Three minutes later, the Transcendent State faded, and Tom collapsed onto the floor, limbs sprawled, gasping for air.
But the outcome? Extremely promising.
Though his magic weakened toward the end due to depletion, his control had improved by leaps and bounds. He only misfired twice—every other target was struck in exact order.
The combination of Embodiment and Transcendence was undoubtedly a trump card. The progress he made in just ten minutes was something many wizards couldn't grasp even in a lifetime.
Even Andros couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
With such terrifying talent—no, the power of the system—Tom was destined to become a wizard unmatched in all of magical history.
...
It took Tom half an hour to recover before he felt his condition stabilizing again. The dizziness faded, and the sense of weakness slowly retreated—an early sign of magical recovery.
Still tired, but he forced himself to focus. Compared to comfort, what he craved more was power.
Two lifetimes had taught him this deeply: only those who hold absolute power are worthy of enjoying life.
In his previous life, power meant money and influence.
Now, power… was magic.
The Sorting Hat placing him in Slytherin made perfect sense. Tom might argue he pursued power for survival or to live better, but that desire was still ambition—undeniable and deep-rooted.
Ambition, bloodline, talent—these three elements combined made him more Slytherin than any student alive.
Whoosh!
A flash of red light curved beautifully around an obstacle and struck its target dead on.
Yet Tom frowned. He wasn't satisfied.
He could still vividly recall the way Andros cast spells.
The speed, the force—Andros's spells flew faster, hit harder. If Tom's destructive force was a 1, Andros's was a solid 3 or 4—using the same amount of magic.
Tom knew he was still far from Andros's level, but he wasn't discouraged. The path of power was built step by step, spell by spell.
First improve speed. Then stabilize accuracy.
If he could master those two alone, he'd already be at the peak among ordinary witches and wizards.
...
Two full days passed.
Aside from eating at the Great Hall and sleeping in the dormitory, Tom practically lived inside the Room of Requirement.
He even revised his request for the room—upping the difficulty.
Now, the dummies weren't just randomly moving targets. Several knight-like puppets armed with blunt greatswords actively charged at him.
As soon as the cooldown for Embodiment ended, Tom activated it again—along with Transcendence.
This time, he didn't rush Andros. He simply let him take the lead, focusing entirely on learning his combat footwork and the art of casting while in motion.
"Tom, your body is far too weak," Andros muttered once the Embodiment session ended and he returned to the learning space. "You need to gather potion ingredients ASAP. Otherwise, your physical development won't keep up with your magical advancement."
"What's the rush?" Tom replied calmly. "The greater the task, the less room for haste. Rush it, and you invite failure."
"Besides, even if I had the potion ingredients right now, could I actually brew something that advanced? I've only had one Potions class so far. What, you think I can 'five-finger discount' a second time?"
Andros fell silent for a moment. He'd focused so much on acquiring the ingredients that he forgot—Tom was still a beginner in Potions. Even with guidance, failure was still likely.
"You'll need to buckle down starting next week, then. Potions isn't something you master by reading books. It takes real hands-on experience—and a whole lot of it—to form your own brewing intuition."
"Mm." Tom nodded. "I plan to scout the Forbidden Forest for ingredients. Whatever I can't find there, I'll buy."
"As long as you've got a plan," Andros approved.
…
Meanwhile, in a grand estate in Yorkshire—
A graceful, golden-haired woman was reading a letter just delivered by owl.
She was Elyse Greengrass, matriarch of the Greengrass family—and Daphne's mother.
As her eyes scanned the letter, Elyse let out an incredulous chuckle, equal parts amused and exasperated.
The beginning was all affectionate whining and sentimental lines—Daphne missing her terribly. That part, Elyse quite enjoyed.
Then the tone shifted sharply: complaints. The hardships of Hogwarts life, how tough things were...
And then, the kicker—right at the end, Daphne asked for five hundred Galleons.
It hadn't even been a full week since term started!
And she'd already burned through the money she left with?
Elyse knew better. She'd been to Hogwarts. She knew exactly what the living conditions were like—no one starved there, and certainly not her daughter.
Five hundred Galleons? The little princess had officially evolved into a gold-devouring beast.
At first, Elyse wondered if Daphne had been bullied, forced to cough up money. But as she read more closely—the playful tone between the lines, the way some letters curled up as if she couldn't help smiling while writing—it was clear.
Her daughter was enjoying school quite well.
So why the big ask?
As Elyse pondered, a soft voice came from outside the room.
"Mum, did sister send a letter back?"
Turning, Elyse smiled and waved. "Astoria, come in. Yes, your sister wrote back. She's crying poverty now."
A slender little girl walked in, wearing a pale dress. Her features were delicate and lovely, but her skin was ghostly pale.
Her hair, which should've been the same golden shade as her mother and sister, was a dull, silvery white—faded from malnutrition.
Her arms were so thin her veins were visible, as if a gust of wind could blow her away.
A flicker of sadness passed through Elyse's eyes, but she quickly masked it. No need to let Astoria see that.
The girl stepped up to the writing desk, quickly reading through the letter.
"Mum," she asked curiously, "does it cost a lot of money to attend Hogwarts?"
"Of course not." Elyse laughed softly, shaking her head. "Your sister's just always been extravagant. She's probably seen some pretty jewelry or clothes she couldn't resist."
With her daughter beside her, Elyse began drafting a reply.
She'd send the money, of course—500 Galleons wasn't all that much. But she'd expect a proper explanation from Daphne.
Otherwise, next term's allowance might be... under negotiation.
Astoria's pale blue eyes darted thoughtfully as she left the room, returning quietly to her own.
She opened a drawer and took out a small coin pouch.
Inside it—1,000 Galleons. Her personal savings.
If her sister needed money, then she'd give it to her.
She had nowhere else to spend it anyway.