Return of Salazar Slytherin

Marcus, stay calm. She's just a second-year kid. What's there to fear?

Standing on the stage, Marcus kept trying to reassure himself.

Yes, she was merely a little girl who could fly, knew a few strange spells, and had managed to foil a Dark Wizard's plot back in her first year.

Marcus: ...fuck..

He tried not to think about it any further, but at this point, backing down would mean losing all the benefits Malfoy had promised him. Not only that, he'd also become a laughingstock among the entire school. How could he ever hold his head high in front of Wood again?

He had no way out now. From the moment he stepped onto the dueling platform, blinded by the lure of benefits, his only option was to defeat the girl in front of him and claim victory.

"Duelists, bow!" Professor Flitwick's voice echoed nearby, though it felt strangely distant to Marcus.

He bowed mechanically, and then an idea popped into his head: No matter how tricky Daphne's spells might be, she was still just a second-year girl. His physical strength far outclassed hers.

A bold plan began to take shape in his mind.

Marcus decided to endure Daphne's attacks, even if it meant taking a couple of hits. As long as he could grit his teeth and charge straight toward her, victory would be his!

Whether a wizard winning by sheer force counted as legitimate, Marcus figured that since the rules didn't forbid it, it was fair game.

So, as soon as the countdown ended, he let out a loud roar and charged at Daphne like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.

The short distance of just a few meters was practically nothing for someone like Marcus, a "sportsman" through and through.

The young witches and wizards watching from below widened their eyes in disbelief. Is this even a wizard's duel?!

Seeing Marcus charging at her like a rampaging troll, Daphne's pupils contracted. She quickly aimed the tip of her wand at his chest and unleashed a straightforward attack spell.

Marcus's charge came to an abrupt halt.

Boom!

It was as if he had been hit at point-blank range by a shotgun blast—he was sent flying backward.

Though his chest wasn't blown open, the impact caused his ribcage to cave in slightly, breaking several ribs in the process.

Thankfully, at the very moment the spell was released, Daphne had regained her composure and consciously reduced its power. Otherwise, Marcus would have been guaranteed to miss next week's Quidditch match.

"Daphne wins! Slytherin earns five points!"

Flitwick hastily declared Daphne's victory, anxious to prevent her from delivering any follow-up blows like in her previous duel.

Snape once again assumed the role of a medic, using magic to mend Marcus's fractured ribs and giving him a few restorative potions to drink.

Watching the now defeated and dispirited Marcus on stage and the stunned Malfoy below, Snape decided to have someone escort the two to the infirmary to rest for the night.

With Daphne's single spell sending Marcus to the infirmary, the number of students willing to step up to the platform drastically decreased.

If earlier over half the students had wanted to challenge her, now that number had dwindled to less than a third.

No matter how lacking Marcus might be, he was still a fifth-year student—and yet, he was defeated in an instant.

How could that not leave everyone stunned?

When Daphne was beating up Malfoy, Rhys was quite pleased. While he didn't take a child's provocations to heart, Malfoy's repeated pestering was irritating, much like a mosquito buzzing around and keeping you awake at night.

Now that Daphne had stepped in to deal with that "mosquito" for him, he naturally enjoyed the show. But when Daphne instantly obliterated Marcus, Rhys's smile disappeared.

A fifth-year being instantly defeated by a second-year? Could something be wrong?!

According to Rhys's understanding, Daphne should be capable of winning such a battle spanning three years of difference, but it should have taken at least five or six exchanges to determine a victor.

He could only attribute the outcome to Marcus's poor tactical choices.

Many of the young witches and wizards in the audience shared Rhys's thoughts. They believed that as long as they could engage Daphne in a proper magical duel, their own experience and accumulated skills would give them the upper hand.

As a result, the next challengers to step up were all senior students who were confident in their raw abilities.

However, they either couldn't break through Daphne's defenses and ended up getting counterattacked, or they started by focusing on defense and ultimately succumbed under the relentless waves of Daphne's offensive.

Before anyone realized it, Daphne had racked up six consecutive victories, even defeating a Hufflepuff seventh-year prefect after a prolonged duel.

"Daphne Greengrass, victorious! Slytherin gains ten points. Here, this is a little reward for you."

Professor Flitwick announced with a complex expression, handing a bag of Honeydukes candies to Daphne.

Daphne's performance far exceeded his expectations, and Rhys was certain the young girl before him hadn't even gone all out. 

Down below, Rhys was completely stunned.

He never could have imagined that even a seventh-year prefect would be no match for Daphne—a Hufflepuff prefect, no less!

Prefects were supposed to be among the most capable students in the school.

How many students were better duelists than them? 

If Hogwarts' Prefects couldn't even defeat Daphne, what hope was there? 

Rhys had mentally estimated Daphne's strength to be roughly equivalent to a fifth-year student, capable of holding her own against sixth-years and narrowly losing to seventh-years if she didn't use her necklace. The necklace, of course, would be considered cheating; under a surprise attack, even the professors hosting the gathering might struggle to defend themselves against it. 

And yet? 

The better Daphne performed, the heavier Rhys's heart grew, as it pointed to one grim conclusion: the overall standard of Hogwarts students was alarmingly low. 

If this trend continued, what would become of the wizarding world once Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and the rest of this older generation passed away? 

A couple of geniuses wouldn't be enough to ensure a stable future... 

The examples of the Bloody Baron and Helena Ravenclaw stood as stark reminders of how talent alone could not guarantee success. 

Rhys's concerns were perhaps slightly misplaced.

He hadn't fully grasped how much easier it was for modern young wizards to advance to the next year compared to the grueling training required of wizard apprentices a thousand years ago. 

In the days when he and his old friends were teaching, the rule was simple: if a student didn't meet the standards, they couldn't advance to the next year. You either studied hard to improve your magical skills and moved up, or you "locked off."

There were no other options.

Of course, if your family was exceptionally powerful and could offer a spell valuable enough to tempt even Rowena Ravenclaw, exceptions could be made—but if you couldn't keep up in the advanced years, you couldn't blame the founders.

Modern times were different. As long as students weren't completely hopeless or didn't care about piling up a bunch of "Acceptable" grades on their O.W.L.s, they could move on to the next year. This led to a disconnect between year level and actual magical ability.

Even so, Daphne's feat of defeating opponents across five year levels was extraordinarily shocking.

"Rhys, I want to go up and duel my sister." Watching Daphne on stage, radiating confidence after her six consecutive victories, Astoria was tempted.

"You can't beat her," Rhys shook his head. Astoria had been learning from him for too short a time to bridge the gap in skill between her and Daphne.

"Does anyone else want to step forward?" Professor Flitwick asked.

The young wizards below the stage remained silent. After just six duels, not a single student was willing to face her.

"I will." A voice broke the silence—it was Gemma Farley.

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