Chapter 823: Unforeseen Gain
Chapter 823: Unforeseen Gain
After the results of the second round of the Barnabas Finkley Exceptional Wand Control Competition were announced, Barnabas' pub quickly emptied out, with the vast majority of witches and wizards rushing over to place bets at the Daily Beef's booth. Some came to collect their winnings, while others continued to gamble, having heard that contestant number 17 had achieved a resounding score in the previous round.
Perhaps number 17 could even take the championship, or maybe even the gold prize. Many witches and wizards who favored this dark horse, Albert, chose to bet on him to win it all.
As for the gold prize, the odds were a bit tougher.
The Daily Beef had no choice but to lower Albert's odds once again. The odds for the gold prize were now only a third of what they had been, and the odds for the championship were just a fifth of the original. Many witches and wizards who hadn't placed their bets in advance were now kicking themselves.
"What are you thinking about?"
Bard put down his newspaper and looked at Albert, who was enjoying a scoop of ice cream.
"This competition is a bit different from what I expected," Albert mused. With his Skill Panel, his understanding of wand control naturally far surpassed that of his peers.
However, after several rounds, he had begun to question the nature of the competition.
What was wand control, anyway? Ultimately, it boiled down to one's experience and skill in casting spells.
But...
Well, the first two rounds had certainly given Albert plenty to ponder.
After listening to Albert's doubts, Bard smiled and placed a book in front of him.
"Barnabas Finkley's Wand Control?" Albert glanced at the title and noticed it was in Spanish.
"I got this specially for you. It's only available in Spanish, but I don't think you'll have any trouble reading it."
"This thickness... Was the one I read before an abridged version?"
"Yes, the published versions are all condensed. This is the full version, given as a reward to gold prize winners."
Albert quickly finished his ice cream, wiped his hands with a handkerchief, and began to browse through the book.
It took him just two hours to skim through it.
How should he describe it?
The book was useful, and yet not quite.
Albert practiced Voldemort's wand control, and the techniques described in Finkley's book were of no use to him. However, the concepts and ideas within were valuable. By combining them with the knowledge provided by the system, Albert found the answers he sought.
But he didn't like it.
If he were to follow the book's teachings, it would be like putting himself in a shell. He had always been free, and the idea of constraining himself within a predefined framework seemed laughable. Yet, this might very well be the essence of the Barnabas Finkley Exceptional Wand Control Competition! Skilled witches and wizards could discern their opponents' intentions from their wand movements and the incantations they uttered, allowing them to counter their spells in advance.
Hence, nonverbal spells and wandless magic were crucial components of advanced wand control.
Albert's high scores in the previous rounds weren't solely due to the brilliance of his performance; it was also because the five judges could see that he was adept at casting nonverbal spells and performing wandless magic.
For most adult witches and wizards, this was an incredibly difficult feat.
As for the middle-aged wizard who resembled an Auror and the other high-scoring participants, their success stemmed from a different aspect: the optimization of their wand movements.
While the hand motions for each spell were fixed, that didn't mean they couldn't be refined to make the casting process smoother and more natural.
There was a significant difference between casting spells in a flustered manner and doing so with calm and poise, and this was reflected in the power of the spell as well.
Some witches and wizards exaggerated their wand movements and gestures, but this was often just a means to make their spellcasting appear more fluid.
However, Albert wondered if they might dislocate their arms with all that wild flailing.
That night, Albert delved into the knowledge in his mind regarding Voldemort's wand control techniques. He had mastered many of these skills but had never bothered to study them in depth.
It couldn't be helped; magic was sometimes a mystery even to its inventors. Knowing how to use it was often enough, and obsessing over the intricacies didn't always yield meaningful results.
Nevertheless, if Albert wanted to aim for the championship and the gold prize, he would have to dedicate more time to his craft. The divination result merely represented a potential outcome, not a guarantee of success. The future was yet to be written.
As Albert strived for the gold prize, a secret meeting was taking place at the Daily Beef.
The unexpected rise of a dark horse had the gambling organizers in a panic.
"Are you saying we've lost over five thousand already?" a wizard hidden in the shadows demanded.
No wonder he was shocked. Since they had started organizing these bets, they had rarely lost money.
The truth of gambling was that the house always won.
"Yes, if number 17 takes the championship, we will lose 17,000 galleons. And that number is still climbing. If he wins the gold prize, our losses will amount to 45,000 galleons," reported a wizard responsible for the statistics.
"How is that possible!"
The wizards in the room were astounded. As the organizers, they rarely incurred losses.
"Many witches and wizards have bet on him to win the championship. As for the gold prize, ever since we started taking bets, a significant number of people have favored number 17 and wagered that he would take the gold. The odds were high at the beginning, so we lowered them three times. But more and more people kept betting on him for the gold prize."
An eerie silence fell over the meeting room.
"Currently, which contestant winning the championship would be the most favorable outcome for us?" someone asked.
"Number 53."
The reporting wizard placed a photo on the table, revealing a familiar face—the slovenly male graduate from Beauxbatons, Noe.
"If he only wins the championship, we will profit by 21,000 galleons."
"Understood. Keep gathering the latest data; we need to stay on top of this," instructed the wizard presiding over the meeting, dismissing the other with a wave of his hand.
"Aren't you being a bit too anxious? He's just a sixteen-year-old kid. Surely you don't think he can win the gold prize?" Finally, someone spoke up, unable to bear the stifling atmosphere in the room any longer.
There was truth to these words. Winning the championship in the Barnabas Finkley Exceptional Wand Control Competition was relatively straightforward—coming in first place was enough. However, claiming the gold prize was a different matter altogether. It required the recognition of several judges, and it wasn't just about talent; it also demanded a wealth of experience.
Very few witches and wizards achieved the gold prize before the age of thirty, and those who did were renowned geniuses in the magical world.
Yet, they couldn't ignore the fact that Mr. Anderson was already well on his way to becoming a renowned genius in the magical community.
After the shocking rise of a dark horse, the gambling organizers were in a panic, facing potential losses they hadn't anticipated.
"Are we already looking at a loss of over five thousand galleons?" demanded a wizard hidden in the shadows, his voice laced with shock. It was no wonder he was astounded; they rarely lost money when organizing these bets.
The harsh truth of gambling was that the house always won.
"Indeed," confirmed the wizard in charge of statistics. "If number 17 clinches the championship, we will lose 17,000 galleons. And that number continues to climb. Should he win the gold prize, our losses will amount to a staggering 45,000 galleons."
"How is that even possible?!" exclaimed the wizards in the room, astonished. As the organizers, they rarely incurred losses, and this situation was highly unusual.
"A significant number of witches and wizards have bet on him to win the championship," the statistician explained. "And when it comes to the gold prize, a large number of people have favored number 17 from the start. We lowered the odds three times, but more and more people kept betting on him."
An eerie silence enveloped the meeting room as the gravity of their situation sank in.
"Currently, which contestant winning the championship would be the most favorable outcome for us?" someone asked, breaking the silence.
"Number 53," the statistician replied, placing a photo on the table. It revealed the familiar face of Noe, the slovenly male graduate from Beauxbatons. "If he wins the championship but not the gold prize, we will profit by 21,000 galleons."
"Understood. Keep gathering the latest data, and let's stay on top of this," instructed the wizard presiding over the meeting, dismissing the others with a wave of his hand.
"Aren't you being a bit too anxious? He's just a sixteen-year-old kid. Do you really think he can win the gold prize?" Finally, someone spoke up, unable to bear the stifling tension in the room any longer.
There was a grain of truth to these words. Winning the championship in the Barnabas Finkley Exceptional Wand Control Competition was relatively straightforward—coming in first place was sufficient. However, claiming the gold prize was an entirely different matter. It required the recognition of several judges and wasn't solely based on talent; it also demanded a wealth of experience.
It was uncommon for witches and wizards to achieve the gold prize before the age of thirty, and those who did were renowned as geniuses in the magical world.
Yet, they couldn't ignore the fact that Mr. Anderson, at just sixteen years old, was well on his way to becoming one of those celebrated geniuses.
......
Eheus Northton didn't consider himself a good person. He had no steady job and made a living through petty theft, burglary, and smuggling illicit goods.
Because of his chosen profession, Eheus had spent a fair amount of time in prison. However, he found himself released after just a week, even though he had expected to be incarcerated for at least a month.
Before Eheus could even begin to enjoy his newfound freedom, he was approached with an offer.
For the right amount of gold coins, he agreed.
Disguised as a foreigner with a Polyjuice Potion, Eheus sneaked into the Barnabas pub. His mission was to ensure that a particular underage wizard would be disqualified from the upcoming day's competition.
He didn't need to guess who had sent him on this errand.
The strangest part of the mission was that he was supposed to make one of the contestants drink a small bottle of Felix Felicis—a good luck potion.
Yes, a good luck potion.
In any competition, the use of Felix Felicis was strictly prohibited, and discovery would result in immediate disqualification.
The mastermind behind this plan was indeed a cunning individual.
Even if number 17 went on to win the championship and the gold prize, exposing the fact that he may have used Felix Felicis and then having him tested for traces of the potion would ensure that the accolades were taken away from him.
As for Albert Anderson's reputation, well, that was of no concern to them.
They could even justify their actions as retaliation against Bard Bloome for taking their money in bets.
However, their plan had one critical flaw—they had chosen the wrong target.
To this day, Eheus had no idea what had transpired. He recalled sneaking to Mr. Anderson's room before dawn, releasing a hypnotic gas, and preparing to administer the Felix Felicis.
But as he opened the door and covered his mouth and nose with a cloth soaked in the potion, his memories became hazy. When he came to, he found himself tied to a chair, and his target was regarding him with a curious expression, yawning widely.
The night before, just as Albert was about to go to sleep, his Skill Panel had triggered a new task.
Now, he understood why. The man before him was the traveler he had encountered outside Bard's room.
"I must say, the person who came up with this plan is a genius," Albert remarked without anger. His fingertips toyed with the confiscated bottle of Felix Felicis. "This amount of Felix Felicis is more than a day's worth. Overuse of the potion would result in obvious symptoms of arrogance and overconfidence, and it would also imply that I relied on it to pass the previous rounds."
"You can either confess willingly, or I can force the information out of you with a Legilimens charm," Bard said, his face dark with anger. He hadn't slept well, worried about the competition and now this attempt to sabotage it. "You know that overuse of that charm can turn you into an idiot, and I doubt anyone would care about your fate afterward."
Eheus had no idea how he had been found out, but he knew he'd better come clean, or he might end up dead and buried without a trace.
"What should we do with him?" Bard asked.
"Why not make some money while we're at it?" Albert suggested with a smile, knocking the man out with a Stunning Spell. "We can use the Imperius Curse to control him, get our money back, and then erase his memory afterward."
Saying so, Albert tossed his wand to Bard.
"I'm not used to this thing," Bard complained after a few experimental waves of the wand.
"Then pick one that suits you from this box," Albert offered, presenting a box filled with new wands.
"I bet they're fuming right now," Bard said, selecting a wand and practicing a few swishes and flicks. He then pointed the wand at the unfortunate Eheus Northton.
"Imperio."
(End of Chapter)
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