After Louis left, Dumbledore sat in silence, staring at the book spread out on his desk.
The illustration of Merlin upon the page showed him surrounded by birds in a scene of harmony.
Only after a long while did Dumbledore lift his head to look at the portraits of the other headmasters.
"Arrogant! Outrageously arrogant!"
It wasn't just one headmaster who spoke, but all of them, their opinions unanimous.
They all clamored at once about Louis' terrifying words, many even convinced that this boy was more audacious than Voldemort himself had ever been.
Phineas Nigellus Black, being a pure-blood supremacist, was the most furious of them all.
"What is he thinking? Does he mean to set himself against every pure-blood family? Not even Merlin himself would dare such madness!"
Phineas was livid, almost bursting from his frame in his desire to duel Louis then and there.
"And what has that got to do with you? Do you even have a family left? How many Blacks are still around?"
Dilys Derwent, who had never gotten along with Phineas, shot him a cold glance. Her words hit like a blow, leaving Phineas stunned and speechless on the spot.
"What do you think, Dumbledore?" asked Armando Dippet, the youngest among the group of portraits and well aware of his place.
He knew full well that he was just a portrait, and that their opinions carried little weight. Only those who had gone mad in their frames truly believed their endless shouting would make a difference.
Dumbledore gave a wry smile and shook his head. "It seems this Mr. Wilson has given us quite the fright."
"You see him as a threat?" Dilys pressed.
"No… not a threat. He is honest, and he lacks ambition. He is fundamentally different from Tom back in the day," Dumbledore replied. "Let us hope the right guidance will help him keep that heart unchanged."
---
Two days later, during curfew.
When his roommates had all fallen asleep, Louis raised a hand and opened a hidden doorway in the wall, stepping through with Hastur into one of the Room of Requirement's secret chambers.
He approached the cauldron bubbling and gurgling away, then casually took up a carbon rod to lift a piece of magical cloth from the brew.
The cloth, once dyed a purplish-black, shed its coating of liquid as it rose, revealing a bright crimson hue beneath.
That was proof enough—the liquid had successfully transformed the material. This magical cloth could now serve as a vessel for enchantments.
After two days of brewing, the preliminary preparations were essentially complete. What remained was the addition of auxiliary ingredients and the infusion of magic.
Once simmered for another half a month, the cloth would be fully finished.
As for what magic to imbue it with, Louis had long since made his decision: the power of the Rat Talisman.
Nothing could be more wondrous than a cloth capable of giving life to statues. Still, Louis intended to place some restrictions upon it, ensuring it would not be able to awaken anything too powerful.
After adding the auxiliary ingredients, Louis' expression grew solemn. His eyes gleamed, and the phantom image of the Rat Talisman surfaced within them.
The talisman's image, however, was already marked with countless cracks—yet it still had a little more refinement left before it was truly complete.
The power of motion and stillness flowed into the cauldron. Guided by dark magic, it did not disperse, but instead fused entirely into the viscous liquid before slowly seeping into the fabric.
It was a long process. Over the course of half a month, the power of motion and stillness would constantly reshape the structure of the magical cloth, until it was fully infused with the talisman's essence.
When he was done with this round of brewing, Louis led Hastur back out, phasing through the wall into another illusory chamber.
This is the main body of the Room of Requirement—its most primitive form.
Everything here seemed formless, shifting and changing at any given moment.
"I need a room for potion-brewing."
Louis' calm voice echoed in the illusory space, and in the blink of an eye, the dreamlike surroundings solidified, gradually forming into a potion chamber he knew well.
This wasn't the first time Louis had witnessed the transformations of the Room of Requirement, but each time still managed to amuse him.
"All right… let's continue the ritual." Louis rubbed his hands together, then pulled from his storage space a cauldron filled with thick, purplish-black liquid.
This was one of the bases he had brewed over the past two days. To make his later research on Dark Qi magic more convenient, Louis had spent his free time brewing dozens of such bases and storing them away for later use.
After all, his storage space existed outside the concept of time—nothing inside would ever spoil.
He sprinkled in a prepared powder-like ingredient, then placed both hands on the cauldron's rim, shut his eyes, and began to chant.
With his murmured incantations, his hands became wreathed in black miasma. The liquid inside the cauldron began to bubble and release purple-black vapors, quickly filling the entire chamber.
Suddenly, Louis opened his eyes. Dark mist roiled within them, but in an instant, it was suppressed by the starlight gleaming in his gaze.
It did not hinder the ritual. Louis parted his lips and spat out three sharp syllables:
"Gan! Wen! Chui!"
The cauldron erupted. Black gas burst forth like a volcanic explosion, surging to the ceiling and condensing into a spiraling cloud of violet and shadow.
From the heart of that cloud, three figures gradually emerged, before descending to kneel before Louis.
Gan, Wen, and Chui—dark assassins from Jackie Chan Adventures, powerful yet disposable pawns bound to the will of Dark Qi sorcerers.
According to the original tale, their base forms belonged to the third tier of expendables. Each one could give the protagonist serious trouble, though in the grand scheme of things, they weren't too exceptional.
Now, standing before Louis, the three dark assassins dropped to one knee, saluting him with reverence.
"Cannon fodder or not, they don't look half bad," Louis mused, rubbing his chin as he examined them. Judging by the aura of Dark Qi, their strength was impressive.
Taking down two Death Eaters apiece would be an easy task—and a satisfying one at that.
More importantly, they were immortal. Even if destroyed, they could regenerate from the Dark Qi itself. Perfectly qualified as expendable shock troops—were it not for their limited numbers, the trio could easily rival the Shadowkhan as the top-tier cannon fodder.
But Louis hadn't gone through the trouble of performing this Dark Qi ritual merely to summon three disposable killers.
After leaving summoning marks upon them—allowing him to call them forth at will—he waved a hand to dismiss the assassins, then turned back to the cauldron still bubbling with violet-black fumes.
This time, however, he added a special material midway into the ritual.
The pulpy flesh of a pumpkin infused with the demonic miasma of the Water Demon!
The instant the pulp sank into the mixture, the power of Dark Qi spiked violently, nearly bursting the cauldron apart.
Louis' eyes flashed. Prepared for this, he immediately unleashed all of his internal Dark Qi to suppress it. At the same time, the Rooster Talisman's glow flared in his pupils—double suppression pinning the boiling demonic energy in place.
Within the liquid, the pumpkin flesh began to corrode, the trapped magic inside awakening and struggling to escape. Yet under Louis' dual restraint, it had no way out—forced instead to merge with the bubbling concoction.
Even so, the Water Demon's aura stubbornly clung to its independence, only slowly being dyed black during the fusion.
At last, the miasma of the Water Demon completely transformed!
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