Cohen blasted a corner of the cave entrance—not to bury the troll inside, but simply to make a loud noise to lure it out.
Though the troll was dumb, it wasn't deaf.
The racket Cohen made sounded like another troll had come to smash up its home.
Could it tolerate such an insult? It had just learned how to swing a club.
With a loud *thwack*, it charged out of the cave in a fury and stumbled right into Cohen's suitcase.
"Done." Cohen snapped the suitcase shut, clapping his hands with satisfaction.
Good thing he'd reinforced it with a charm, or the troll would've smashed and banged its way out in no time.
Following the Earl, who was now spotless thanks to a cleaning charm, back to the castle, it was already nearing mid-afternoon.
There was no point in rushing to class now. Cohen decided to head back to the Forbidden Forest instead—those spiders had probably hatched a bunch more little ones. Before Cohen had wiped out half of them, there must've been unhatched eggs still waiting.
If there were young ones… well, Cohen couldn't be blamed for taking out the old ones too.
*You've Already Chosen the Path to Your Doom*
"Why are you back again?!"
Deep in the Forbidden Forest, Aragog caught a familiar scent. His angry voice mixed with the clacking of his massive pincers—perhaps the spider equivalent of grinding teeth.
Cohen had once again sneaked in and taken them by surprise—now, the path was littered with the overturned corpses of eight-eyed giant spiders.
If souls had weight, Cohen would be stuffed to the brim by now.
"My mate Mosag and I just—"
"Still going strong, huh? Impressive, impressive. Looks like your colony's multiplying pretty fast—no big deal." Cohen eyed the swarm of baby spiders behind Aragog. They were enough to start another little tribe—though the other creatures in the Forbidden Forest wouldn't let them expand unchecked. "I'm doing this for your own good—"
"Good, my *ass*!" Aragog hissed. "We…"
He wanted to threaten Cohen, but he realized they had no leverage—none of them even knew what Cohen *was*.
After all, Dementors had never entered the Forbidden Forest before. Dumbledore didn't allow those things anywhere near the school—except for Cohen.
Cohen waved goodbye. His soul integrity had reached 20%. As expected, he'd hit another bottleneck.
The sky beyond the forest was slowly darkening. Cohen spiraled upward, skimming the treetops as he drifted back toward the castle.
For some reason, the centaurs used to occasionally whinny at him in warning, trying to drive him off. But in the last two weeks, Cohen hadn't heard a single sound from them.
Once, he'd even crossed paths with a centaur. It just stared as Cohen floated toward the eight-eyed spiders' territory, doing nothing.
It seemed the centaurs had silently agreed to let Cohen hunt spiders here…
Reaching the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Cohen caught sight of Hogwarts Castle, glowing brightly under the night sky.
Cohen rubbed his hands together eagerly, shaking the suitcase in his grip.
Picking an empty basement classroom, Cohen released the troll from the suitcase.
The moment it appeared, it was still a bit dazed. But when it spotted Cohen—a living thing—its tiny brain had only one thought:
*Smash this living thing dead.*
As the troll let out a low growl, Cohen darted out of the classroom, slammed the door shut, and cast a locking charm.
Why should he care if Dumbledore wouldn't let him see the key section of that alchemy book? Time to wreak havoc on the school and fulfill the dreams he couldn't in his last life.
Anyway, Quirrell would take the blame in the end. Cohen was just "forced" by Quirrell…
[*Ding! Sin Value +200*]
[*Note: Your wickedness has driven you to betray this school. You've abandoned lofty morals and conscience.*]
"This stuff isn't even edible."
Cohen grumbled, dissatisfied with the system's judgment. If kindness points could be traded for soul fragments, he might've shifted his focus toward doing good deeds.
This system clearly didn't want anyone taking the righteous path!
Besides, Cohen felt he was acting with restraint and good reason.
Everything he did was to protect the beauty of this world!
If he didn't get stronger, how could he defeat Voldemort and become the second—er, how could he protect his family?
Could kindness points do that? Could they?!
"Cohen?!" Quirrell's voice rang out from the doorway of the next classroom. "Why aren't you in the Great Hall…?"
"Quirrell?!" Cohen's eyes widened. He stared at Quirrell, whose movements almost mirrored his own—and Quirrell was holding an empty suitcase too.
Only Quirrell would keep the evidence around. Cohen had destroyed his suitcase the instant the troll came out.
"Are suitcases the only thing wizards use to carry living creatures? Newt had one, Crouch Jr. had one…" Cohen muttered.
"Why are you here?" Quirrell didn't even bother faking his stutter.
"To bring in the troll, obviously. Didn't we agree on this last weekend?" Cohen replied confidently.
"I thought you meant *I* was supposed to get the troll—never mind—"
Before Quirrell could finish, the trolls in the two adjacent classrooms simultaneously smashed through the doors.
Quirrell grabbed Cohen, and the two of them jogged toward the Great Hall—no need to worry about being caught; the trolls moved slowly, especially in the castle's winding, multi-level layout. They couldn't keep up.
"When we get there, you go eat first. I'll head to the Great Hall later to report it and slip away to the fourth-floor corridor while the teachers are distracted," Quirrell explained mid-run. "The Dark Lord's getting impatient… but don't blow your cover."
"Don't worry, there's no way I'll get exposed—"
They split up at the Great Hall's entrance. Cohen slipped in through a side door—good thing he'd brought his bookbag, so it looked like he'd just come back from studying.
"Cohen! Where've you been? We didn't see you all afternoon!" Ron, mouth stuffed with food, mumbled incoherently as Cohen squeezed onto the Gryffindor table.
"I went to ask Professor Quirrell some questions. I self-studied this afternoon's Herbology lesson—felt like it'd be a waste of time otherwise." Cohen shrugged, shoving his bag under the bench and pretending to pick at his food.
He could feel two pairs of eyes watching him from the staff table.
Probably Dumbledore had already noticed. The other gaze was likely Snape—he'd been keeping tabs on Quirrell, and since Cohen was getting close to Quirrell lately, he was probably watching him too.
But the favored ones could always get away with more.
Ten minutes later, Quirrell burst into the Great Hall.
His large scarf was crooked on his head, his face full of panic.
The entire hall fell silent, all eyes locked on him.
Quirrell staggered over to Professor Dumbledore's chair, leaned heavily on the table, and gasped:
"Two trolls—fighting in the basement classrooms—thought you should know."
Was this what a seasoned actor looked like?