Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 169 169: Swear to Me Your Eternal Loyalty

"Oh, so it's this boy."

Inside the study space, Grindelwald, who had been silently observing the scene, spoke as if a sudden realization had struck him.

"Does he know about that thing?" Tom asked in his heart.

"Mm. Vogel should have told him. Try it out in a bit. Even if he doesn't know, the Sanders behind him certainly does."

Tom still had one final card up his sleeve—sothing ant to confirm his identity beyond doubt. But the existence of this trump card was known only to the old Saints from decades ago. That was why he had chosen to first rely on Fiendfyre to prove himself.

"Mr. Riddle," Vogel asked softly in the outside world, "may I ask how you beca the Dark Lord's student?"

"It seems I've passed your test—at least preliminarily."

Tom didn't answer his question directly. Instead, he said calmly, "But you still haven't passed my test. This place is far too cramped. Co with . Every single one of you."

With that, Tom Apparated out of the café.

Vogel and the others exchanged glances, but still used Side-Along Apparition to follow the spatial ripples after him.

They landed in a quiet, secluded quarry on the outskirts of Paris. Tom touched down in the middle of the open space, and all twenty Saints followed—none missing.

When everyone had gathered and was waiting for his explanation, the young man finally spoke.

"Grindelwald once told ," Tom began, "that the Saints were his like-minded companions in the pursuit of a perfect world—friends. He never regarded the Saints as subordinates."

At his words, a wave of emotion swept through the group. Faces lit with excitent, and several of the older mbers' eyes brimd with tears. They couldn't help but call out Grindelwald's na and repeat that rallying cry from the past—For the Greater Good.

Tom could not help but inwardly sigh at the man's charisma and influence. Even as a fallen leader, his grand vision now just a dream, there were still so many who cherished his mory.

Tom let the silence stretch for a mont, waiting for their emotions to settle. When he spoke again, his tone had cooled noticeably.

"I have nothing to do with you. If it weren't for the fact that I told him about what happened in the Arizona Reserve, and he asked to give you a hand, I would never have co to Paris to gather you."

"Grindelwald trusted you. That was his self-confidence, and his recognition of your worth. But I…" His eyes hardened. "I only know one truth—people's hearts change."

Vogel's face shifted, and the old crone among them grew openly furious.

You dare question my loyalty to the Dark Lord?

Even if you are his student—this is unacceptable!

"Don't look at like that," Tom said, unfazed by their anger. "Do you still rember what he did here in Paris all those years ago?"

His aura shifted. In his right eye, a strange, glassy azure gleam flashed.

He turned gracefully, wand tracing a circle in the air.

Blue flas leapt up, forming a complete ring in an instant.

"Saints," Tom said, arms spreading wide, "as you did sixty-five years ago—walk through the fire, and pledge to your eternal loyalty."

The old Saints fell into a daze. For a heartbeat, they could almost believe Grindelwald himself stood before them—that sa spirited revolutionary who had vowed to tear down the Statute of Secrecy and lead wizards into the sunlight.

And in a sense, they weren't mistaken.

Tom had indeed mastered the Protego Diabolica spell, but without the built-in ability to discern loyalty—sothing that required seamlessly blending Legilincy into the magic. A task far easier said than done.

So, this ti, he'd taken a different approach—having Grindelwald himself, through the study space, cast it personally.

Almost without thinking, the furious old woman was the first to rush into the flas.

She erged unscathed, standing respectfully behind Tom with hands at her sides.

"My Lord," she said, voice steady, "my loyalty to you is as it has always been—eternal, unchanging."

The other elders followed just a heartbeat later. The younger descendants hesitated, but under the stern glares of their seniors, they too closed their eyes and charged through. When they ca out unhard, relief washed over them—and their gazes toward Tom now carried a deep awe.

To let soone pass unhard through Fiendfyre—that was sothing they had only ever heard about in their elders' stories. Never had they expected Tom to do it himself.

Now, there was not a shred of doubt left about his identity.

A short while later, only one man still stood outside the ring of fire. Tom regarded him with amused eyes.

"Etienne, what are you still dithering for?" Vogel snapped sharply. "Get over here and show your loyalty to the Lord."

The man nad Etienne forced a calm expression. "Vogel, he cannot be Grindelwald's student. This is just a trick. The boy is the Ministry's pawn. Don't trust him!"

By now, Vogel and the others had already sensed sothing was off. Etienne's expression had betrayed him.

Tom casually tossed him a crystal vial. Vogel caught it without thinking.

"Hold him down. Give him Veritaserum."

Etienne's face drained of color. He instantly tried to Apparate away—but the calm blue flas suddenly lashed out like a whip, forcing him back.

When he still tried to flee, Vogel's fury erupted.

Under the combined assault of several Saints, Etienne was quickly disard and forced to his knees before Tom.

Vogel roughly forced a few drops of Veritaserum down his throat. Monts later, the potion took hold, and the interrogation began.

It didn't take many questions for Vogel's expression to grow darker—tinged with sha.

Etienne—and in fact, his entire family—had already betrayed the Saints. They were the French Ministry's planted spies, placed to monitor every Saint's move.

The irony stung. Just monts ago, they'd thought Tom's actions were unnecessary. Now, the slap to the face was deafening. Vogel didn't hesitate—he cast the Cruciatus Curse in raw fury, Etienne's screams shrill enough to make Tom frown.

With a flick of his wand, Tom tied Etienne's tongue in a knot, silencing him completely.

"How do Saints normally deal with traitors?" Tom asked idly, spinning his wand between his fingers.

Vogel's eyes were bloodshot, his voice low and cold. "We pull them up by the roots—leave none alive."

"Mr. Riddle," he said with deadly resolve, "the Etienne family will not live to see tomorrow's sunrise."

"Make it clean."

"Yes."

From the interrogation, Tom also learned that the Etienne family still held considerable influence in France—akin to the Malfoys in Britain, perhaps even greater.

The family was large, spanning three generations, with over a dozen mbers.

Yet, with just one sentence from him, that ancient house would be erased from history.

"So this… is the allure of power?" Tom murmured inwardly. A fleeting satisfaction flickered in his eyes—but quickly faded to stillness.

"No."

The boy's voice was quiet, almost to himself. "This is power—but it is not your hunger for it."

"This… is Grindelwald's power."

Inside the study space, the proud First Dark Lord laughed.

"Tom… from now on—this is yours."