
should be classified as an illegal operation!” Clasping his stomach, he felt as though his intestines had been thoroughly wrung out.
Natasha fared much better.
She merely patted her chest gently, then turned a sharp gaze toward Rayleigh.
“Are you sure you want to go to that school?” “I have no choice, Mother.” Rayleigh spread his hands with a helpless expression.
“Turning into an Obscurus doesn’t sound very cool.” Although that bastard Snape had been exaggerating, there was still a chance.
As soon as Watson heard this, he immediately objected.
Striding over, he slung an arm around Rayleigh’s shoulders, his face filled with doting affection.
“How could my son become a monster!
You must go!
How much is the tuition?
How much is room and board?
Do I need to donate a building to their school?” Rayleigh: “…” *Dad, your line of thinking is even more bizarre than a goblin’s.* Natasha ignored her husband’s show of wealth and simply gave Rayleigh a deep look.
“Learn to protect yourself.” With that, she handed Rayleigh a compact ladies’ self-defense revolver.
This brief sentence and the handgun carried more weight than any long lecture.
It might have been better if it weren’t pink.
That night, Rayleigh lay in his soft, spacious bed, surrounded by the utmost comforts of the Muggle world.
But he wasn’t the least bit sleepy.
He closed his eyes and concentrated.
In an instant, his surroundings began to warp and peel away.
The warm bedroom vanished, replaced by a cold, dark encampment.
A bonfire crackled in the center, casting back a limited perimeter of darkness, surrounded by crude tents and a few solemn guards.
This was the world of Diablo II: the Rogue Encampment.
Indeed, Rayleigh had transmigrated with a cheat code.
This cheat allowed him to travel at will into this peril-filled game world.
Unfortunately, he had been too young when he first arrived.
When a toddler of three or four years old suddenly appeared in the encampment, everyone was utterly stunned.
It had been a long time since any newcomer had arrived at the camp, let alone a cute, fair-skinned little boy who looked highly pinchable.
“Auntie Akara!” Rayleigh ran familiarly toward the purple-robed woman in the center of the camp.
Akara, the High Priestess of the Rogue Encampment and its leader.
When she saw Rayleigh, a trace of softness appeared on her usually stern face.
“Rayleigh, you’re here again.
How are you feeling today?” “Not great.” Rayleigh’s face fell.
“Auntie Akara, can you really not let me choose a class?
I’m already eleven!” Akara shook her head, her tone resolute.
“No, you are too young.
The world outside is too dangerous.
Even the lowest Fallen is more than you can handle.” Rayleigh grumbled inwardly.
*The same old excuse.* Because of his young age and his mysterious status as an “Outlander,” Akara had steadfastly refused to perform the class initiation ceremony for him.
Without a class, he couldn’t learn skills, gain attribute points, or even use most magic equipment.
Over the past few years, relying on his sweet tongue and well-behaved act, he had “coaxed” quite a few good things out of the camp’s residents.
For example, the class-requirement-free short sword gifted by Auntie Charsi the blacksmith, the basic combat skills taught by Auntie Kashya, and some low-level potions and scrolls provided by Akara herself.
But these were far from enough to let him run wild in the Blood Moor.
Slightly depressed, he walked over to his stash and looked at the glowing gear inside.
The base item for the “Malice” runeword?
Check.
The materials for the “Stealth” armor?
All here.
There was even a unique “The Gnasher” hand axe.
Yet, insufficient strength, insufficient level, and incompatible class.
It was all utterly useless!
Rayleigh sighed.
It felt like sitting on a mountain of gold but only being allowed to stare at it—insufferably frustrating.
For the next period of time, Rayleigh feigned being a diligent, studious student at home by day, while plunging headfirst into the world of magic by night.
Thanks to his foresight at Flourish and Blotts, those secondhand books filled with scribbled notes became his greatest aid.
“*Lumos!*” He flicked his wand, and a soft light bloomed at the tip.
It worked!
“*Wingardium Leviosa!*” A feather on the desk wobbled and floated into the air.
Another success!
The Scouring Charm, the Water-Making Spell, the Mending Charm, the Pack Charm…
with the help of the top student’s notes, he picked up these basic household spells almost instantly.
He had even learned an offensive spell from the notes in *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1*.
The Stun Spell.
Unfortunately, the original owner of the notebook had written that this spell was highly ineffective against creatures with slightly stronger willpower or larger builds; it was purely for low-grade student duels.
Refusing to give up, Rayleigh entered the world of Diablo once more late one night.
Sneaking out of the camp, he fired a shot at a wandering zombie.
“*Stupefy!*” A red light struck the zombie.
The zombie wobbled, and then…
continued its shambling walk toward him.
Rayleigh: “…” As expected, it was completely useless.
Without pure offensive magic, he couldn’t kill monsters to level up in the Diablo world.
Without killing monsters to level up, he couldn’t prove himself to Shara.
Without proving himself, he couldn’t initiate a class change.
It was a vicious cycle.
Rayleigh sat on his bed, scratching his hair in frustration.
His gaze finally fell upon the tattered Dark Arts book he had hidden under his mattress.
The Bowel-Plucking Curse.
A spell that sounded incredibly evil, yet perfectly suited his current needs.
Over the past few days, he had studied its mechanics.
Its principle was exceptionally vicious: it directly targeted the victim’s innards, violently tearing them apart with raw magical force.
Should he use it?
It was Dark Magic, after all.
On second thought, did it really matter what kind of magic he used against demons and the undead?
Was he supposed to show them knightly chivalry?
Besides, his last name was Stark, and his father was a leading authority in proctology.
Learning the Bowel-Plucking Curse was practically a family tradition!
It was only natural!
Neither the overgrown bat nor the old honeybee could possibly question him!
Rayleigh convinced himself in an instant.
He made up his mind.
Learning the spell went incredibly smoothly—even more smoothly than mastering the basic Lumos.
It was as if this spell had been tailor-made for him.
That night, he entered the Rogue Encampment once more.
This time, he didn’t seek anyone out.
Instead, he reclaimed his short sword from Charsi, grabbed a few healing potions, and slipped out of the camp under the cover of darkness.
The wind of the Blood Moor carried a stench of rot and blood.
The distinct, high-pitched shrieks of Fallens echoed in the distance, sounding exceptionally grating in the quiet night.
Rayleigh stayed low, advancing with extreme caution.
His goal was clear: the slowest, weakest monsters around—zombies.
Soon, beneath a withered tree, he spotted a solitary target.
It was a rotting corpse, clad in tattered rags, wandering aimlessly.
This was it!
Rayleigh took a deep breath and gripped his wand tightly.
Recalling the incantation and wand movements described in the book, a strange, tongue-twisting set of syllables slipped from his lips.
“*Intestinus!*” A beam of grayish-black light struck the zombie noiselessly.
The zombie’s body suddenly stiffened.
Did it work?
Rayleigh felt a surge of joy.
However, a second later, the zombie moved again.
It resumed its slow, steady stride toward Rayleigh, its pace not slowing in the slightest.
Did it fail?
Rayleigh’s heart sank, and his immediate instinct was to flee.
But right then, he witnessed a sight he would never forget.
Behind the zombie, a dark yellow, unspeakably foul-smelling cord was slowly being dragged out of its rotting body.
That thing was its intestines!
As the zombie walked, its entrails spilled out, dragging a long trail behind it on the ground.
At the same time, Rayleigh could clearly “see” the health bar above the zombie’s head plummeting at a visible rate!
It worked!
And the effect was outstanding!
Rayleigh grew excited.
This was practically a god-tier skill!
It bypassed defense to deal high damage over time!
He could almost envision himself tearing through hordes of monsters, casting the Bowel-Plucking Curse with one hand and Fireball with the other.
Unfortunately, the cool factor lasted less than three seconds.
Once the entire length of intestine had completely fallen to the ground, a tiny sliver of health stubbornly remained on the zombie’s health bar!
And it was now less than five meters away from him!
Holy crap!
The smile on Rayleigh’s face instantly froze.
Does this spell…
have a damage cap?!
Before he could think further, the stench of rot rushed over him.
He cast the Bowel-Plucking Curse again, but this time, the spell failed to have its intended effect, leaving the zombie entirely unfazed.
“Damn it!
Is it because its guts are already gone?” Rayleigh decisively stowed his wand and drew the short sword from his waist.
During his years in the world of Diablo, although he couldn’t hunt monsters, the basic combat skills Kashya taught him hadn’t been practiced in vain!
To change his class as early as possible, he had trained himself like a madman every single day.
Skill-wise, he couldn’t compare to actual classes, but in the real world, knocking down a few grown men would be child’s play.
Facing the lunging zombie, Rayleigh didn’t retreat.
Instead, he lunged forward.
Ducking sharply, he avoided the zombie’s slashing claws and drove his short sword upward from a tricky angle!
*Splat!* The blade pierced cleanly through the zombie’s chin, skewering all the way out the top of its head.
The zombie froze mid-motion.
Rayleigh pulled out the short sword, letting the rotting corpse collapse at his feet.
He panted heavily, his heart still pounding.
Finally…
it was dead.
Fortunately, only a sliver of health had been left.
Independently, he had slain his first wilderness monster.
Staring at the zombie’s corpse, he sliced off one of its claws with his short sword without hesitation.
This was his proof.
When he returned to the camp, dawn had not yet broken.
Rather than heading back to his own “exclusive tent,” Rayleigh went straight to Akara’s dwelling.
Standing at the entrance, he caught his breath, then pushed the door open.
Akara, who was in the middle of meditating, opened her eyes.
Seeing Rayleigh covered in blood and dirt, her brow instantly furrowed.
“Rayleigh?
Where have you been?” Rayleigh made no reply.
He simply stepped forward in silence and placed the foul-smelling zombie claw right before Akara.
Akara had once promised him.
As long as he could independently kill a monster in the wild, she would perform his class initiation.