Neil shook the blood from his sword.

The best cinnabar can not only ward off evil spirits, but also effectively protect the wood from dirt. But even it was indifferent to the pungent smell, and when it was over, he would probably have to roast his sword on the incense burner for a long time to get rid of the smell.

Overall, though, the situation isn't bad. The hardest problem he'd faced so far was how to keep the wide-robed and long-sleeved student uniforms from getting dirty - until the farce was over, it would probably be impossible to find anyone who would have the leisure to apply a cleansing charm to himself, and Neil wanted to avoid running around in a robe that looked like he had just crawled out of a gutter.

These trolls have been trained, but in a different direction than normal domestication, as if the trainer only cares about amplifying the violent side of their nature, and doesn't care if it leads to a loss of control. Fortunately, perhaps because of the time constraints, this training was rough, and they became more manic and less able to think than usual. For most students, these monsters are as dangerous as a herd of galloping cattle at a carnival, but overly obvious weaknesses also make them easier to deal with when facing experienced wizards.

Neil smelled malice in such a strategy. It seems that someone deliberately wants to force all teachers to take a position where they cannot act freely in order to protect students.

The most striking thing about this was that when the wooden sword split through the shoddy iron helmet, it felt like something invisible had pushed it backwards in the middle of it - the result was futile, of course, but it was clearly beyond the capabilities of an ordinary helmet.

He flicked the split helmet with the tip of his sword, and picked half of it in the air to examine it carefully. One of them, a strip of yellow rough-edged paper that had been split in two, caught his eye. It was cut off and ineffective, and then soaked in the blood of the troll, almost a mess, but the ink was still faintly visible.

Neil felt an invisible nerve in the back of his head skip a beat, and he didn't care about any more neatness, and decisively stepped into the foul pool of blood, tearing open the dirty soft armor lining of the troll's corpse. Sure enough, the same rune paper appeared there.

Even if a thunderbolt suddenly slashed through the eight-story ceiling and slashed over his head at this moment, Neil's face would not be more ugly than it was now, and he never dreamed that a fellow Daoist would be involved in this matter—an idiot like Quirrellus Quirrell who couldn't even say what the Yin and Yang Chakra was, could not have learned this kind of trick. He twisted the paper with his hand, it was thick, rough (yes, it's not smoother, better), and most importantly, he could feel the flow of spiritual veins. This is not the kind of goods that can be obtained in funeral goods stores, only pulp ground with real spiritual grass will show such characteristics.

Making talismans is actually an art, and every master will have his own preferences in drawing and cutting. Take the elders in the sect as an example, the four elders are meticulous, and they write a good handwriting, using the fire talisman written by his old man to expel the demon beasts, and not going down the mountain to find a gallery to sell the talisman as a copybook, and then use the money to hire a few lifeless loose cultivators to come back as thugs; On the other hand, his own in-law master, writing the simplest talisman is like a piece of paper with varicose veins, the talisman is often written, and the talisman feet are also drawn crookedly. At first glance, it looks like waste paper used by other people's children to practice calligraphy.

- According to his own boasting, this shows that his understanding of the talisman has broken through the stage of sticking to the appearance, and in fact, those real "ghost drawing talismans" that should not reasonably meet the requirements of talisman production can really be used normally, which adds a strange credibility to this statement.

However, when Neil took his old man's ink treasure to the other elders for appreciation, he received the following comments: "Turtle crawling", "Turtle crawling", "Turtle crawling", "Turtle crawling", "This turtle is not very happy today, and it walks crookedly"—since the day he entered the school, he had heard the six elders say such a witty remark—so ...... In fact, it may be so credible.

With such a master as an example, Neil didn't dare to say how highly accomplished he was in the art of drawing talismans, but he could at least distinguish the qualities

Good and bad. The unknown talisman maker was steady, drawing every line neatly, but each time he closed his pen a little too early, and he didn't pay attention to the splashed ink spots. Obviously, he is highly skilled, but he does not pay much attention to this job, and it can even be said that he deliberately lowers his level.

Neil secretly made up his mind that if Quirrell happened to spend money on these things from some wandering Sanxiu who was passing by, he would laugh at him before he did it.

Joke aside, this discovery perfectly hits his previous foreboding. He didn't think Dumbledore had even expected this, so it was likely that he couldn't count on anyone to help with the aftermath this time, and Neil would have to figure it out on his own.

……

……

In order to delay the professors, the residence halls of the various colleges were under siege with great intensity, especially the Gryffindor Tower, which may be hiding a Potter, but Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were not far behind. Minerva McGonagall may be harsh more than tolerant, and Pomona Sprout may care more about her greenhouses than her students, but they are professors of good character and a strong sense of pride in their profession, and in such situations they will always choose to prioritize the safety of their students.

But there was one maverick professor who didn't fall into this trap.

Severus Snape had been suspicious of Quirrell for a long time—it wasn't even a suspicion, it had already turned into a conviction. It's just that because of Dumbledore's request, he can't do anything other than grab the other person's collar and push him against the wall every time he sees no one on the left and right, and then intimidate him viciously.

That damn little bastard would have fallen to his knees and laughed if he had known what he was going to do, but Quirrell didn't seem to be that sharp, and such a threat would make him cower in real fright every time. It's just that judging from the current situation, his memory is as unsightly as his ability to read words and colors.

Snape's office was on the same floor as the Slytherin quarters, and it was only a quick walk away. However, as soon as he heard of the sudden appearance of the trolls in the castle, Snape immediately deduced the cause and effect, as if everything had been written in front of his eyes in an open book. He knew very well that the students in the dormitory must be facing a threat to their lives now, and he knew what the other party was doing for what they were doing, and in the dilemma of every second counting, Snape showed his amazing determination.

He rushed up the stairs without looking back, and didn't even glance at the nearest Slytherin dormitory behind him—of course, if he were to pursue it afterwards, he would have a thousand callous and reasonable explanations for this, such as that Hogwarts trained wizards, not milk dolls who could only sit in strollers and be pushed around, and students who did not even have the most basic self-defense skills would only disgrace their families even if they lived, etc.

Sounds like a strong word? Believe me, just add a joke to the effect that Muggle-born students are lucky in this matter, because they don't have a family to humiliate, and most people will forget what they were protesting against.

There is a popular and enduring description among Gryffindor students as "running faster than Severus Snape when he saw shampoo", dating back to his time at Hogwarts. And if any of the students who hadn't escaped were still near the stairs, he would have had a chance to see for himself what Severus Snape looked like when he ran up.

……

Snape ran murderously up the stairs with his wand in one hand, his pitch-black cloak flying behind him, looking like a giant bat clinging to the ground and climbing upward. The trolls standing in the way of the staircase had been cleared by Professor McGonagall, who had rushed to the Gryffindor dormitory on the eighth floor two minutes earlier, leaving only two corpses lying on the corner of the third floor and the landing between the third and fourth floors, which provided Snape with great convenience.

But even so, Neil caught up with him on the third floor.

"Mr. Professor!"

A shout from behind almost knocked Snape off the steps.

"You!" He glanced back, suspicious

The color of evil suddenly overflowed, "You dare to appear here? I should have found out that you have nothing to do with what is going on behind this......

Well, it looks like he's examined the body.

But in stark contrast to his aggressive tone, Snape did not stop to confront him, nor did Neil stop approaching, but only humbly kept a distance of two or three steps behind him. Both sides understand that this is nothing more than a Severusian humor...... Or Severus-esque personal vendettas, in which the two men continue their conversation verbally like real suspects and interrogators, but in the course of their actions, neither of them takes this suspicion of venting their anger seriously.

As the only registered visitor from the East at Hogwarts, it is not surprising that Neil is suspected and interrogated, but this kind of interrogation must not come from Snape, unless the other party has already taken refuge in Voldemort, who Neil has not seen yet, and intends to take this opportunity to get rid of himself by framing him. But Neil knew it couldn't be, just as Snape (however much he didn't want to admit it) knew he couldn't have colluded with Quirrell to plot it all.

"Well, tell me before I tie you up and hand you over to the Headmaster, what do you know about these trolls, and Quirrell's plans?"

"Shortly, I don't know anything, Mr. Professor." Neil replied without changing his face. He took off his robe stained with troll's blood before he climbed the stairs and tossed it aside, wearing only a shirt on his upper body, and now regretted it. As the two of them approached the restricted area, the amount of dirt on the walls, feet, and even the ceiling continued to increase, raising the question of whether someone had poked their wand into the nostrils of which troll and then chanted a smashing spell.

Obviously, this answer and his somewhat distracted attitude were not very satisfying to Snape.

"I don't have time to joke with you." He lowered his voice and asked in a threatening tone, "Tell me everything you know, you sneaky little traitor!"

He probably didn't expect that this sentence would become the last straw that broke the camel's back.

"—I'm not kidding you, I just wanted to ask what the hell is going on, you vile, vicious, insidious, petty, selfish, greasy hair, always smelling of dregs on your robe, with a nose like a half-boiled doorknob, and half a friend crawling out of the belly of a turtle and turtle!"

Being yelled at in a louder voice seemed a strange experience to Snape, especially since the man who yelled at him did not hesitate to omit honorifics for emphasis. The only way he can communicate is to put himself in a position where he is superior and then constantly attack the other person with malicious sarcasm, which often leads to a dilemma when facing opponents who are better at scolding than himself.

Neil took a deep breath and took two quick steps to get to his side with Snape - as the old saying goes, he decided to put away his humble and polite side before he could say it all.

"In case you didn't see it, let me warn you: I just took the risk of being deported from the Ministry of Magic ten minutes ago and hatched a dragon egg for free like a philanthropist with a brain, only to find out before I could catch my breath when we were being called by Headmaster Dumbledore like a puppet and had been planning for months again—once again! Now I've noticed that the troll blood on the soles of my shoes seems to have seeped into my shoes a bit, and I'm worried about whether I'll be able to ...... with both feet if I run in this state for another two hours."

He paused slightly, satisfied to see that Snape's lips trembled and he couldn't say a word, even more satisfied that he hadn't slowed down even in this situation.

"So do me a favor, Professor, be a not-so-jerk guy and don't jump on the last bit of endurance, okay? I need them to help me keep my emotions under control and stop me from screwing out that bastard's head before Quirrell spits out everything he knows and laughs at his mess of being cheated on by unscrupulous businessmen!"

------Off topic------

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Happy holidays to all