A platinum light emerged from the reward information on the system panel. Char's eyes widened, first in disbelief, then in a fiery blaze of excitement. His breathing grew shallow. A Blood Jade that had originally provided Silver-level rewards had actually been upgraded to the Platinum level. This was a monumental leap, instantly making it the highest-level plant Char could produce.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Even if this is similar to what Voldemort said about using magical creature blood to purify one's own, even if it falls into the category of very advanced Dark Magic Transfiguration, this magnitude of improvement is too exaggerated. A thoughtful look appeared in his eyes. Could it be because the strength of the Kraken's blood is so much greater than that of the other two 5X-level creatures?
He felt this was the most likely explanation. After all, he could now kill an Acromantula on his own. He could even put up a fight against a dragon. But the Kraken… if he hadn't prepared the [Giant Killer] toxin in advance, he would have been destroyed. Most other 5X-level magical beasts would be nothing but food for it. The Ministry's rating system was flawed, he realized, too dependent on the number of wizard deaths a creature had caused. The Kraken, living deep in the sea, had never killed a wizard, so its rating was not as high as it should have been. Only those who had actually encountered it could know its true power.
He shook his head, his gaze once again falling on the third set of Blood Jade. His brows furrowed. The reward information was not yet clear, which meant the transformation was still in progress. The reward light ball was flickering again, though it was much better than before. It seems the situation is still very unstable, he thought. It's not as simple as just pouring Kraken blood on it. It's like the Dark Arts of Transfiguration. You can't just gulp down the blood of three magical creatures and be instantly reborn. If it were that easy, the magical creatures of the wizarding world would have been hunted to extinction long ago. What's more crucial here than the blood is the sophisticated technique of modulating the magic within it, of making it blend harmoniously.
Unfortunately, he didn't know how to do that. The version of the knowledge Voldemort had originally given him, aside from the detailed steps for absorbing the first type of blood, had only given a brief overview of the process for three types, and nothing at all for seven. It was all empty talk, a clear attempt to use the knowledge as bait to lure Char into doing his bidding.
At that moment, Char fell into deep thought. He really wanted this bait. A Platinum-grade herb that could be mass-produced… the importance of that could not be overstated. The Blood Jade was crucial to the progress of his Legendary Power and Legendary Life. He had clearly felt its benefits in his fight with the Kraken. If he hadn't harvested a wave of them before, he might not have survived the first blow. The benefits of even a small upgrade to a legendary ability were immense. The chance to obtain a higher-level Blood Jade reward was one he would do his best to seize.
But to work for Voldemort? He refused from the bottom of his heart. To take the bait without getting hooked… even in an ordinary workplace, that required a certain amount of leverage. And this was Voldemort. The difficulty was almost unimaginable.
Unless, he thought, a flash of inspiration striking him, I can capture what Voldemort desires most. The Philosopher's Stone. If he could come up with some breaking news about it, Voldemort might be more willing to part with his bait. And if the news wasn't true… that was none of Char's business. At the same time, an idea began to form in his mind about how to get through the Ministry's protective spell and retrieve the Pute fruit from the Isle of Drear. After a long moment of thought, he took out the parchment and began to write.
Quirrell was reporting to Voldemort. "Master, the boy hasn't bled in two days. Nor has he spoken. We asked him about the Devil's Snare before, but he hasn't told us yet." He added quietly, "Master, is this boy playing us for a fool?"
Voldemort frowned. "Impossible. I felt it before. There are traces of Dark Magic Transformation in his blood. And the frequency of his experiments proves how deep his desire for power is. There's no way he wouldn't contact me. Unless old Dumbledore is on guard—"
Just then, Char's handwriting appeared on the parchment. "Senior. I want to know how to use the blood of three magical animals to transform."
A look of surprise appeared in Voldemort's eyes. This boy, asking about this so soon? He grew even more interested. Could it be that in the two days he was gone, he found a place and completed the first step of his transformation? Did he successfully use the blood of a 5X-level magical beast to transform his own bloodline?!
He knew this path well. It was the same one he had taken. But he had come to Dark Magic Transfiguration much later, and had only completed his first transformation in his fifth year, using the blood of the thousand-year-old basilisk. Char was nearly four years ahead of him. Even with my guidance, Voldemort thought, this is enough to prove that the boy's talent in dark magic is truly extraordinary.
But his expression then turned cold. The knowledge he gave out had hidden costs. A follow-up would not be so simple. A strange smile appeared on his lips as he wrote on the parchment. "Junior. Of course, I want to give you some pointers. But you have to know, the dark art of Transfiguration is not something you can find everywhere. The knowledge I gave you before was stolen from my home. This alone has caused my parents to scold me severely and even threaten to cut off all ties with me. If I steal again… I might not have a home anymore. But if you can give me something valuable, even just some information that would allow me to negotiate terms with my parents, I would definitely beg them."
Quirrell whispered, "Master, can that little Hufflepuff really provide any useful information? He might not have access to much of value."
Voldemort sneered. "It doesn't matter if he can't give it to me now. As long as the desire for this knowledge is strong enough in his heart, he will follow my orders, steal, rob, do whatever it takes to get information about the Philosopher's Stone for me. And given his status, there might be some surprises."
At that same moment, Char looked at Voldemort's handwriting, a strange look in his own eyes. Voldemort was setting out his bait. A pity. The fish was about to eat the bait, hook and all, and then demand that the fisherman bring him more. He hesitated, writing and crossing out words on the paper. Voldemort, seeing this, grew even more interested. Could it be that he really has some news?
He wrote again, his words bewitching. "Junior. No one in this world wants you to succeed more than I do. You know, from the first day you enrolled, the professors have been saying that they are not optimistic about your talent. Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick—they all think you'll never amount to anything. Think about the pitying look in their eyes. Don't you want to impress them? Don't you want to prove them wrong? Don't you want everyone to kneel at your feet? In one's lifetime, there are not many opportunities to change one's destiny."
The words were like the last straw. Char's handwriting suddenly became clear. "Okay, Senior. This is a secret, a secret I heard by chance. You must not tell anyone." He wrote, word by word, "I found out that Headmaster Dumbledore and the others seem to be moving something. I heard it once in my aunt's office. Her voice was very low, but my ears are very good. I heard there's an island in the sea not far from Hogwarts, surrounded by elaborate protective magic. There are many dangers inside. It is said that something very useful is hidden on that island."
Voldemort's gaze froze. Countless thoughts flashed through his mind. Quirrell shuddered. "Master," he said, his voice trembling, "the Philosopher's Stone is at Hogwarts. It can't be on some island. Hogwarts is the safest place in the wizarding world."
But Voldemort seemed to have figured something out. "No," he said coldly. "Dumbledore is cunning. Why would he place something as important as the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts, and let so many people know about it? He never trusts anyone. Unless… this is an attention trap. In fact, there is only a fake in there. Or, when I finally reach the final level after all my hard work, there's nothing there, and that old bastard Dumbledore is waiting for me! That's it. The real Philosopher's Stone must be kept in a place that is rarely visited and unexpected. Damn it. I almost fell for Dumbledore's trick! Sly old bee!"
Quirrell couldn't find any fault with the analysis. It sounded reasonable. But it was a little hard to accept. It meant that all his previous plans were worthless. It was Char who had made the great discovery. What about his own contributions? Even if the Dark Lord was successfully resurrected, would he still have to be Char's subordinate? He had to bear all the suffering, while all the benefits went to Char? Who could stand that?
He tried to persuade him. "Master, you can't necessarily believe everything he says. What if he heard wrong? Or made it up to trick you into giving him the knowledge? We have to be on guard."
But Voldemort was confident in his ability to see into people's hearts, and firmly believed that Char, at the end of his rope with his limited talent, had no chance of resisting the allure of Dark Magic Transfiguration. "Quirrell, do you think I'd be fooled by a little trick? Do you mean to say that your clumsy lies could deceive me?"
Quirrell waved his hand quickly. "No, no, Master, of course not! I just mean we should be more cautious. We've already put so much effort into the security levels at Hogwarts, and now we have to conquer an island? What if something goes wrong?"
Just then, Char's handwriting appeared again. "Senior. You've helped me so much. To exchange a piece of information for such precious magical knowledge, I'm really taking advantage. How about this: let's make an appointment and go to the island together. If there's anything you can use, you can take it. I'll take care of the rest. Don't worry, I'm the heir of the Sprout family, and my aunt will protect me."
Voldemort was stunned for a moment, then his face filled with admiration. "See, Quirrell? I told you this little Char is a very particular person!" He immediately began to write out the answers to Char's questions.
Quirrell felt a bitterness in his heart, a hatred so deep he could almost gnash his teeth. He had to pay so much for every bit of knowledge he got from Voldemort. How did Char Sprout have it so easy? An idea came to him. He remembered Voldemort saying that Char smelled good. Could it be that the Dark Lord… had that kind of habit? He hesitated. He was quite pretty himself. Or… he could be more proactive. He couldn't let this newcomer step on his head. He gritted his teeth, held his throat, and pinched his fingers, stroking the back of his neck, which was also Voldemort's Adam's apple. "Master… actually, I—"
Voldemort paused. "???" Crucio!
Char, unaware of the drama unfolding on the other side, focused on the magical knowledge Voldemort had provided. With his bronze-level mastery of Dark Magic Transfiguration, the new knowledge was complicated, but not too difficult to understand. Countless flashes of inspiration surged through his mind. "The balance and fusion of three kinds of blood magic," he murmured. "I see."