Chapter 328 : Heading Towards Legend
The second method was indeed effective and fast, but it had a glaring flaw—it required a vast number of souls for research. And where there were souls, there had always been death.
Tragically, the souls of those who died naturally were almost impossible for wizards to capture. Such souls rarely lingered in one place.
Therefore, to employ this method, one needed to capture the soul of someone who had been killed. Only those souls could be studied or used.
Phineas, of course, wouldn't resort to killing people himself.
Even without using the Killing Curse, taking lives—even just a few—would taint one's soul. And for someone aiming to transcend mortality, any impurity could become an insurmountable barrier.
Thus, Phineas turned to specially crafted alchemical devices, which could collect souls at the moment of death—souls taken by others.
Luckily, this was New York—one of the most bustling metropolises in the United States.
In the Clinton district—better known by its old name, Hell's Kitchen—death was tragically not uncommon.
As one of the most infamous neighborhoods on Manhattan Island, Hell's Kitchen had long been known for its dense working-class population, particularly Irish immigrants. Tensions, crime, and hardship marked the area. While it was no longer the anarchic danger zone depicted in movies, it remained a place where misfortune wasn't rare.
In such a place, there were more than enough casualties daily for Phineas to conduct his research.
But of course, he couldn't remain in Hell's Kitchen forever—nor could he be present at every scene of death.
His own safety would be at risk. Even a near-legendary wizard wasn't immune to bullets, and it wouldn't take much—a well-aimed kitchen knife or a cheap firearm—to end his pursuit prematurely.
Therefore, alchemical tools were essential. He planted them in likely accident zones around Hell's Kitchen, and regularly swapped them out for new ones.
These soul-collecting tools were a result of a rare opportunity he'd received from Dumbledore: the chance to study Voldemort's Horcruxes alongside the Deathly Hallows.
Back then, Phineas had briefly possessed all three Hallows—the Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and the Resurrection Stone. An accidental convergence had taken him to the threshold of the underworld itself, where he had witnessed the passage of souls beyond.
Later, with Nicolas's guidance, Phineas discovered that the Veil in the Department of Mysteries acted as a passage to the underworld—drawing souls through. That revelation became the foundation for his soul-capturing invention.
Though its function was extraordinary—perhaps even unique in the magical world—the appearance of the tool was deceptively plain. It resembled a European kerosene streetlamp.
In the old days, these lamps were lit by lamplighters before dusk and extinguished at dawn. While rare in the United States, they weren't unheard of.
Thus, Phineas placed them unobtrusively in Hell's Kitchen, disguised as streetlights. They even glowed when darkness fell, mimicking the real thing. Their fuel, however, was not kerosene—it was the souls within.
This was one of the few soul-related uses Phineas permitted himself.
…
As he deployed his devices, Phineas entered a year-long seclusion to deepen his magical studies, venturing out only to replace the soul-lamps.
His retreat might have lasted longer—if not for an unforeseen complication. The Muggle he had controlled with the Imperius Curse for over a year began to exhibit strange behavior, leading to his discovery by MACUSA operatives.
They tracked the Muggle back to Phineas's apartment.
Fortunately, Phineas had warded the apartment well. The moment the Aurors Apparated nearby, his enchantments warned him, and he apparated in time.
"Unlucky," Phineas muttered in a dim alley in Hell's Kitchen, leaning against the wall and scanning his surroundings.
"Well, that's that. I suppose I've had enough time—controlling a Muggle for a full year was more than I expected."
He couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret. He had been so close to stepping into legend. His magical power, his mastery of spells, his comprehension of the arcane—they were already legendary.
Only his soul remained.
Strictly speaking, Phineas could have advanced already. But he had deliberately restrained himself.
True ascension required more than power. It demanded a ritual—a transformation both physical and spiritual.
One must shed their human shell, becoming a magical being wholly attuned to the arcane. The soul, too, had to be transformed—refined, elevated.
Phineas was unwilling to take shortcuts like others who rushed into legend, leaving behind cracks in their foundation that took decades to mend.
He wanted more than raw power. He wanted control, stability, transcendence. That required a far deeper understanding of the soul—something only a handful could grasp.
Dumbledore had barely achieved it. Nicolas had mastered it—but only after five centuries of study.
After catching his breath, Phineas slipped quietly from the alley.
He avoided Apparition. If he used it now, MACUSA would trace his magical signature. They hadn't caught him yet, but they would if he was careless.
He walked. A mundane, Muggle method—but the safest.
Just as he predicted, two hours later, two Aurors Apparated into the alley. Their job: track down unregistered foreign wizards.
They still believed Phineas was hiding in Europe. After all, many forms of secret magic remained outside even the Council of Elders' understanding—especially the kind practiced in Nicolas's estate, now passed on to Phineas.
"He's gone," one Auror said to a woman beside him.
She frowned. "British magic. The Apparition signature matches."
"Then what's he doing in the U.S.? According to our investigation, he never left that Muggle's house once since arriving."
The woman nodded. "But look at the magic traces. All the unexplained activity in New York over the past year—it's all him."
The man blinked. "So he did leave the apartment… but left no trace?"
"Exactly. Even MACUSA doesn't monitor Apparition constantly. If not for the surge in unknown spells, we wouldn't have checked the No-Maj population."
"Where do you think he went?"
"We'll check every site where unknown magic was recorded—especially Hell's Kitchen."
They vanished.
Their next appearance was at the site of one of Phineas's soul-lamps—now removed.
He had taken them all before fleeing. Leaving those soul-lamps behind would risk MACUSA discovering his secrets.
The Aurors continued appearing and disappearing, combing Hell's Kitchen—but all the magical traces had been wiped clean.
For now, their pursuit had to pause.
Meanwhile, Phineas, with his soul-lamps safely stowed, boarded a train to Arizona.
Phineas had never relied on his American connections before, and for good reason.
Conducting soul research among his own subordinates would have been… delicate. Even the most loyal men might object to such work. After all, no one with even a shred of conscience would willingly serve a being who trafficked in souls.
True, his collection was indirect—souls harvested by others, gathered like discarded coins in the wake of violence. But that technicality meant nothing to the righteous. He could never be certain which of his followers might turn on him, claiming some moral high ground. Better to work alone than invite betrayal.
Now, circumstances forced his hand.
His research had reached its zenith; he no longer needed fresh souls. The Aurors had already driven him from New York. And with the Council of Elders suddenly targeting the Consul family, only one option remained:
It was time to reclaim what his subordinates owed him.
His headquarters lay in Phoenix, Arizona—a city that not only shared a name with him, but also served as a perfect base of operations.
Phoenix, in 1995, was the sixth-largest city in the U.S.—a bustling metropolis with the infrastructure and population density to provide cover. The idea had been Damon's, but Phineas had agreed wholeheartedly.
The headquarters was located in a pub in South Phoenix. Like the Blacks' European base, it blended in among Muggle establishments—this one, however, was a standard Muggle tavern.
In America, pure wizarding communities were rare. Information flowed more freely among Muggles, and Muggle buildings offered better camouflage.
The tavern was called Chocolate—named after Phineas's pet cat. The name also symbolized warmth and safety.
Locals loved the pub. Its reputation for security attracted many women, which in turn drew young men. Many couples had met there. Among regulars, it had earned a second name: White Chocolate—a place for serendipitous romance.
A day after his departure from New York, Phineas stood before its doors.
His hesitation didn't stand out. Many others lingered at the entrance, debating whether to enter, uncertain whether the rumors of safety and love were true.
American culture was open, and casual flings were common. But many still yearned for lasting love—something genuine, something loyal.
Phineas wasn't here for love.
He had come to prepare for legend.
(Phoenix was the sixth largest city in the United States in the official census of 2000, but in 2005 the population had surpassed Philadelphia and officially became the fifth largest city in the United States. The timeline at this time was 1995, so the situation in 2000 was taken.)
(The same reason applies to Hell's Kitchen, also known as the Clinton District. In fact, Hell's Kitchen at this time is not the kind of place where burning, killing and looting are common in movies and TV dramas, because the real estate value here is low, the rent is low, and it is close to the famous art performance center, Broadway. Therefore, many artists who came to New York to pursue their dreams of stardom once lived in Hell's Kitchen before they became famous. Therefore, the public security in Hell's Kitchen is actually quite good now. And because of its geographical location close to the business district of Midtown Manhattan, the real estate value and rent here have also grown significantly, even exceeding the average of the Manhattan area.)