“He’s not a Hogwarts student!”
The exclamation broke from the Slytherin table like a stone dropped into still water, shattering the quiet.
Whispers erupted across the other houses immediately.
“How did he get in?”
“Is he a Muggle?
A thief?”
“Are you stupid?
There are guards at the station entrance.”
“Maybe they missed him?”
Mason couldn’t say much to defend himself—after all, he really had snuck onto the train without a ticket.
But hearing these little brats call him a Muggle was beyond intolerable.
Before transmigrating, if you insulted him, he might have swallowed his pride.
But now?
He was a noble caster—and the kind who cast instantly without a wand.
Professor McGonagall tucked away her list and gripped her wand, preparing to step forward.
If Mason really turned out to be a Muggle, a Memory Charm would be inevitable.
Mason swept his eyes across the house tables.
Out of all four houses, the loudest insult came from Slytherin, where a group led by a familiar, arrogant blonde—Malfoy—was sneering at him.
*Say no more, brother.
Time to feed you a spell.*
There were three spells inscribed in his Novice Spellbook:
Level 2 Evocation Spell: Shield.
Level 3 Ender Spell: Magic Missile.
Level 1 Blood Spell: Heartstop.
Considering that using an explicitly aggressive spell on a classmate might actually land him in Azkaban, while Heartstop only worked on himself, Mason decided to teach Malfoy a lesson using his absolute favorite spell for griefing teammates in multiplayer—Shield.
Mason’s impulse to cast invoked a spell-wheel menu identical to the game’s interface.
After selecting Shield, he realized he could make fine adjustments impossible in the game.
For instance, he could adjust the maximum and minimum strength of the spell—which determined the thickness of the summoned magical shield—as well as its angle and position, no longer restricted by whichever direction his body was facing.
“Shield.”
Mason raised his right hand, palm aimed directly at Malfoy, and murmured the word.
A massive, translucent blue shield materialized parallel to the table, slamming down like a hammer.
It flattened Malfoy and his two lackeys straight onto the house table, pinning them firmly against the surface.
Dumbledore was the only person who noticed the faint magical glow flashing across the Novice Spellbook.
*Is this a joke?
Have Death Eaters actually breached the castle?*
Snape thought: *My Dark Mark didn’t burn…
Should I play along?
Wait, the one getting thrashed is my favorite student!*
“How…
*dare* you!”
Until a Shield spell vanished or broke, it exerted physical pressure on surrounding entities.
In tight spaces, it was lethally effective against undead with bad intentions—and, of course, equally unmatched at sabotaging a teammate’s retreat.
Being pinned flat against the dining table brought Malfoy a humiliation no less intense than being forced to kneel in public.
Yet he was entirely incapable of damaging the shield.
A few older students rushed over to help, attempting to break the shield with standard counter-curses—which was even less effective than punching it with their bare fists.
After all, punching it wouldn’t hurt Malfoy.
Imagine a crowd kicking and punching a shield stacked on top of Malfoy, only to lose control of their blows the moment the shield broke…
After showing off this move, nobody thought Mason was a Muggle anymore.
The magical shield slowly dissipated just before Snape, unable to hold back any longer, could step down from the dais to rescue his student.
A twenty-second duration—just like in the game.
However, that single cast drained half of Mason’s mana, slightly higher than the numbers in his memory.
The cooldown was also significantly longer: a full thirty seconds.
*Speaking of which, where am I supposed to find Arcane Essence in this world?
My initial mana pool is only 100 points, with no gear boosts.
I’ll be completely gassed after firing off a few Magic Missiles…
Do I really have to train in swordsmanship instead?*
Mason’s eyes drifted toward the wizard robes worn by the young witches and wizards.
The outfit he was wearing was transfigured by Professor McGonagall, meaning he was strictly speaking still gearless.
If he could get his hands on a proper wizard robe, it should slightly raise his mana cap.
The young wizards noticed Mason staring at them, their faces turning pale.
One Hufflepuff model student began to panic: *I didn’t join in on kicking him while he was down!
That kid cast a spell recklessly and didn’t even get scolded—he won’t beat me up in a fit of rage, will he?*
Seeing that the Great Hall was on the verge of chaotic disorder, Dumbledore finally exercised a bit of responsibility worthy of his position.
“Silence!”
Malfoy, who had already drawn his wand, was forced to settle down under Snape’s death glare.
“As I was saying,” Dumbledore said calmly, “continue the Sorting.”
*That’s it?
Nothing else?*
Every wizard had a giant question mark floating above their head.
This was a kid who had just caused a major scene at one of the most solemn, once-a-year occasions at Hogwarts!
No punishment whatsoever?
Mason looked toward the head table in curiosity and met the headmaster’s gaze.
He didn’t particularly care whether Dumbledore tried to cast Legilimency on him.
Being alone in the Headmaster’s office required caution, but using Legilimency on a minor in public would be a scandal.
“Mason Jones.” Professor McGonagall raised no objection, calling his name with a hint of admiration in her eyes.
Now the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.
Not a single young wizard would forget tonight’s farce.
Mason’s name would spread throughout the wizarding world alongside this generation as they grew up—”Dumbledore’s secret son.”
*Are you kidding?* Equally eccentric (Mason: *?*), equally gifted in magic (wandless casting), equally white-haired (Mason: *?*)—he really did seem like the Headmaster’s son!
What could he do?
The white hair came from his game character customization.
Mason was just relieved he hadn’t inherited the outfit and gender along with it—after all, the skin’s name had been Skadi…
“What an old, tattered hat.”
“Hey!
You’re the 1,684th impolite little wizard I’ve ever met!” The Sorting Hat seemed accustomed to such opening lines.
Outraged for a brief second as per routine, it quickly threw itself into its analysis.
“Hmm…
a remarkably powerful bloodline, but it doesn’t feel like Dumbledore, nor Gaunt, nor any family I’m familiar with.”
“Why would I look like Dumbledore?” A giant question mark popped into Mason’s head.
“Not particularly wise, but deeply obsessed, with an ambition big enough to be terrifying.
Hey!
Where do you get such courage?
An ordinary young wizard who caused such a mess would’ve cried and ran home to mum long ago!”
Ignoring Mason’s confusion, the Sorting Hat hurled out even more questions.
*What do you mean, “not wise”?
My obsession is wanting to go home!
And what ambition are you talking about?
Does anyone playing Iron’s Spells not chase DPS numbers as long as their ID number?
As for courage, give me a break—Heartstop locks my health for fifteen seconds.
Once I stack my spell power and cooldown reduction, I’ll show you what true game mechanics look like…*
Mason complained wildly in his head.
He actually really wanted to go to Ravenclaw, but judging by the Sorting Hat’s tone, he probably didn’t stand a chance.
“Do you really not have brothers?
Why do I feel like, aside from Slytherin, I’ve sorted someone just like you into every house…”
“I don’t!”
“Then do you want to go to Slytherin?”
“I hate places that don’t get any sunlight.”
“A wise choice.
You know, Dumbledore never takes me out to get any sun…
Therefore—GRYFFINDOR!”
The Weasley twins were the first to react to the Sorting Hat’s decree.
They held high expectations for this newcomer who had dared to take on Slytherin during the Sorting Ceremony, completely oblivious to Hermione’s relieved yet conflicted face in the corner.
“Oh dear, that’s completely against the school rules…”
Harry and Ron cheered too; they had just gotten into a scrap with Malfoy earlier on the train.
“Now then, welcome our transfer student to Hogwarts!
And now, enjoy the feast!”
Dumbledore clapped his hands softly, and instantly, countless dishes of grand food materialized on the long tables.
*Thank goodness it’s not traditional British cuisine,* Mason breathed a sigh of relief, only to find a letter quietly slipping into his hand.
There was no address, nor was there a Hogwarts crest on the back.
Sealed in wax was a pattern Mason found vaguely familiar.
Dumbledore winked at the boy, signaling that he had passed the letter along on someone’s behalf.
*I remember now…
isn’t this the Seven Seals of the Apocalypse?*
Mason’s eyelid twitched.
*Me…
fighting Apollyon?
Are you serious?!*