I will Join You(!)

Blake stood firm, gripping his wand as he said, "If you can keep teaching me the Dark Arts, I don't care about offering my allegiance." His eyes darted toward Quirrell. "But... Professor Quirrell, you just said there's nothing left to teach me. Yet you've already been teaching me…"

The room fell silent. The tension thickened in the air as Quirrell froze, caught off guard by Blake's words. The boy had spoken out of turn, but there was more to it than that. Blake was questioning whether Quirrell—and by extension, Voldemort—had anything left to offer him.

Quirrell's thoughts raced in panic. 'Did this kid just imply that my master has nothing more to teach him?' He winced internally.

He knew that if Voldemort grew angry, Blake would likely escape unscathed. However, Quirrell himself wouldn't be so lucky. Sure enough, the cold fury of Voldemort surged within Quirrell's mind, his wrath bubbling to the surface.

Voldemort was indeed furious, but not for the reason Quirrell had feared. It wasn't Blake's challenge that riled him up, but the suggestion that he had reached the limits of his knowledge. Worse still, there was a kernel of truth to it. While Quirrell had exaggerated a bit to spur Blake's loyalty, the reality was that Blake had learned nearly all of Voldemort's black magic. This was an outcome that even the Dark Lord hadn't anticipated.

Blake's rate of learning was unprecedented. In just a few months, the boy had mastered even the most difficult curses and spells. Spells that would take others weeks or even months to grasp were absorbed by Blake in a matter of hours.

Some nights, he mastered five or six dark arts techniques in one session. Voldemort, though an expert in the Dark Arts, was struggling to keep up with Blake's insatiable thirst for more knowledge.

Despite his anger, Voldemort found himself speechless. His vast reserves of dark magic were almost depleted—not because they were limited, but because Blake was advancing too quickly for even the Dark Lord to accommodate. This frustration mounted, but it was also tempered by the acknowledgement of Blake's immense potential.

Suddenly, a metallic chime rang out. A strange notification echoed in Blake's mind:

[Ding! The emotion of becoming angry from embarrassment is detected!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for getting a golden treasure chest!]

Quirrell, terrified of the consequences, felt compelled to speak in an effort to cover for Voldemort. "Do you really think," Quirrell stammered, "that the master would teach you everything before you fully dedicate your loyalty?"

Blake paused, considering the words. "You're right, Professor Quirrell." He accepted the explanation, but his eyes flickered with suspicion.

Voldemort, regaining control of his emotions, began to speak once more. His voice, though cold, was layered with the familiar temptation of power.

"I have greater, more profound abilities—secrets that can only be passed down to those who are truly mine." Voldemort's voice was soft yet commanding, an allure impossible for most to resist.

"Blake, I have admired your talents, but if you do not wish to join me, then I cannot grant you access to these powers."

Voldemort's words were laced with manipulation. Anyone else in Blake's position would have likely caved in immediately. But Blake was not just anyone.

A sly smile crept onto Blake's face as he replied, "If that's the case, then I'm willing to join you, great Dark Lord." His words seemed sincere, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that Voldemort did not miss.

"Do you really mean that?" Voldemort asked, his voice low and probing.

Blake's face darkened slightly. "To be honest, I don't like the situation I'm in right now. It feels like I have no choice. If I join you, I'll gain access to more powerful magic and grow stronger. But if I don't, I doubt I'll be allowed to leave this room alive."

His tone was measured, but the undertones of frustration were clear.

"I don't like being forced into something that isn't completely under my control."

Voldemort's lips curled into an ugly smile. This was what he wanted to hear. If Blake had immediately agreed to join, it would have raised suspicions. But now, seeing the boy's resistance, Voldemort felt more reassured. Geniuses like Blake always harbored pride and arrogance. Blake's dissatisfaction only made him more appealing in Voldemort's eyes.

"You're right to feel that way, Blake," Voldemort replied smoothly.

"Nothing in this world comes without a price. But trust me, you'll find that the rewards for joining my ranks are far greater than the cost." His tone grew darker as he continued,

"You will gain everything you desire—immense power, even immortality. I have walked the path toward eternal life farther than anyone else. I am living proof. I cannot be killed, Blake. I am... immortal."

Blake's eyes widened ever so slightly at Voldemort's claim, and though he quickly composed himself, Voldemort noticed the small slip in his expression. Voldemort knew he had hit a nerve.

The offer of eternal life was Voldemort's trump card. Blake was ambitious, that much was clear. And if he was anything like Voldemort had been in his youth, the promise of immortality would be irresistible.

"You see, Blake," Voldemort continued, his voice growing more intense, "power alone isn't enough. To truly rule, you need to be invincible, eternal. That's what I offer you—a way to live forever, unchallenged, unstoppable."

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