Ch: 73-83
Chapter 73: The Soul Operating Table and the Eye of Truth
The orphanage was dead silent in the middle of the night, with only the occasional passing vehicle casting moving shadows across Moen White's mottled ceiling.
Morn was not asleep.
He was standing in the center of the room, conducting a high-intensity combat simulation that only he knew about.
Among his imaginary enemies stood the remnant soul of Lord Voldemort, whom he had seen before the mirror of erised, possessing an S-rank soul pressure.
"Simulation start."
Morn's gaze sharpened. [Nerve Swiftness] activated. His body dodged to the left.
Simultaneously, he switched his Talent slot — [Heart of Embers].
Flames condensed in his palm, ready for a counterattack.
Immediately after, to counteract the recoil, he switched again — [Gravity Interference].
Buzz... Stutter.
In that very instant.
In that infinitesimal 0.3-second gap between switching from 'Flame' to 'Gravity', Morn felt an extremely subtle stagnation in his soul circuit. It was like an old revolver jamming for a split second while rotating its cylinder.
"Too slow."
Morn stopped his movements, a layer of fine cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"When facing a Young Wizard from Hogwarts, or even that group of third-rate Dark Wizards in Knockturn Alley, this 0.3-second delay is inconsequential. But if I'm facing Dumbledore, or Lord Voldemort in his prime..."
This 0.3-second 'reload time' was enough for an Avada Kedavra curse to hit him three times.
He sat back on the edge of the bed, closed his eyes, and sank his consciousness into the deep layers of his soul space.
On the pale blue system panel before him, dozens of Talents he had hoarded like a hamster over the past year were densely packed. They were like a pile of disorganized parts, stuffing the warehouse known as the'soul'.
[Current Talent List (Partial):]
Sensory: Omni-Perception, Night Vision, Olfactory Enhancement, Vibration Perception... Physical: Nerve Swiftness, Fortified Physique, Chitinous Carapace (Inactive), Poison Resistance... magic: Heart of Embers, Silence Domain, Gravity Interference, Acid Spray, Transfiguration Affinity... Mental: Trinity, Psychological Manipulation, Occlumency... Special: Dark Magic Affinity (Purple · Incomplete), Free Flight... "Too cluttered."
Morn scrutinized these entries glowing with blue or white light, his gaze cold. "I've turned myself into a bloated stitched monstrosity. I don't need a hundred blunt knives; I need a scalpel that can cut through godhood."
"System, list the Talent Fusion plans."
[Performing compatibility calculations...]
[Based on the host's current combat style (high mobility, wandless casting, absolute rationality), the following three Fusion plans have been generated:]
Plan A: [War Behemoth]
Fusion Core: Fortified Physique + Chitinous Carapace + Acid Spray + Troll Strength.
Result: Abandon magical flexibility to pursue extreme physical defense and melee destructive power. Become a humanoid tank.
Morn's evaluation: "Ugly and stupid. Rejected."
Plan B: [Elemental Storm]
Fusion Core: Heart of Embers + Gravity Interference + Silence Domain + All elemental affinities.
Result: Become a pure elemental battery, significantly increasing magical power but weakening physical mobility and mental defense.
Morn's evaluation: "Glass cannon. I'd be dead if I encountered mind control. Rejected."
Plan C: [Transcendent Ascension]
Fusion Core: 1. Integrate all 'Physical and Displacement' Talents to construct a perfect physical vessel.
2. Integrate all 'Output and Control' Talents to construct a universal casting circuit.
3. Integrate all 'Mental and Perception' Talents to attempt a qualitative change of the soul.
Result: Comprehensive balance, with the opportunity to touch the threshold of 'Rules'.
"Execute Plan C."
Morn did not hesitate for a second. His ambition was never to be a thug or a battery, but to be the one who controlled the chessboard.
[Command confirmed.]
[Activating Soul Furnace... Talent Fusion beginning.]
[Warning: This process will rewrite the host's life form. Pain level: S-rank. Continue?]
"Start."
As the command was issued, Morn felt as if his soul was being gripped tightly by an invisible giant hand and then thrown into a high-speed centrifuge.
That pain was not just physical tearing; it was more like someone was using a red-hot iron stylus to rewrite the code on his cerebral cortex, stroke by stroke.
His bones made a tooth-grinding popping sound as their density was restructured;
His blood washed through his vessels like boiling magma, forcibly merging the cluttered magic circuits together;
The most terrifying part was his brain, where countless information streams clashed wildly. The originally independent modules of 'Reason', 'Emotion', and 'Perception' had their boundaries broken and were forced into Fusion.
Morn gritted his teeth hard, not letting out a single scream.
He utilized the last bit of computing power remaining from [Trinity] to guide the flow of power within this chaotic storm.
Morn sat cross-legged on the floor of that small room in the orphanage, his upper body bare.
The moonlight outside the window was as pale as bone, shining on his sweat-drenched back.
His entire body's muscles were spasming at an extremely unnatural frequency, and it felt as if countless small snakes were crawling wildly under his skin. This was the sign that his blood vessels and nerves were undergoing a violent restructuring.
Pain.
It wasn't the sharp pain of being cut by a knife, but an acidic erosion rising from the depths of his genetic chain, as if every cell was being torn apart and then pieced back together.
"System, Talent Fusion progress..."
Morn clenched his teeth, his voice becoming hoarse and broken due to extreme endurance, "Report."
[Current progress: 89%.]
[Warning: Severe rejection reaction. 'Fire Element' rules are attempting to incinerate'Silence' rules. Suggest stopping...]
"Continue."
Morn coldly spat out those two words, his gaze showing not a hint of wavering.
His soul warehouse was too crowded.
Dozens of disorganized blue Talents plundered from Knockturn Alley were like a pile of bloated fat. Although they looked intimidating, in a high-end match, this scattered system would only become a fatal burden.
He didn't need to be a clown with a hundred parlor tricks.
He wanted to be the one and only, precisely operating god.
Crack.
With a tooth-grinding snap, his left shoulder blade fractured under the intense pressure of the gravity rules, only to be forcibly set back in the next second by his powerful self-healing. The newly grown bone became denser, taking on a texture similar to metal.
At the same time, a roar echoed in the depths of his brain.
The absolute rationality of [Trinity] was frantically devouring the data streams of [Psychological Manipulation] and [Occlumency].
Countless thought fragments collided and collapsed, attempting to construct a brand new, higher-dimensional mental core amidst the chaos.
[Progress: 99%...]
[Critical point breached.]
[Fusion complete.]
Boom—!
An invisible shockwave instantly erupted with Morn as the center.
The glass windows in the room silently turned to powder at this moment, and even the dust in the air seemed to be frozen in mid-air.
The pain receded like a tide, replaced by an unprecedented sense of etherealness and power.
Morn slowly opened his eyes.
Deep within his originally deep blue pupils, a ring of precise and cold golden light now emerged.
In his eyes, the world was no longer composed of superficial matter but was deconstructed into countless flowing lines and original code.
He saw the trajectory of the wind, the nodes of gravity, and even the equations of magic particles arranged in the air.
[Talent tree reconstruction complete.]
[Disordered data cleaned. Core system established:]
1. [Void Body (blue Limit)]
Fusion Source: Nerve Swiftness, Omni-Perception, Free Flight, Gravity Interference (Displacement part).
Description: Your physical body has reached the peak of mortality. You possess the vision of an eagle, the reactions of a leopard, and the instinct to break free from the shackles of gravity.
Evolution Direction: Devour high-dimensional creatures possessing'Space' or 'Immortality' to break the species lock.
2. [Source of Calamity (blue Limit)]
Fusion Source: Heart of Embers, Silence Domain, Gravity Interference (Attack part), Acid, etc.
Description: A chaotic magic container. You can transform magic into calamities (fire, sound, pressure) at will, without a wand, activated by a mere thought.
Evolution Direction: Devour higher purity 'Elemental Rules'.
3. [Eye of Truth (Purple Rule)] — [New! Qualitative Change!]
Fusion Source: Trinity, Occlumency, Psychological Manipulation.
Description: Quantitative change leads to qualitative change. Extreme computational power has birthed eyes that touch the truth.
Effect: Absolute Analysis (seeing through the underlying logic of magic), Soul Fortress (immunity to mental control), Multi-threaded Thinking.
4. [Dark Lord Candidate (Purple Incomplete)]
Description: An empty shell lacking its origin.
Evolution Direction: Devour high-purity souls of the same origin.
Morn stood up, feeling these four new pillars.
That sense of bloating had vanished, replaced by a fascinating sense of order. Now, even without using any magic, he could easily slaughter himself from ten minutes ago.
Just then, the golden ring in the center of his vision flickered slightly, and an unprecedentedly grand interface slowly unfolded on his retina.
It wasn't a mission; it was more like a map leading to the throne of God.
—— [Stairway to Divinity · Phase One] ——
Current Rank: Transcendent Being (Preliminary).
Unlock Condition: Master 5 complete Purple (Rule-grade) Talents.
Current Progress: 1 / 5 (Only [Eye of Truth] meets the standard).
Achievement Reward: Unknown.
[Note: [Dark Lord Candidate] is in an incomplete state and is not included in the statistics.]
[Note: [Void Body] and [Source of Calamity] have not yet broken through the rule barrier and are not included in the statistics.]
"Unknown..."
Morn stared at those two blurred words, a playful arc curling at the corner of his mouth.
Chapter 74: The Broken Window and the Perfect Lie
If it were specific 'gold' or 'attribute points', he might find it dull.
But for someone who already possessed the [Eye of Truth], nothing in this world held a more lethal attraction than the 'unknown'.
It represented a certain... higher-level gift that even the system could not easily define.
"In that case, let's fill them all up."
Morn's gaze swept across the few Talents that had not yet reached their limit.
The path was already very clear:
To repair [Dark Lord Candidate], he needed Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes.
To make [Source of Calamity] break through its limits, he needed more terrifying magical creatures.
To evolve [Void Body], he needed ancient bloodlines.
Everything pointed toward the upcoming new semester.
Morn walked to the broken window, letting the night wind blow against his powerful physique.
He looked into the distance, as if piercing through the darkness to see that black diary sleeping in Malfoy Manor.
"Senior Tom."
Morn whispered softly, a golden light swirling in his eyes.
"You cut your soul into fragments, trying to achieve immortality through it. And I..."
He reached out his hand and gently clenched it against the void.
"I will eat your fragments piece by piece to pave my... ladder to godhood."
...The night wind, mixed with London's characteristic coal smoke and cold rain, poured in through the completely shattered window, making the already somewhat moldy curtains in the room flap loudly.
Moen White sat bare-chested on the iron bed, his chest heaving violently.
Although the energy storm inside him had subsided, extreme heat still lingered on the surface of his newly restructured skin. Raindrops falling on his shoulders instantly turned into wisps of white steam.
Before he could fully adapt to those [Eye of Truth] that could analyze all things, a series of hurried and heavy footsteps came from the hallway.
"White! What was that damn noise?!"
The door was crudely twisted open with a spare key and then slammed heavily against the wall.
Mrs. Cole rushed in wearing a faded flannel nightgown, holding a flickering kerosene lamp.
Her face, which always carried a hungover flush, was now filled with terror and anger, but her scream caught in her throat when she saw the glass shards all over the floor and Morn'shivering' on the bed.
On her retinas, the originally gloomy and eccentric orphan now looked like a sufferer who had just crawled back from the edge of hell.
Morn didn't speak, only slowly raising his head.
Deep within his seemingly fear-filled eyes, a golden halo was silently rotating in the depths of his pupils.
[Eye of Truth · Psychological Suggestion]
[Target Locked: Mrs. Cole. Mental Defense: Extremely Low.]
[Implanted Emotions: Confusion, Force Majeure, Neglect.]
No wand was needed, not even words.
An invisible mental ripple instantly swept through Mrs. Cole's cerebral cortex.
Her adrenaline, which had spiked from the shock, instantly became disordered, and her anger was doused like a splash of cold water.
She stared blankly at Morn, her lips quivering: "Was it... was it a lightning strike? Or the gas pipe..."
Pop! Pop! Two crisp cracks, like firecrackers exploding, suddenly sounded in the narrow room, instantly drowning out the wind and rain outside.
The air seemed to be forcibly squeezed by some force.
Two figures wearing anachronistic robes appeared out of thin air on the floor of the room.
Mrs. Cole rolled her eyes and slid limply to the floor amidst the intense dizziness brought by the magical spatial displacement—her fragile Muggle brain activated its self-protection mechanism and she fainted directly.
"Merlin's beard... the magic readings here are about to burn out my Sneakoscope!"
The speaker was a short, plump Witch holding a brass instrument that was screaming madly and emitting a red light. It was Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office.
Beside her, a tall wizard in a dark trench coat had already raised his wand, the tip glowing with a dangerous red light, pointing it dead at Morn on the bed.
"Don't move! Keep your hands where I can see them!"
This was a senior Hit Wizard from the Ministry of Magic. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, and he radiated the scent of blood and rust from years of dealing with Dark Wizards.
Morn obediently raised his hands, his body still trembling slightly.
But in his vision, there was no fear.
[Eye of Truth · Absolute Analysis]
The world was dismantled in his eyes.
He didn't look at the wand, but at the ball of red light condensed at its tip.
That was the "Stupefy" spell.
But in Morn's eyes now, it wasn't just a ball of light, but a three-dimensional model woven from countless red magical threads. He clearly saw the trajectory of the magic flow, the nodes of the spell's construction, and even... the flaws.
"Loose structure. magic utilization rate is only 62%. The caster has an old injury in his left wrist, causing the aim to shift 0.3 centimeters down and to the right."
It was like a Professor proficient in quantum mechanics watching a primitive man swing a wooden club.
An absurd sense of calm welled up in Morn's heart. These were the so-called Ministry of Magic elites? In the face of the rules, they were simply full of loopholes.
"Who are you? What was that S-class energy burst just now?"
The Hit Wizard did not relax his guard just because Morn was a minor. The magic fluctuation detected just a moment ago was pure, violent, and filled with an unknown sense of rules; it didn't seem like something a student could produce, but more like an awakening Obscurus.
"I... I don't know..."
Morn held his head, his voice hoarse, with just the right amount of sobbing.
He began to mobilize materials from his Memory Palace, extracting the scenes of facing Quirrell and Lord Voldemort at the end of his first year as the background for his performance.
"That voice... he's screaming in my head... it's green light... green light everywhere..."
Morn muttered intermittently, staring blankly into the void as if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were standing there, "Don't come over... don't touch me..."
Hopkirk looked at the detector in her hand. The reading was slowly dropping, indicating that the energy source indeed came from this child's emotional loss of control.
"I remember now," she whispered to the Hit Wizard beside her. "This child is Moen White. Files show he was at the scene of that 'Hogwarts Basement Incident' a month ago. It's said he witnessed the death of that person's host with his own eyes."
"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)?" The Hit Wizard frowned, his wand lowering slightly, but still not retracted. "But this magic is too strong. If I don't confirm it clearly, I can't just write the report like this."
He strode to the bedside, grabbed Morn's chin, and forced those deep blue eyes to look at him.
"Look at me, boy. Don't lie."
The Hit Wizard's pupils constricted suddenly. Legilimency!
A crude and powerful mental force, like a red-hot steel needle, pierced into Morn's brain without warning. This was an extremely impolite, even illegal interrogation method, but in such emergencies, Aurors often possessed special privileges.
If it were before, Morn might have needed to fully operate Occlumency to construct a labyrinth.
But now... [Warning: Low-dimensional mental intrusion detected.]
[Talent Feedback: Eye of Truth · Soul Fortress — Passive Trigger.]
In Morn's perception, the opponent's intrusion was like a clumsy thief trying to pry open the vault door of a Swiss bank. He didn't even need to actively defend; the high-dimensional soul structure inherent in the [Eye of Truth] naturally formed an insurmountable wall of sighs.
"Since you want to see, I'll show you."
Instead of blocking it, Morn actively opened the "outer corridor."
In that 0.1-second gap of thought, he used extremely precise computing power to weave a segment of "false memory."
That was the "truth" of tonight:
In a nightmare, he saw Quirrell's rotting face, which suddenly turned into Lord Voldemort, screaming at him. Extreme fear caused the magic in his body to spiral out of control, shattering the window.
This memory was made incredibly lifelike by Morn, even perfectly replicating the accelerated heart rate and the sensation of cold sweat during fear.
The Hit Wizard's expression gradually relaxed from tension, finally turning into a hint of sympathy.
In Morn's mind, he saw that dark shadow that made the entire wizarding world tremble with fear, and he also felt the "real" terror deep within this boy's heart.
Chapter 75: Gilded Lies and Sincere Letters
...Enough.
The Hit Wizard withdrew his wand, and the stinging pain in the brain vanished.
He awkwardly stepped back, looked at Morn, who was sweating profusely and panting heavily, and then turned and nodded to Hepzibah.
"He's not lying. It's a typical case of post-traumatic stress from Dark Arts exposure. Fear triggered the magical power outburst."
"Poor child." Hepzibah sighed and waved her wand. "Reparo!"
Countless shards of glass flew up from the floor like a film played in reverse, piecing themselves back onto the window frame, the cracks healing until it was spotless and new.
Next, she pointed at Mrs. Cole, who was lying on the floor. "Obliviate."
"We will handle the memories here. The orphanage staff will only remember that you broke a cup during a nightmare." The Hit Wizard pulled a piece of chocolate from his pocket and threw it onto the bed, his tone softening slightly, "Eat this, Mr. White. Although this was an accident, I must remind you to control your emotions. If there is another energy burst of this magnitude, we will have no choice but to temporarily confiscate your wand for safekeeping."
...Thank you.
Morn grabbed the chocolate, his hands still trembling slightly, his eyes filled with gratitude and lingering fear.
The two Ministry of Magic officials exchanged glances and waved their wands again.
Snap! Two more sharp cracks sounded.
The oppressive feeling in the room instantly vanished, and the sickening official scent dissipated with it.
Morn maintained his curled position until he confirmed that there were no longer any abnormal magical fluctuations within the radar range of his Omni-Perception.
He slowly straightened up.
The horrified, helpless expression on his face instantly melted away like a wax sculpture.
He unwrapped the chocolate and took a bite, expressionless.
Too sweet. Sickeningly cloying.
Morn casually tossed the remaining chocolate into the trash can and walked over to the newly repaired window.
The glass reflected his current face.
Where was the slightest trace of fear in those deep blue eyes? There was only a slowly fading golden brilliance, seemingly mocking the entire world.
"Is this what they call authority?"
Morn whispered softly, gently tapping his finger on the glass, feeling the residual magical structure of "Reparo" on it.
"In my eyes, you are all flaws."
Outside the window, the rain had stopped.
The dark clouds dispersed, revealing a pale, waning crescent moon, like a sickle suspended above London.
Sunlight passed through the glass window, perfectly repaired by "Reparo," and shone onto Moen White's retina.
In his vision, this beam of morning light was not simply white, but was broken down by the Eye of Truthinto countless pulsating light particles.
He could clearly see the trajectory of every dust particle undergoing Brownian Motion in the air, and even predict which gap in the floor they would land in a second later.
Tap, tap. A rapid knocking sound interrupted his microscopic observation.
A large, brown-spotted Tawny Owl was standing on the windowsill, wings folded, clutching a heavy parchment envelope sealed with the Hogwarts wax stamp.
Morn pushed open the window, and the cold morning air, mixed with the unique smell of London soot and damp earth, rushed in.
The Tawny Owl shrank back slightly in fear—as an animal, it instinctively sensed a predatory aura emanating from the human before it, causing its feathers to stand on end.
"Don't be afraid, I don't eat owls... at least not today."
Morn took the envelope, casually tossed the owl a piece of beef jerky, and closed the window.
The envelope felt thick. Besides the standard acceptance letter, it contained a private letter that smelled faintly of ink and Potion.
Morn didn't rush to open it; instead, he held the envelope up to his eyes.
The golden halo deep within his pupils rotated slightly.
[Eye of Truth · Absolute Analysis]
Without opening it, his vision passed directly through the paper fibers.
On the handwriting penned by Professor Flitwick, Dean of Ravenclaw, Morn saw faint magical circuits attached to the ink. They were soft, light pink lines.
"A variation of the [Cheering Charm], mixed with trace amounts of [Calming Aura]."
Morn's fingertip gently rubbed the letter paper, feeling the subtle warmth that transferred to his pad, like lukewarm water.
"To soothe a student who supposedly'suffered a magical power outburst due to fear,' White Magicinvolving psychological suggestion was specially cast on the letter paper... That's a bit excessively gentle, Professor."
He opened the letter, and Professor Flitwick's sharp, scrawled handwriting came into view:
Dear Mr. White: The Ministry of Magic has informed Headmaster Dumbledore about the "small accident" that occurred with you. Please do not feel ashamed or fearful because of this; it is a common reaction when underage Wizards are frightened. If you feel uneasy or are having trouble sleeping, you are welcome to visit my office anytime after school starts. Poppy (Madam Pomfrey) has also prepared some harmless sedatives for you. Additionally, enclosed is the booklist for the new term. Please note that there are significant changes to this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks. With the most sincere regards, Filius Flitwick.
Morn casually set aside the letter, which was full of "humanitarian concern." He didn't need sedatives; he was fear itself.
His gaze fell upon the attached booklist.
After one glance, the corner of Morn's mouth couldn't help but twitch.
Break with a Banshee — by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls — by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags — by Gilderoy Lockhart
...A full seven books.
All of them were autobiographical novels by that blond fool.
"Gilderoy Lockhart..."
Morn's finger tapped lightly on the name, and a look of intense mockery flashed in his eyes.
Under the scrutiny of the Eye of Truth, the name did not represent an epic hero story, but rather a foam constructed from lies, Memory Charms, and excessive vanity.
"Stealing someone else's adventure story, erasing the original author's memory, and then publishing it under his own name."
Morn let out a soft laugh and tossed the booklist back onto the desk. "In a sense, he is also a clever predator. It's just a pity that he preys on fame, while I prey on power."
Compared to the Aurors in the Ministry of Magic who wielded wands but couldn't see the truth, a fraud like Lockhart, who "made the entire Wizarding World dance like monkeys," was actually more interesting to Morn. At least the commotion he caused in the bookstore would be the perfect cover.
Morn stood up and began packing his luggage.
The battered leather trunk was quickly filled. He took off the old Muggle jacket he wore for disguise and put on a well-tailored Wizard's robe, which had, however, absorbed a lot of the chilling atmosphere of Knockturn Alley over the past few months.
Finally, he picked up his wand and slipped it back into the hidden pocket at his cuff.
Although he no longer relied on this little stick, it was still an essential prop for the upcoming performance.
He looked around.
In this cramped room where he had lived for more than ten years, the wallpaper was peeling, the iron bed was rusty, and the air was perpetually filled with the unshakeable smell of disinfectant and overcooked cabbage.
This had once been his sanctuary and also the cage that imprisoned him.
"It's over."
Morn picked up the trunk and pushed open the door.
The corridor was quiet. Mrs. Cole, whose memories he had modified, was still downstairs in her office, oblivious to the world, and would never remember that a child named Morn had left today.
He walked down the stairs step by step, the sound of his leather boots on the old wooden planks echoing through the empty orphanage.
With every step, the timid shell belonging to "Morn the Victim" peeled away a little more, replaced by the cold composure of the Dark Lord Candidate.
He pushed open the heavy front door of the orphanage.
Outside were the gloomy London sky and the bustling Muggle streets. The blare of car horns and the chatter of pedestrians rushed towards him.
Morn stood on the steps and took a deep breath.
But this murky air could no longer make him feel suffocated.
He raised his hand and flagged down a passing black taxi.
"Charing Cross Road."
Morn said to the driver, his deep blue eyes reflecting the Leaky Cauldron in the distance, a place that didn't exist on any Muggle map.
"To witness the opening of a... good show."
Chapter 76: The Reaper in the Alley and the Gentle Giant
When the weathered wooden door of the Leaky Cauldron was pushed open, the hinges let out a sharp creak like that of a dying rat.
A warm wave, a mixture of aged sherry, musty tobacco, and a pungent acidity used for pickling bat livers, instantly washed over him, dispelling the cold London rain clinging to Morn's overcoat.
The light inside the bar was dim, with several candles only as thick as fingers burning with difficulty on the greasy tabletops.
Carrying his suitcase, Morn was like a bodiless shadow, silently gliding past the loud-talking patrons to sit at an empty table in the corner.
"A Butterbeer, no ginger."
He whispered to the hunchbacked, toothless owner, Tom, casually laying out several Sickles on the table.
Tom wiped a glass that was already pitch black with a rag and grumbled as he poured a glass of cloudy, foamy liquid and handed it over.
Morn was in no hurry to drink.
His slender fingers lightly rubbed the rough glass wall, his [Omni-Perception] auditory radar already quietly spread out, filtering out the boring nonsense about Potion price hikes and Quidditch matches, precisely locking onto the figures at the next table wrapped in heavy cloaks and reeking of Knockturn Alley sewers.
"...I swear it's true, Old Pete is still lying in St. Mungo's right now."
A raspy-voiced wizard lowered his voice, his tone betraying an irrepressible fear. "He said he was right outside that dead end at the time. No light from spells, no sound... that idiot Bill was like a bundle of straw being lit, instantly burning into a fireball."
"A Muffliato Charm?" another voice, sounding like a Witch, asked tremulously, like sandpaper rubbing together.
"Not just a Muffliato Charm!" The wizard took a sudden gulp of Firewhisky, seemingly trying to calm his nerves. "Old Pete said it was some kind of... some kind of ancient, wandless Dark Arts. That person was like the Reaper, stripping away sound and life with a wave of his hand. Now everyone in Knockturn Alley is saying some high-ranking exiled Death Eater has returned and is cleaning house..."
Morn picked up his glass and took a sip of the sweet, warm liquid, hiding the fleeting, playful smile at the corner of his mouth.
It was a strange feeling.
He was sitting right here, listening to this group of outlaws describe him as an indescribable monster.
Fear was fermenting, and that was exactly the protective coloring he wanted.
Bang! The bar's main door was suddenly slammed open again with a loud crash, making the entire wall seem to shake along with it.
The originally dim and oppressive bar instantly became even more crowded—a massive figure that almost filled the entire doorway squeezed inside.
The cold wind from outside, mixed with rain, poured in, and the whispering Dark Wizards shrank into the shadows like startled cockroaches.
"Sorry! Sorry! The door's a bit narrow!"
The newcomer had a mess of long, black, bush-like hair and a beard, wearing a Giant moleskin coat, and emitted a strong scent of rain, dogs, and a strange insect repellent.
Rubeus Hagrid.
The Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, and also that kind Giant who was most prone to leaking secrets.
Hagrid shook off the water on him, scanned the bar, and quickly locked onto Morn sitting in the corner.
"Oh! Morn!"
Hagrid's large face, hidden behind his beard, instantly lit up, but then he seemed to remember something; his expression became cautious, and he even clumsily lightened his steps—though the floor still groaned in agony under his boots.
"Hagrid." Morn put down his glass, the cold smile on his face instantly switching to a gentle and slightly weary 'good student' mode.
"I heard from Dumbledore." Hagrid sat down on the chair opposite Morn, making the poor wooden chair let out a dangerous crack. He lowered his thunderous voice, but it still allowed everyone around to hear clearly, "You... er, ran into some trouble? I mean, about that... magic outburst business."
Morn noticed that the Dark Wizards at the next table, who were just talking about the'Silent Reaper,' were now looking over with disdainful and gloating eyes.
In their eyes, Morn was clearly a fragile brat who had been scared out of his wits and needed a half-Giant to comfort him.
This intense cognitive dissonance made the smile in the depths of Morn's eyes deepen.
"Just had a nightmare, Hagrid," Morn said softly, his tone weak. "You know, what happened last year... it still pops into my head sometimes."
"Poor lad." Hagrid pulled a rock-hard-looking rock cake from his Giant coat pocket, wanting to hand it to Morn but then pulling it back, probably thinking it wasn't suitable for a sick person. "Don't worry, Hogwarts is the safest place. Dumbledore's there, no one can hurt you."
As he spoke, Hagrid patted the Giant pocket, and a clinking sound of glass bottles came from inside.
"I just went and bought some 'Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent.' Blimey, the school's cabbage patch is about to be eaten clean by those slimy little things. Harry should be coming in a few days too... then you can go take the train together."
"That's great." Morn nodded, his gaze sweeping over Hagrid's bulging pocket.
Flesh-Eating Slugs... those were exactly what Harry almost encountered when he accidentally entered Knockturn Alley in the second volume. The timeline of the plot was advancing seamlessly.
After a few pleasantries, Hagrid hurriedly left with his repellent, saying he still had to go buy some fertilizer for Professor Sprout.
With the disappearance of that massive figure, the air in the bar seemed to flow again.
Morn stood up, picked up his suitcase, and walked to the counter.
"I want that room, Tom." He pointed to the stairs. "Second floor, the one at the very end. I want the window that can see the street below."
"It's a bit noisy there, sir." Tom glanced at him with cloudy eyes.
"It doesn't matter." Morn dropped a Galleon, the coin spinning on the counter with a crisp sound. "I like watching people."
A few minutes later.
Morn stood before the window of the room on the second floor with its wide view.
Through the dusty glass, below was the bustling entrance to Diagon Alley, as well as the side road of Knockturn Alley that seemed swallowed by shadows.
He didn't draw the curtains but stood in the shadows, [Eye of Truth] working with [Omni-Perception] like an invisible spider web, silently covering every inch of the cobblestone road below.
Whether it was that platinum-blonde noble about to appear with a diary, or that blonde author full of lies, as long as they stepped onto this street, they would not escape his eyes.
"The stage is set."
Morn's fingers lightly tapped the window frame, watching a black beetle crawl with difficulty on the glass.
"Now, please enter, actors."
Chapter 77: The Gilded Peacock and the Forgotten Charm
The August sun beat down mercilessly on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, and the air was thick with the scent of robes fermented in sweat and the cloying sweetness of melting ice cream.
The entrance to Flourish and Blotts was already packed so tightly that not even a drop of water could trickle through.
A crowd of middle-aged witches, faces flushed with excitement, were struggling to push their way inside. Screams and the clicking of camera shutters rose and fell in succession, as if Elixir of Life was being handed out for free inside.
Moen White stood at the edge of the crowd. His well-tailored black Wizard robes looked out of place under the scorching sun, yet there wasn't a single drop of sweat on him.
[Talent Activation: Void Body] His skin pores automatically regulated heat exchange, keeping his body temperature constant within the cold-blooded range most suitable for combat.
"Excuse me."
Morn spoke softly.
No one heard his voice; the surroundings were filled with nothing but noisy screams.
But as he stepped forward, a magical scene unfolded.
[Talent Activation: Source of Calamity · Gravity Branch] An extremely weak but surgically precise repulsive field expanded slightly with him as the center.
The crowd, originally packed like sardines in a tin, slid to both sides involuntarily—even violating physical inertia—like the Red Sea parting for Moses.
The fat Witch who was about to dig her elbow into Morn's ribs slipped, turned around inexplicably, and happened to clear a path to the door for him.
Morn stepped elegantly over the threshold, without even a wrinkle appearing on the hem of his clothes.
The air inside the bookstore was a disaster.
A suffocatingly thick scent of violet perfume, mixed with the musty smell of old parchment and the exhaled air of hundreds of people, slammed hard against Morn's enhanced olfactory nerves.
"This smell..." Morn frowned slightly, tapping his nose lightly with a finger to cut off the transmission of olfactory signals. "It's practically a terrorist attack on the olfactory system."
A temporary stage had been set up in the center of the bookstore.
A huge banner hung there: Gilderoy Lockhart — Signing and Selling Copies of His Autobiography, 'Magical Me'.
On the stage, a man wearing forget-me-not blue robes, with perfect golden curls and teeth so bright they were blinding, was pulling Harry Potter—who was red-faced and wishing for the floor to swallow him—to his side.
"Ladies and gentlemen! What a coincidental moment!" Lockhart flashed his trademark eight-toothed smile at the camera and announced loudly, "Harry Potter will not only receive my autograph, he will also receive—my entire set of works, free of charge!"
The crowd erupted in screams loud enough to shatter glass.
Mrs. Weasley clapped frantically, even dropping the heavy voyages with vampires onto her foot.
Morn stood by the railing on the second floor, looking down at the farce from above.
Deep within his pupils, that sacred and indifferent golden halo surfaced silently.
[System Analysis] In an instant, Lockhart's glamorous skin vanished from his sight, replaced by a cold stream of data.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Gilderoy Lockhart
Manifested Talents:
[Memory Charm Master (blue)]: [Has cultivated 'Obliviate' to an artistic level. Can precisely excise and reorganize memories without damaging the cerebral cortex.]
[Charming Aura (blue)]: [Significantly enhances attraction and trust from the opposite sex through smiles and body language.]
[Magical Incompetence (Green)]: [Aside from the Memory Charm, other combat magic levels are below the Hogwarts third-year standard.]
"I see."
The golden light flickered in Morn's eyes. Looking at that glaring [Memory Charm Master], the corner of his mouth curled into a mocking arc.
"A specialized genius who put all his skill points into 'erasing memories.' He's like a painter who only knows how to wield an eraser; he rubs out others' masterpieces and then signs his own name in the blank space."
This also explained why he could'solve' so many Dark Arts creatures—he didn't solve the creatures; he only solved the 'witnesses'.
On stage, Lockhart was still prattling on, promoting his new book.
"...when I was dueling the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, at that moment, what I thought of was not my hair (though it was a mess at the time, of course), but justice..."
Morn looked away, no longer watching the performing clown.
Under the scrutiny of the [Eye of Truth], Lockhart's soul was full of holes and patches of lies; looking at it for too long only felt tedious.
Just then, the wind chime at the bookstore entrance rang again.
A cold, arrogant fluctuation of magic, carrying the scent of decadent nobility, was like a drop of ink falling into this boiling pot of violet perfume.
Morn's [Omni-Perception] captured the signal instantly.
He turned his head and looked toward the door.
The crowd was roughly pushed aside.
Lucius Malfoy walked in with an impatient Draco.
He held that snake-headed cane which concealed his wand, his gaze sweeping contemptuously over the crowd of fanatical book lovers who, in his eyes, were like cattle.
But Morn wasn't looking at Lucius.
His gaze was locked firmly onto the few battered second-hand textbooks Lucius held in his other hand.
More precisely, it was on the diary tucked inside the topmost book, 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration', with only a black corner showing.
Buzz—!
The [Dark Lord Candidate] Talent within him suddenly let out a violent, thirsty tremor.
In Morn's vision, how was that a diary?
It was clearly a black sun radiating an aura of ultimate evil gravity.
"Finally, it's here."
Morn's fingers tightened slightly on the railing, pressing several cracks into the hard oak.
"My... main course."
Morn's slender fingers gripped the second-floor oak railing tightly, the tips pressing fine cracks into the hard lacquer from excessive force.
In the center of his vision, that black diary Lucius Malfoy had carelessly tucked into the old textbooks was brazenly radiating distorted black ripples. It was like a cold and evil heart that didn't exist in the physical world, devouring the surrounding light with every beat.
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Tom Riddle's Diary (Horcrux)
Manifested Talents:
[Soul Fragment (Purple)]: [A complete soul slice of Lord Voldemort at age 16. Contains an extremely high purity of dark origin.]
[Soul Seduction (blue)]: [Absorbs the holder's vitality through written communication and gradually controls their mind.]
[Absolute Defense (Purple)]: [Immune to the vast majority of physical and magical damage (requires rule-level destructive power to destroy).]
[Warning: High-purity homologous completion material detected.]
[Talent [Dark Lord Candidate] has generated an extreme devouring desire!]
Chapter 78: The Mark of Greed
"Hoo..."
Morn closed his eyes, his chest heaving violently for a moment.
The hunger originating from the depths of his soul was almost burning through his sanity.
The voice was roaring: Grab it! That is your crown! That is your authority! The air was thick with Lockhart's nauseating perfume, but to Morn's sense of smell, there was only the alluring, sweet, metallic scent of the diary, like aged blood wine.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Absolute Rationality]
Golden halos spun rapidly deep within his pupils, and cold logical algorithms acted like a bucket of liquid nitrogen, instantly extinguishing the flames of greed.
"Can't eat it."
Morn coldly issued a command to himself in his mind.
"It's a key. If I eat it, the Chamber of Secrets will be closed forever."
"I need more than just a soul. I also need that thousand-year-old Basilisk. It's the only material to evolve [Void Body] and push [Source of Calamity] beyond its limits."
"Patience. Let Tom drain that red-haired girl's life force. When he's about to be resurrected and his soul energy is at its peak... that will be the best time to harvest."
Having thought this through, the red light in Morn's eyes faded, returning to that bottomless deep blue.
The conflict downstairs had already escalated.
Lucius Malfoy was humiliating the Weasleys in that operatic, mocking tone: "Good heavens, Arthur... look at these books... is the Ministry of Magic's overtime pay not even enough to buy new ones?"
Ginny Weasley's face flushed red as she clutched that battered cauldron, as if holding onto her last shred of dignity.
"Give it back to me!" she screamed.
"Here you go, little girl." Lucius smirked, stuffing the copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration he had pulled from Ginny's cauldron back in—along with the black diary.
Now was the time.
The very second before the diary was about to fall into Ginny's cauldron.
Morn moved.
[Talent Activation: Void Body · Flash Step] He didn't use Apparition (that would have made a loud crack); instead, relying purely on muscle explosive power beyond human limits, he vaulted directly over the second-floor railing.
[Talent Activation: Source of Calamity · Gravity Mitigation] He streaked through the air like a black afterimage, landing soundlessly, cutting between Lucius and Ginny as precisely as a feather.
"Careful, Mr. Malfoy."
Morn's hand reached out "just in time," seemingly trying to steady Ginny who was almost pushed over, but with an incredibly fast movement, his fingertips lightly brushed the cover of the falling diary.
Sizzle—the moment his fingertips touched the cold leather.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Mental Virus]
A tiny but extremely complex stream of mental data flowed from Morn's fingertips, forcibly injecting into the diary's magic circuit like a virus. It wasn't destruction, but a deep-seated "monitoring backdoor."
[Implantation Successful.]
[Mark applied. Prey location synchronizing in real-time.]
The diary fell into Ginny's cauldron with a soft thud.
Tom Riddle hadn't woken up yet, but he had already been labeled as "private property."
"And who are you?"
Lucius Malfoy frowned, looking at this black-haired youth who had suddenly dropped from the sky and interrupted his fun. He instinctively reached for his snake-headed cane, but an inexplicable palpitation made him freeze.
Morn slowly stood up straight and adjusted his robe's cuffs.
He looked up, those deep blue eyes staring directly into Lucius's grey ones.
[Talent Activation: Dark Lord Candidate (Pressure Release: 5%)]
There was no magical explosion, nor any violent winds.
But in Lucius Malfoy's perception, the noisy bookstore instantly vanished. The air became thick and cold, as if an invisible giant serpent was coiling around his neck, flicking its tongue against his carotid artery.
He felt as if he had returned to that terrifying night over a decade ago, back when that Great Lord stood in his manor, gazing at him with those cold, mocking eyes that viewed all living beings as ants.
That deep-seated servility and fear caused the arrogant Pure-blood patriarch's face to turn pale instantly, cold sweat soaking through his expensive silk shirt.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Morn took half a step forward, leaning close to Lucius's ear and whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"It's not a good habit to leave things lying around... especially such a precious legacy from the 'past'."
Lucius's pupils snapped into pinpricks.
He knows?!
Who is this student? How could he know that was... "I don't know what you're talking about." Luciusforced out a final shred of dignity, his voice dry and trembling. He didn't even dare look Morn in the eye again—an instinctive avoidance.
"That's for the best."
Morn instantly withdrew the pressure, his face returning to that harmless, polite smile of a Hogwartshonor student. "I wish you... good health, Mr. Malfoy."
Having said that, he took a step back, nodded with a smile to the still-dazed Arthur Weasley and Harry, and then turned and vanished into the crowded throng as if nothing had happened.
Lucius froze on the spot, his hand gripping his cane trembling slightly, knuckles turning white.
"That look..." he murmured to himself, a massive chill rising in his heart. "Impossible... He clearly already..."
"Father?" Draco pulled at his sleeve in confusion. "What's wrong? Who was that?"
"...Nothing." Lucius gritted his teeth, giving one last look toward where Morn had disappeared—a look filled with deep wariness. "Let's go!"
Outside the crowd.
Morn stood in front of the bookstore's glass window, holding a copy of Lockhart's voyages with vampires he'd just swiped as a cover.
Through the reflection in the glass, he watched Ginny Weasley reunite with her parents, clutching her cauldron. The black diary lay quietly beneath a pile of old books.
In his [Eye of Truth] vision, a red beacon was shining clearly through the diary, flickering amidst the vast sea of people.
"Go on."
Morn licked his dry lips, his mouth curling into a cruel and delighted arc.
"Help me fatten up that big snake, Senior Tom."
"When the day of the feast arrives... I will collect everything, with interest."
Chapter 80: The Carriage of Death and the Red Beacon
The cold night rain, like countless fine needles, stabbed fiercely at the pitted mud of HogsmeadeStation, splashing muddy water mixed with the scent of coal ash and rotting pine needles.
Moen White stepped out of the train carriage, wrapping his black robes tightly around himself.
The damp, cold chill tried to seep into his bones, but upon touching the constant biological field of [Void Body], it could only helplessly dissipate into white steam.
"Listen, first-year students! Don't be shy! Come over here!"
Hagrid held up that giant lantern, swinging it in the curtain of rain like a dim yellow signal star.
But his normally booming voice sounded somewhat absent-minded tonight, his gaze frequently darting toward the pitch-black night sky, clearly still worried about those two missing Young Wizards.
Morn avoided the crowded line of new students and walked toward the queue of carriages heading to the Castle.
The surrounding students were chattering about the magical principles of how these carriages were "self-driving." Hermione Granger was educating Neville on the invisibility spell entries from "Hogwarts: A History."
But in Morn's vision, there was no such thing as "self-driving."
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth]
In those pupils long accustomed to the darkness, a tall, grotesque creature exuding the aura of death stood before every carriage.
They had black coats devoid of flesh that clung tightly to their skeletons, and giant leathery wings like a dragon's folded at their sides. Their silver-white, pupil-less eyes stared quietly at the crowd in the darkness.
Thestrals.
Creatures that can only be seen by those who have witnessed and understood death firsthand.
Morn walked to an empty carriage, reached out, and gently stroked the cold, iron-hard neck of the Thestral.
The beast submissively lowered its head, snorting a breath that smelled of sulfur, as if instinctively paying respects to this "kindred spirit" whose body was entwined with the aura of countless lost souls.
"You can see them too, can't you?"
An ethereal voice came from behind him.
Luna Lovegood stood in the mud at some unknown moment; she wasn't using an umbrella, and her pale blonde hair was plastered wetly against her face.
Her silver-grey eyes weren't looking at the carriage, but were instead gazing tenderly at the monster that didn't exist in the eyes of others.
"They're actually quite gentle," Luna said softly, reaching out as if to touch the air. "People are only afraid because they can't see them."
"People aren't afraid of what they can't see, Miss Lovegood."
Morn withdrew his hand, stepped onto the carriage, and looked down at her. "People are afraid of 'Death' itself. And these fellows are the messengers of death."
Luna didn't seem frightened by these words; instead, she nodded thoughtfully and climbed into the same carriage.
On this rainy night, in this carriage pulled by invisible beasts, two people who could both look directly at death reached a strange understanding... Inside the Great Hall, it was as warm as spring.
Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, illuminating the four long tables in golden splendor.
The rich aroma of roast beef, the sweetness of pumpkin juice, and the heat from freshly baked Yorkshire puddings intertwined, quickly dispelling the chill from the students.
Morn sat at the end of the Slytherin table, silver cutlery in hand, elegantly slicing a lamb chop on his plate.
But he was in no hurry to eat. His gaze passed through the crowd, locking onto the high platform where the Sorting Ceremony was taking place like a venomous snake.
The small, red-haired girl—Ginny Weasley—was sitting tremulously on the three-legged stool.
The tattered brim of the Sorting Hat covered her eyes.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Energy Vision]
In Morn's vision, the clamor of reality faded, and the world became a tapestry of countless interwoven lines.
He clearly saw countless silver-grey mental tentacles, like plant roots, extending from the tattered Sorting Hat.
These tentacles, representing [Legilimency], were gently but irresistibly boring into Ginny's cerebral cortex, flipping through her memories and traits.
And at the exact moment Ginny's mental defenses were forced open by the Sorting Hat's intrusion.
The thing hidden in her robe pocket grew excited.
Morn saw the black thread of magic connecting to the diary; it had been slowly crawling like a small stream, but now it suddenly swelled twofold, like a greedy leech that had caught the scent of blood!
Taking advantage of the Sorting Hat opening the "door" to Ginny's mind, it shamelessly hitched a ride.
The black magic flowed upstream along the silver mental tentacles, frantically devouring the fear and life force spilling from the gaps in the young girl's soul at that moment.
Riddle Awakening Progress: 1.8% ➔ 2.0%
Morn forked a piece of lamb and put it into his mouth, his chewing slow and rhythmic.
Every jump of the progress bar gave him a pleasure akin to "asset appreciation."
The Sorting Hat's mind-reading had not only failed to expose the Horcrux, but because of Ginny's extreme fear and open mind, it had given Tom Riddle a perfect opportunity for intrusion.
"Gryffindor!"
The Sorting Hat shouted loudly.
Ginny took off the hat, her face as pale as a sheet of paper.
She didn't look particularly joyful; instead, she looked as if she had just suffered through a major illness, walking toward the Gryffindor table in a state of exhaustion.
Just then, a sudden scraping of a chair came from the staff table.
Professor Snape's already grim face was now so dark it looked as if it could drip ink.
He clutched an evening edition of The Daily Prophet that had just been delivered by owl, gripping it so hard he seemed ready to crush the paper. He strode over to Dumbledore's side and whispered a few words.
Immediately after, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall both set down their cutlery.
The three heavyweight Professors left the Great Hall in a hurry, leaving behind a crowd of bewildered students.
"Ha! Did you see that?"
Draco Malfoy slapped the table excitedly, his pale face full of schadenfreude. "That look on Professor Snape's face! I bet Potter's definitely been expelled this time! Maybe he broke his neck on the way to school!"
A low burst of laughter erupted from the Slytherin table.
Morn raised his golden goblet and took a sip of chilled pumpkin juice, masking the faint sneer at the corner of his mouth.
"Expelled?"
He looked at the empty faculty seat and sneered in his heart.
"No, Draco. You don't understand that Principal's favoritism at all. For the savior, breaking school rules is never a mistake, but a badge of courage."
A flying car crashing into a tree meant the Whomping Willow was damaged, it meant Filch would be furious, and it meant that for this entire night, Hogwarts' defense system would be in a state of chaos.
Chaos is a ladder.
After the feast, the Prefects began organizing the new students into lines.
Morn walked alone through the dark corridors leading to the Dungeons.
The light from the torches cast flickering shadows on the damp, cold stone walls, and the air was thick with the scent of moss and Potions unique to the Slytherin Dungeons.
He opened his system panel and scanned the status of the four pillars.
[Void Body] was greedily absorbing the dense magical environment of the Castle.
[Eye of Truth] had already marked all the surveillance blind spots.
[Source of Calamity] hungered for the trial of actual combat.
"The Basilisk is still sleeping, the Horcrux is feeding, and the fraud is preparing his lessons."
Morn pushed open the hidden door behind the stone wall to the Slytherin Common Room and stepped into his domain, which glowed with an eerie green light.
"And I..."
He glanced at the lower-year students in the corner of the common room who were nodding to him, a golden light flashing briefly in his eyes.
"I am the hunter."
Chapter 81: The Fatal Cry and the Red Letter
The air in the Great Hall was filled with the savory aroma of fried bacon and the warmth of toasted bread, but for Moen White, this beautiful morning was completely ruined by a sudden surge of magical tremors.
Sitting at the Ravenclaw table, Morn had just picked up his silver coffee spoon when the sensory radar of [Void Body] captured an extremely unstable fluctuation of the fire element.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze passing through the robes of students discussing the standard book of spells, locking onto an elderly owl that had just flown into the hall.
It held a smoking, bright red envelope in its beak and was heading straight for the Gryffindor table.
"What a regrettable lack of public decency."
Morn commented coldly in his mind.
Just as the owl knocked over the milk jug and the bright red Howler began to tear itself open.
[Talent Activation: Void Body · Auditory Blockade]
The muscle fibers around Morn's eardrums instantly tightened, forming a biological soundproof barrier.
The next second, the red envelope exploded.
A massive wave of sound detonated like an invisible bomb in the center of the hall.
Students around instantly covered their ears, their faces contorted in pain. Neville Longbottom, who was closest, was even knocked off his chair by the shock. The entire school watched in horror as the red mouth roared at Ron Weasley, making the cutlery on the plates rattle and clink.
But in Morn's world, everything was silent.
He elegantly stirred the black coffee in front of him with a small spoon, watching Ron's face turn a deep shade of purple, and Ginny Weasley cowering and trembling beside him.
[Eye of Truth · Visual Capture] He didn't look at the letter; he looked at Ginny.
Amidst the silent roar, the fear in Ginny's eyes was almost overflowing. Meanwhile, the diary in her robe pocket was greedily flickering with a faint black light.
"Shame, fear, the pressure of being humiliated in front of the whole school..." Morn took a sip of the bitter coffee. "Tom, you're having quite a full breakfast, aren't you?"
Morn didn't deactivate the Auditory Blockade until the red envelope tore itself to shreds and burned into a pile of ash.
The hall was once again filled with the buzzing of hushed discussions and laughter. Beside him, Terry Boot rubbed his ears and grumbled dissatisfiedly, "Are Gryffindors always this loud? This is practically mental pollution."
"Get used to it, Terry." Morn set down his cup and stood up to straighten his tie. "That's their unique... vitality."
...The air in Greenhouse Two was hot and humid, a mixture of the pungent, fishy smell of dragon dung fertilizer and the decaying scent of some unknown fungus.
Large droplets of water condensed on the glass roof of the greenhouse, occasionally dripping onto the students' robes.
This was a Herbology Class shared by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.
"Alright, everyone, earmuffs on!" Professor Sprout shouted, standing behind a row of dark compost trays. "We're going to repot the Mandrakes. Remember, keep those earmuffs tight! While the cry of a seedling isn't fatal, it will knock you out for several hours!"
Morn picked up the pair of pink, fluffy earmuffs, frowned with distaste, but put them on anyway.
Standing next to him was a Hufflepuff student, Justin Finch-Fletchley.
This curly-haired, talkative boy clearly wanted to get close to the Ravenclaw "Prefect" (or rather, the top student).
"Hey, Morn!" Justin shouted through his earmuffs, his voice sounding muffled due to the insulation. "I heard you taught Malfoy a lesson in the bookstore? That was so cool! My mum was going to send me to Eton College, you know..."
Morn nodded politely without responding.
His gaze was fixed on the pot in front of him, where the leaves of a Mandrake were partially exposed.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Rule Analysis] In his vision, this was more than just a plant.
Deep within the soil-covered roots lay an ancient and malevolent magic circuit. It was a fragment of the "Instant Death Rule" belonging to the natural world.
"One, two, three, pull!" Professor Sprout signaled.
Splash! The entire greenhouse was instantly filled with the sound of flying soil.
Dozens of ugly roots, looking like mottled purple infants, were pulled out.
Even with earmuffs on, Morn felt a slight sting in his cranial nerves.
In his eyes, these Mandrakes opened their large mouths, and what gushed out wasn't sound, but ripples of purple-black, materialized circular waves.
These ripples crashed violently against the air, attempting to tear through the soul defenses of all surrounding living beings.
Justin, beside him, was clearly having trouble.
The Mandrake in his hand struggled desperately and bit his thumb. Justin's face contorted in pain as he scrambled to stuff it into a new pot.
Morn looked at the Mandrake in his own hand, which was opening its mouth wide, preparing to let out its strongest sound wave.
His eyes instantly turned cold, a predator-like glint flashing briefly in the depths of his gaze.
"Your screaming is too unpleasant."
[Talent Activation: Source of Calamity · Devouring Vortex]
Morn was in no hurry to bury it.
His right hand, clad in a dragon hide glove, precisely and cruelly gripped the Mandrake's throat-like root.
In his palm, a miniature, invisible black vortex instantly opened.
No sound disappeared, because under the suppression of Morn's gravity field, the sound couldn't even be transmitted.
The Mandrake's originally purple-red face instantly turned greyish-white, as if its life force had been drained in an instant by some even more terrifying higher-tier being.
Those ripples representing the "fatal cry" were sucked into Morn's palm like noodles, merging into his bloodline.
[System Prompt]
[Captured Rule Fragment: Mandrake's Lethal Frequency.]
[Analysis Progress: 100%.]
[Talent [Source of Calamity] has unlocked a new skill: [Banshee's Shriek].] Description: Simulates the frequency of a Mandrake to emit a directional infrasound wave targeting the soul level. Due to the host's magic intensity bonus, its power has surpassed that of a seedling, capable of causing severe dizziness, auditory nerve necrosis, or brain death in the target.
Morn let go, and the Mandrake, now feeble and completely devoid of vitality, slumped down like a piece of dead meat.
He casually grabbed a handful of damp black soil and buried it in the pot, his movements as gentle as if he were burying a corpse.
"Whoa!"
Justin, having just escaped his struggle, leaned over and looked enviously at Morn's quiet pot. "White, yours is so well-behaved! Look, it's not even moving! How did you do it?"
Morn took off his dragon hide gloves, brushed off the soil, and a gentle but cold smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Perhaps it's just a bit shy, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."
He glanced at the newly acquired skill icon.
"Or rather... it has learned to stay quiet in this cruel world."
Chapter 82: Gilded Lies and the blue Cage
Gilderoy Lockhart strode briskly onto the podium, his garish turquoise robes swirling with his steps, releasing an overwhelming, suffocating scent of violet cologne that instantly overpowered the classroom's stale chalk-dust smell.
Morn sat in the front row of Ravenclaw, holding his breath slightly, unconsciously twirling his quill.
Looking around, the classroom had been transformed into an exhibition hall dedicated to 'narcissism.'
The walls were plastered with portraits of Lockhart from every conceivable angle: some winking, some waving, some busily curling the hair of their increasingly receding-haired subject.
'Delighted to see everyone has purchased my complete works!'
Lockhart flashed his dazzling, teeth-whitened smile, his gaze sweeping over the students with their varied expressions.
The Hufflepuff students mostly wore looks of simple adoration, like Ernie Macmillan who was staring open-mouthed at the podium.
The atmosphere among the Ravenclaws was considerably cooler; Terry Boot was bent over his copy of 'A Year with the Yeti,' brow furrowed as if searching for logical fallacies.
'But before we begin today's lesson, we must first conduct a little quiz.' Lockhart winked, producing a thick stack of parchment as if by magic. 'Just to see how carefully you've read—to see how much you've grasped... the essence of my works.'
The test papers were handed out.
Morn glanced down at the first question, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. 1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?...54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday? What is his ideal birthday gift?
Beside him, Terry Boot let out an incredulous snort, muttering under his breath, 'What is this? Testing this in Defense Against the Dark Arts? This is an insult to Ravenclaw intelligence!'
Morn's expression, however, remained unchanged. To maintain his 'flawless good student' persona, he didn't mind playing along with this clown's boring game.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Memory Palace Retrieval] Deep within those dark blue pupils, torrents of data began cascading like waterfalls. The trashy literature he had merely skimmed once at Flourish and Blotts was now being precisely retrieved.
[Retrieval Keyword: Favorite Color -> Lilac.]
[Retrieval Keyword: Ideal Gift -> Harmony in the Magical World.]
Morn's quill began dancing across the parchment.
While the other Ravenclaws were still wrestling with whether to sell their dignity for points, Morn had already set down his quill and elegantly raised his hand.
'Full marks!'
A few minutes later, Lockhart held Morn's paper, his voice trembling with excitement. 'Merlin's beard! Look at this! Mr. Moen White! He even knows my favorite color is lilac! Ten points to Ravenclaw!'
Numerous complex gazes turned his way.
Hufflepuff girls whispered among themselves, 'Wow, he's amazing.'
Meanwhile, his Ravenclaw peers stared at their usually aloof 'Prefect' with looks of shock that said, 'You actually memorized this? Do you really admire this fraud?'
Morn responded with a polite, distant smile, but his eyes held a dead, icy indifference. This is survival, children. Sometimes, for the greater good, you have to learn to clap for the monkey.
'Alright, now that the quiz is over...'
Lockhart bent down, lifting a large, cloth-covered cage from behind the podium, his expression suddenly turning grave. 'Next, I must warn you! In this classroom, you will face terrifying... dark creatures!'
He yanked off the cloth cover.
'Pixies!'
Inside the cage, a swarm of small, black-furred monsters with four arms and four legs were angrily rattling the iron bars, emitting a shrill buzzing. They had beetle-like shiny wings and two rows of sharp, venom-dripping fangs.
The Hufflepuff students let out a chorus of frightened gasps.
'Not to worry!' Lockhart waved a confident hand. 'I certainly won't release them directly like some brute. Such a low-level teaching mishap would never happen with me.'
He drew his wand and, with a flourish, traced a golden circle around the podium.
'This is an ancient 'Absolute Containment Charm.' Until I release it, these little demons absolutely cannot fly beyond the podium's perimeter. You will safely observe how I subdue them with grace.'
[Analyzing Target] Morn observed the golden ring of light.
[Assessment: Variant of a second-tier Lumos Charm.]
[Defensive Power: 0.]
[Evaluation: Just a glowing special effect. No physical barrier whatsoever.]
'Idiot.' Morn delivered the verdict in his mind, leaning back slightly in his chair.
'Watch closely!'
Lockhart confidently opened the cage door.
BZZZZ! Dozens of Pixies burst out like an explosion of black smoke.
Lockhart smiled, brandishing his wand, ready to incant.
However, the Pixies completely ignored the golden circle of light. They disregarded the special effect entirely, shrieking as they flew over the podium, heading straight for the students in the front rows!
'What?!' The smile froze on Lockhart's face. 'B-back! Damn it! Peskipiksi Pesternomi...'
One sturdy Pixie latched onto his nose with precision, while another snatched his wand and promptly tossed it out the window. The great adventurer let out a howl, clutching his nose, abandoning the entire classroom of students, and fled in disgrace into the second-floor office, locking the door behind him.
'AHHH!!'
The classroom instantly descended into a blue-and-black hell.
'Defend yourselves! Defend!' Terry Boot shouted, but a Pixie bit his wrist, and his wand clattered to the floor.
Justin Finch-Fletchley had already crawled under a desk.
A few particularly vicious Pixies, having tasted blood, set their sights on Morn, who sat motionless in the back row. Shrieking, they spread their four claws, bared their fangs, and dive-bombed him like bombers.
Morn let out a soft sigh.
He hated this chaotic noise, and he hated this stupid farce even more.
He remained seated, not even reaching for his wand. Only his dark blue eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of dark crimson light—belonging to the [Source of Calamity]—flickering deep within his pupils.
'Silence.'
[Talent Activation: Source of Calamity · Gravity Field]
WHUMP—! No spell-light flashed, but within a two-meter radius around Morn, the air suddenly became as heavy and viscous as mercury.
A terrifying vertical pressure, like an invisible sledgehammer, slammed down from the ceiling to the floor without warning.
The few Pixies that had flown into this zone didn't even have time to scream. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! A series of sickening crunching sounds.
They were as if slapped hard onto the floor by an invisible giant hand. Their rapidly vibrating wings snapped instantly. Their limbs were pressed flat against the ground. Their bodies were squashed into starfish shapes, eyes bulging, unable to move, emitting only faint, wheezing squeaks.
This sudden turn of events froze the nearby chaos instantly.
Justin, who had been running, stopped in his tracks. Terry Boot, who had been trying to swat Pixies with a book, stood dumbfounded.
Everyone stared in horror at that corner.
Amidst the classroom's wreckage, only the area around Moen White's desk formed an absolute 'no-fly zone.'
Those vicious dark creatures now trembled humbly at his feet, flattened like specimens.
Morn slowly stood up, his black robes still spotless. He glanced down at the lead Pixie struggling at his feet, his Adam's apple moving slightly.
[Talent Activation: Wraith's Shriek (Minimal Release)] An infrasonic shockwave, audible only to magical creatures, was emitted.
The Pixies stiffened, their eyes rolling back instantly, falling into complete unconsciousness.
Morn lifted his foot, kicking the empty cage to the center of the classroom with a loud crash.
He surveyed the stunned Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs around him, his tone as flat as if discussing the weather.
'What are you all standing around for?'
Morn picked up 'voyages with vampires' from his desk, gently brushing the dust from its cover.
'Put the rest back in the cage. Or... shall I grind them all into powder?'
A deathly silence fell over the classroom. Only the Pixie outside the window, holding Lockhart's wand, continued to tap cluelessly against the glass.
Chapter 83: The Barefoot Prophet and the Thunder Within the Walls
On the evening of October 31st, the stone corridors of Hogwarts were filled with the rich, sweet scent of roasted pumpkin, mixed with the cold, damp air rising from the dungeons, creating a unique scent that belonged only to Halloween.
Moen White walked alone toward the Great Hall, his leather boots making rhythmic, crisp clicks on the cold stone floor.
As he turned a dark corner beneath Ravenclaw Tower, his steps paused slightly.
In his line of sight ahead, a girl with messy blonde hair was looking up, staring at a stone gargoyle on the ceiling with a dazed expression.
She was wearing oversized Ravenclaw robes, but beneath the hem, two bare little feet, slightly red from the cold, were visible, stepping on the bone-chilling floor.
"Miss Lovegood."
Morn stopped, his gaze sweeping over her shoeless feet as he frowned slightly. "As far as I know, Hogwarts school rules do not forbid wearing shoes."
"If you are performing some kind of ascetic cultivation, I suggest you choose a different season."
Luna Lovegood turned her head slowly. Those silver-gray eyes, always shrouded in a layer of mist, did not focus on Morn's face, but seemed to be observing the air currents around his ears.
"It's the Nargles," she said, her voice light as a feather. "They've hidden my shoes. Or... maybe my classmates think it's funny. I'm listening to them talk."
"Funny?" Morn let out a slight smile.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Trace Tracking]
Within those deep blue pupils, the originally dim corridor instantly became a riot of color.
Morn clearly saw several wisps of pale yellow magic residue, like glowing ribbons, extending from Luna's feet all the way up to the high wall.
Those were the trails left by a low-level Levitation Charm, along with several messy thermal footprints, obviously left by a few prank-loving upperclassmen.
He said nothing more, and didn't even pull out his wand; he simply raised a finger and gave a light flick toward the grinning gargoyle high above.
"Accio Shoes."
Thump! Thump! Two dull sounds echoed. A pair of black student leather shoes flew out of the gargoyle's moss-covered mouth, landing precisely on the floor in front of Luna.
"Put them on."
Morn's voice was cold and commanding. "Ravenclaw is called the house of wisdom because we know how to protect our brains. Cold feet affect blood circulation, which in turn leads to a decline in intelligence. I don't want to see such low-level physiological stupidity in my house."
Luna blinked, and for the first time, a glimmer of what could be called 'clarity' flashed in her protuberant eyes.
She didn't say thank you, but simply crouched down silently and shoved her freezing feet into the shoes.
"It's hungry."
Just as she was tying her laces, Luna suddenly blurted out a nonsensical sentence.
Morn, who was about to leave, froze.
"Who?"
Luna stood up and pointed her finger at the thick stone wall that led to who-knows-where.
"That ancient thing," she whispered softly, as if afraid of disturbing something. "It's sliding inside the walls... It doesn't like looking into people's eyes. Its scales are cold, colder than this floor."
Morn turned his head sharply, staring fixedly at that wall.
The [Eye of Truth] was instantly pushed to maximum power, attempting to penetrate the several-foot-thick stone bricks.
But inside was a pitch-black void; it was a high-level shielding magic left behind by the founders of Hogwarts.
Although he couldn't see it, Luna's almost 'medium-like' intuition would never be wrong.
"Then don't look into its eyes, Luna," Morn lowered his voice, as if relaying a survival rule that must be followed. "Stare at the ground, or... close your eyes. That's my advice."
...Half an hour later, the Great Hall.
Thousands of live bats fluttered their wings against the ceiling, and blue magic fire burned within giant jack-o'-lanterns, casting ghostly shadows across the entire hall.
The Ravenclaw table was piled high with a feast.
Morn cut a small piece of gravy-drenched steak and put it into his mouth.
Just then, Harry Potter, sitting at the Gryffindor table, suddenly jumped up as if he had been electrocuted.
His face was pale as he clutched his ears in terror, as if hearing some horrific whisper that only he could hear, and then, ignoring Hermione and Ron's attempts to stop him, he stumbled out of the hall.
"It's starting," Morn's chewing didn't stop.
An ordinary Wizard would only think Harry had gone mad.
But Morn was different.
At this moment, he didn't hear the so-called 'Parseltongue,' but he felt something even more terrifying.
[Talent Activation: Void Body · Hyper-sense Vibration]
Morn's fingertips, resting on the oak table, suddenly felt an extremely unusual, heavy, and suffocating physical resonance.
It wasn't the sound of wind, nor was it footsteps.
In the goblet before him, the originally calm pumpkin juice suddenly rippled in fine, dense circles, as if an invisible freight train loaded with steel was racing past the Great Hall's wall cavities and deep pipes.
Rumble... Rumble... That dull sound of scales scraping against ancient stone bricks, though in the infrasound range and inaudible, struck Morn's breastbone like a heavy hammer.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Microscopic Vision]
Morn snapped his head up, his gaze piercing toward the side and above like a sharp sword.
In his vision, at the edge of the solid stone archway overhead, countless tiny specks of dust were falling because of this terrifying vibration, like a silent snow.
From the cracks in the stone wall, a faint scent of scorching heat, caused by the high-speed friction of a giant creature, even began to seep out.
"This mass... this volume..."
Morn's pupils contracted slightly.
He didn't need any data prompts; based solely on this pressure that could shake the Castle's foundations, he could calculate the monster's scale—it was a mountain of flesh and blood swimming in the darkness.
"So big..."
A feverish greed emerged in the depths of Morn's eyes.
Just moving could cause micro-vibrations in the Castle's structure; this thousand-year-old Basilisk had developed even more perfectly than he had imagined.
It was a mobile treasure trove, a top-tier sacrifice that could allow his [Void Body] to complete its first Life Evolution.
"I'm full."
Morn set down his silver cutlery, elegantly wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and stood up.
The surrounding students were still laughing and discussing the dancing skeleton performance from earlier; no one noticed that death had just brushed past their heads.
He straightened his robes and, like an audience member leaving early out of boredom, silently followed the direction Harry Potter had gone, stepping into the dark corridor filled with cold and the smell of blood.
"Slither to your heart's content, big guy."
Morn's fingers brushed against the cold wall, feeling the residual aftershocks of the vibration.
"Get a bit fatter... and then, become my nourishment."