Chapter 9: The Second Dungeon Trial (2/2)
"What was that spell Professor Snape once used to save Neville Longbottom from the Devil's Snare?"
Damien was stuck with a problem.
"Septum, sectrum, spectrum… something like that."
There was no magic he knew that could cut down a tree firmly rooted in the soil—even if the soil was soft and the tree was small. He had no tools, no useful spell. He could blast or burn it, but that would leave the wood useless.
'I remember Snape using a spell to cut the vines, and they would have let Longbottom go if he hadn't panicked. But knowing him, he probably froze in fear.'
Snape had used a spell, likely a curse, to cut through the Devil's Snare and save Neville. Damien hadn't paid close attention back then, but he now tried recalling it logically.
'I don't know much Latin, but most spells are based on Latin words.'
He vaguely remembered leafing through a few Latin books, although he wasn't very proficient.
"What's Latin for 'cut'?" He tried to recall. "Sero… Semo—Seco!"
The spell hadn't sounded like seco, but it did have the sec sound.
'What are the other forms of seco?' He racked his brain. "Sectum!"
Sectum was the passive form of seco, which meant he had the first part of the spell.
To cut—seco. And Snape used sectum for that.
The other part sounded like semo, semra, or sempra. After almost fifteen minutes of mental digging, he hit on it.
"It was sempra!"
Sempra, derived from semper, meant 'continuously.' Together, sectumsempra would mean to 'cut continuously.' Snape had indeed used it to cut the vines in quick succession.
'So the chant is Sectumsempra.'
He was thrilled to have figured out the spell, though a problem remained.
"Now, what's the required magical output?"
The proper magic output was crucial. Too little and the spell wouldn't work; too much, and it could go horribly wrong. With a spell like Sectumsempra, he didn't want to risk unwanted consequences.
He decided to start with moderate output, just enough to cut through a branch—if it had one.
"Sectumsempra!" He chanted, and as expected—nothing happened.
Failure was often a blessing in disguise. Increasing the output slightly, he tried again.
"Sectumsempra!"
But this time, something unfortunate happened.
"Ugh!"
A cut sliced across his palm, making blood ooze out.
"Darn it!" He clicked his tongue, realizing he was lucky not to have lost his hand. But it confirmed he was on the right track.
"It did manage to cut—though only my palm."
The next attempt would either cut the tree or his hand; there was no in-between. So, he calculated carefully.
'About three times the previous output should cut through that trunk. Any more and it might be fatal; any less and it's useless.'
Taking a deep breath, he extended his hand.
"There goes everything." With utmost focus, he yelled the chant. "Sectumsempra!"
The tree went down, cut cleanly at the base—roots and all—splattering mud everywhere.
"I could've lost my limbs." He gulped, staring at the clean slice on the tree. But he couldn't afford to be nervous now; the hardest part was just beginning.
"I'm neither a craftsman nor a rower."
He had the strength but not the confidence to row, let alone shape the tree into a proper boat. Only one method seemed viable.
"Sectumsempra!"
Perfecting the output, he chopped off the top, leaving a log shape.
"This should do…"
His plan was to use a single spell to cross the water with this makeshift boat. Covering the log and himself with vines, he ensured they held magic by testing them, poking his head out once he was sure.
Finally, fully camouflaged with vines, he prepared to move the log with a spell.
"Hope this works!" With a pounding heart, body pressed against the log, he pointed his wand behind him and chanted, "Aguamenti Maxima!"
The Maxima enchantment amplified Aguamenti, a spell usually used to douse fires, now creating a water jet to propel him forward. By shifting his weight, he managed to keep the log steady and adjust his direction.
"Ugh!"
But two major problems quickly emerged.
One, the strain was immense, his muscles taut and aching, with cramps threatening at any moment.
The other was even worse.
"Ouch!"
Flying fish gliding in the opposite direction struck him at high speed, leaving scrapes and bruises on his face and body.
But Damien pressed on. When survival is at stake, bruises barely matter.
"Argh!"
He moved his head to the side, narrowly avoiding an eagle that was chasing a fish, trying to regain his balance afterward.
It was no easy feat, but he forced himself to keep going, covering a distance that had seemed impossible.
By the time he reached the other landmass, his robe was torn, his face covered with cuts, and his body ached all over.
"Gahh!"
He collapsed onto the shore, falling directly onto the sand and panting heavily.
"T-That wasn't a smart idea," he muttered, concluding that if he ever had to do it again, he'd rather spend hours carving a boat than repeating such a reckless stunt.
Still, the bold move paid off, as he had reached the shore in just a few minutes. Though he worried about being visible to the eagles, the fish were swimming away, and the eagles flew in the opposite direction — a sign, he figured, that he was safe for now on this small piece of land.
But something was amiss—
"Where is the demon of this trial?"
He neither heard nor saw any signs of a demon, which left him uneasy. Chuckling bitterly at his predicament, he pulled out the book he'd kept close to his chest within his robes.
With trembling hands, he opened it.
"Why?"
Exhaustion hit him all at once as he read the words on the page.
[Pick a side.]
There was no return option, no hint of the demon, no indication that the trial was over.
Instead, the new text in the book instructed him to pick a side.
"Side of what?" he wondered aloud. "There isn't anything within a hundred yards! I don't even hear anything!"
But he was wrong.
A deep growl sounded from each end of the island, echoing from the dense forest.
"Oh," he exhaled, already feeling drained. "Of course."
Forcing himself to stand, pain coursing through his muscles with every step, he began the arduous journey toward the forest, knowing he'd have to pass through it to complete the trial.
He noticed a few creatures, mostly doves and eagles — thankfully, these weren't mutated or appearing in flocks.
So, he was able to pass through the vast forest without incident.
After walking several hundred meters, he finally saw something.
"Is that…" He froze, eyes widening. "A giant fighting a massive snake?"
Before him was an intense battle scene: a towering giant, big enough to lift and split him in half, wrestled with an enormous snake. At first glance, he thought it was a basilisk — until he realized that neither the giant nor the man would still be standing if it truly were one.
It was just a colossal snake, not a basilisk, but he quickly understood what the book meant by "picking a side."
'Snake or Man,' he thought. 'The answer seems obvious.'
The giant, though monstrous, was still humanoid, capable of communication and rational thought. The snake, however, was a predator with a single purpose — to consume.
He would have immediately sided with the giant — though he had no idea how he'd help — but then he noticed something golden gleaming a few meters away from them, making the choice suddenly more complicated.
"A massive golden apple," he observed. It was clear that the fight centered around the apple, with the giant trying to reach it while the snake blocked his path.
"Who do I choose?" he wondered aloud.
He had limited information: a giant reaching for a golden apple and a snake trying to stop him.
It crossed his mind that the man might simply be hungry, while the snake had a deeper reason to protect the apple. But what was that reason?
Thoughts swirled in his mind, from the story of Adam, Eve, and the snake to the legends of Greek giants. Yet, nothing fit this situation.
The only way to find out was by getting closer…
Risky as it was, he steeled himself and crept through the forest shadows, far from the behemoths' line of sight, moving cautiously toward the apple.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to cover the distance due to the pain and the risk of being spotted.
Finally, he reached a vantage point, just a few meters from the apple.
"I see now," he muttered, breathing a sigh of realization. The snake wasn't protecting the apple itself — it was protecting its young. Behind the apple, he could see a group of baby snakes trembling in fear.
The mother snake was defending her offspring from the giant's barbaric reach. And while he might have tried to explain the situation to the giant, he knew that would be tantamount to suicide.
There was no peaceful solution. He had to choose a side.
'The other will likely…' He bit his lip, weighing the lives in his mind.
He knew he had no right to judge which life was worth more. But in this moment, it was clear that the snake and her young faced certain death if he didn't act.
On one hand, he had a beast. On the other, a thinking humanoid.
However, the snake's young depended on her survival. He couldn't justify sacrificing six lives, even if they were snakes, for the sake of one.
With a heavy heart, he decided. He aimed at the giant, his resolve set.
'I may not be able to defeat it, but I can at least help the snake.'
Raising his wand toward the giant's feet, he shouted, "Aguamenti Maxima!"
A torrent of water burst forth, creating a puddle under the giant's feet, causing it to lose balance and slip in the mud.
"W-WHAT?!" it bellowed, crashing down and uprooting several trees, along with some unfortunate birds.
"YOU!!!" The giant's furious gaze locked onto him. "YOU DARE, HUMAN?!"
The giant's massive hand reached for him, ready to crush him.
He thought of running but knew he couldn't outrun the giant's reach. So he stood his ground, praying for a miracle.
And it came.
"GAHH!" The giant groaned in pain. Damien watched as the snake coiled tightly around the giant's neck, cutting off his air supply. Distracted by its fall, the giant had allowed the snake to secure its grip.
Within moments, the giant turned blue, suffocating before falling unconscious — possibly dead.
Damien stood amidst the aftermath, a shaken figure with an injured snake beside him.
So shaken that he couldn't even open the book to see if the trial had ended.
But something did.
"Gahaha! Now that was a show!"
A booming laughter echoed from behind him.
"Just what I'd expect from the new Contractor!"
The laughter belonged to none other than Andromalius, the 72nd Demon Lord, commander of 36 legions, and an Earl of Hell.
The demon of balance, punishment, and revelation.