Ch: 112-117 (2nd year end)
Chapter 112: The Acromantula's Lair and the Flowing Galleons
Deep in the Forbidden Forest, the canopy was as thick as heavy black velvet, almost completely cutting off the moonlight.
The air was thick with the damp, musty smell of rotting leaves and a more pungent, slightly acidic stench—the characteristic odor of arthropod bodily fluids.
On a massive horizontal oak branch about thirty feet above the ground, Moen White was in a state of [Void Body · Breath Concealment], like a ghost merging with the darkness, silently looking down.
He wasn't empty-handed as he usually was.
A palm-sized pouch made of an unknown dark brown leather hung at his waist.
It was an alchemical pouch cast with a high-level Undetectable Extension Charm, which he had bought for a high price in Knockturn Alley.
"Last time I killed a few in that alley, I actually wasted the venom because I didn't bring a container..."
Morn's fingers lightly brushed the pouch. The price list he had seen at Borgin and Burkes Shop flashed through his mind, and a glimmer of greedy light, born of past regret, flickered in his eyes.
"Acromantula Venom: 100 Galleons per pint, black market prices fluctuate upwards by 20%."
"Adult Giant Spider Chelicerae: 50 Galleons per pair, preferred material for wand cores/Potion stirring rods."
He looked down into the vast hollow below.
Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating a massive, sickeningly pale web that covered the entire ground. In the shadows of the web, countless pairs of glinting compound eyes were moving.
"This isn't just the Forbidden Forest..."
Morn licked his lips lightly. His gaze was no longer the disgust one would have for monsters, but the fervor of someone looking at a gold mine.
"This is clearly a flowing river of gold. Thank you, gifts of nature; thank you, Hagrid's 'farming'."
...And in the hollow below, Harry Potter had no idea he had become "monster bait" in someone else's eyes.
He felt as if his heart were about to jump out of his throat.
"Who's there?" Harry raised his glowing wand, his voice trembling. "Hagrid? Is that you?"
Click, click, click... What answered him wasn't Hagrid's rough voice, but a scalp-numbing sound, like countless bone scissors opening and closing at once.
The sound came from all directions—from the treetops, the bushes, and even from under the piles of leaves beneath his feet.
"Harry..." Ron gripped Harry's arm so tightly his nails almost sank into the flesh; he was so terrified he was nearly foaming at the mouth. "Look... look up..."
Harry looked up sharply.
With the help of the faint Lumos at the tip of his wand, he saw a spider as large as a cart horse.
It had a greyish-white, hairy body, and eight long legs covered in bristles that looked like a deadly fence, slowly closing in on them.
Behind it, in the center of that massive hemispherical web, an even larger old spider, the size of a small elephant, slowly crawled out.
Its two massive Chelicerae clicked, and its eight milky-white eyes looked exceptionally cloudy in the darkness.
It was blind.
"It is a human."
The old spider spoke. It was a low, raspy, echoing human voice that sounded like the wind in a tomb. "Is it Hagrid? Only he can pass through this web unhindered."
"No... we're Hagrid's friends."
Harry forced down his extreme physical nausea and fear, shouting loudly, "Hagrid's been taken away! Taken to Azkaban! There have been attacks nearby... everyone thinks he opened the Chamber of Secrets!"
"That is a lie!"
The old spider, Aragog, clicked his great Chelicerae in anger. "Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets! Years ago, he was the one who saved me in that box and fed me as I grew! He is a good man!"
"Then what exactly is that monster?" Harry pressed urgently, as this was the sole purpose of his journey. "You must know! Are you also a creature from the Chamber of Secrets?"
At the mention of the word "monster," all the surrounding small spiders (which were actually the size of dogs) recoiled in terror, letting out restless hisses.
"That thing!"
Aragog's voice became sharp and fearful. "That is the nightmare of our kind! An ancient predator that no spider dares to look at, or even mention by name! I have nothing to do with it! I am not even willing to speak of it in this forest!"
Harry's mind raced.
A predator that spiders fear... Dares not look at... The mirror in Hermione's hand... A Basilisk. The answer struck through the mist like a bolt of lightning. The voice was Parseltongue, the pipes were the serpent's path, the roosters were killed because a rooster's crow can kill a Basilisk, and spiders fear the Basilisk!
"Thank you..." Harry swallowed hard, pulling the stiffened Ron as he slowly backed away. "We know now. Since Hagrid is innocent, can we... can we go now?"
"Go?"
Aragog's blind eyes "looked" toward Harry. The fear from mentioning his natural enemy vanished instantly, replaced by the cold instinct of a predator.
"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid; that is by my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat when it comes to our door... especially when they haven't tasted human for a long time."
Hiss—!!!
At Aragog's command, the surrounding darkness instantly boiled over. Hundreds of Acromantulas surged from the shadows, no longer hiding or hesitating. Like a black tide carrying a suffocating stench and the oppressive weight of death, they lunged frantically toward the two tiny humans in the center.
"Run! Harry!" Ron finally screamed... while on a high branch...
Moen White looked at the dense swarm of spiders gathering below, a satisfied smile appearing on his face. He even pulled a pair of dragon hide gloves from his pocket and put them on unhurriedly, his movements as elegant as if he were preparing for surgery.
"Mob gathering complete."
He flexed his fingers, feeling the magic dancing at his fingertips.
"It's a bit of a pity the savior has become fodder, but before you eat him... hand over your valuable parts first."
Morn drew his wand. He wasn't in a hurry to cast large-scale destructive spells; instead, he aimed at the largest adult spiders with the fullest venom sacs.
"One, two, three... oh, the luster of the bristles on that one's leg is quite nice."
He calculated silently in his head. The pocket with the Undetectable Extension Charm was already open like a greedy mouth, waiting to swallow the coming wealth.
"Stocking up begins."
Chapter 113: Raging Flying Car and Shadow Harvest
A dark spell, seemingly capable of swallowing light itself, sliced through the air soundlessly, accurately hitting an adult Acromantula that was opening its massive Chelicerae to pounce on Ron's back.
Squelch.
It was like a hot knife through butter.
Before the giant spider could even let out a scream, the fragile joint connecting its cephalothorax and abdomen was instantly severed.
Dark green blood erupted like a fountain, carrying a nauseating acidic stench as it splattered onto the surrounding withered leaves.
Hearing the commotion behind him, Ron turned his head in terror, only to see the gargantuan creature collapse with a thud, twitching twice before falling still.
"Harry! It... it exploded on its own!" Ron shouted with a sob, wildly waving his broken wand wrapped in tape, shooting out weak sparks of red light, which were like using toothpicks to stop a tsunami against the tide of spiders.
And high up on a horizontal oak branch.
Moen White elegantly withdrew his wand, those deep blue eyes showing no mercy for the saved, only the coldness of evaluating merchandise.
"First one, adult male, Venom sac fullness: Excellent."
His fingers twitched slightly as he silently cast an Accio charm combined with a precise Severing Charm.
In the chaotic battlefield below,
no one noticed the dead Acromantula's abdomen being sliced open by an invisible force. A fist-sized purple sac filled with precious venom instantly flew up, tracing a hidden arc and landing steadily into the leather pouch at Morn's waist, which was enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
"One hundred Galleons, in the bag."
Morn patted the growing pouch with satisfaction, his gaze quickly locking onto the next target.
A giant female spider was attempting to flank Harry; its Chelicerae looked exceptionally sharp, top-tier material for making high-grade Potion stirring rods.
"Don't be in a hurry, little darlings. There's enough for everyone."
Morn was like a nobleman playing a shooting game; every flick of his wand represented the harvesting of a vast fortune.
He skillfully controlled the rhythm, neither letting Harry and Ron be eaten immediately—as that would end the game—
nor helping them completely out of the predicament—as that would scatter the mobs.
Instead, he maintained the situation in a delicate "desperate balance"... In the hollow below, Harry was already in despair.
"Stupefy! Impedimenta!"
He roared the spells with all his might, but there were too many spiders.
Those hairy black legs were like a shrinking cage, squeezing them into the center.
The air was thick with a pungent stench—the toxic breath of hundreds of giant spiders—making Harry's lungs sting as if they were on fire.
"We're going to die here..." Ron dropped his broken wand and curled up on the ground, clutching his head, as a giant spider's front leg already rested on his shoulder.
At that critical moment.
ROAR—!!!
A massive engine roar suddenly came from above the Forbidden Forest, a sound so deafening it even drowned out the clicking of the spider colony.
Then, two beams of white light, as dazzling as a supernova explosion, pierced the darkness, illuminating the entire hollow as bright as day.
It was Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia flying car, which had originally gone feral.
Like a raging steel beast with a rusted bumper and covered in mud, it roared down the steep slope.
Bang! Bang! Crunch!
This car, endowed with self-awareness, clearly had a fiery temper.
It rampaged through, forcibly crushing three giant spiders in its path; green blood splattered on the windshield, only to be impatiently wiped away by the wipers.
With a beautiful tail-flick drift, it screeched to a halt in front of Harry and Ron, the doors slamming open with a loud "clang," as if shouting: "What are you waiting for? Get in! Idiots!"
"It's the car! It's Dad's car!" Ron scrambled to throw Fang into the back seat and then dragged Harryinto the front.
The spider colony was startled by this sudden steel monster and retreated. But soon, stimulated by blood and the intruders, they hissed angrily again, surging forward like a black wave, attempting to submerge the small car... "A splendid exit."
High above, Morn was in no hurry to leave.
The appearance of the flying car drew all the spiders' hatred, providing the perfect opportunity to fish in troubled waters.
Watching the Ford car weave through the spiders, crushing a path of blood, Morn was not idle. His wand blurred as he waved it.
"Sectumsempra: Broad-range Scatter."
Dozens of invisible wind blades, like a net of death, instantly covered the high-value targets behind the flying car that were attempting to give chase.
Not for cover, but to steal the kills.
"Venom sacs, Chelicerae, Compound eyes..."
Morn's movements were incredibly fast. Taking advantage of the chaos while the spiders were blinded by the headlights and dazed by the engine noise, precious alchemical materials flew toward the canopy one after another as if they had grown wings, entering that never-full black pouch.
When the Ford car finally crashed through the last line of spider defense and sped over the ridge puffing black smoke, the hollow was left with a ground full of spider corpses.
Most of them were in a state of "dying very strangely"—key parts had been precisely excised, as if they had just undergone a violent vivisection.
Morn stowed his wand and weighed the pouch at his waist, which was now heavy and contained materials worth thousands of Galleons, a sincere smile appearing on his face for the first time tonight.
"Thanks for coming, Mr. Potter. Thanks for your driving skills, Mr. Weasley."
He glanced at the surviving spiders below, who were hissing angrily at the air but unable to find their enemy, and elegantly straightened the cuffs of his robes.
"This truly is a bountiful night. I think this venom is enough to trade on the black market for a full set of alchemical equipment sufficient to arm a small army."
He turned and leaped to another branch, like a well-fed raven, soundlessly vanishing into the darkness deep within the Forbidden Forest, leaving behind a mess and a legend that smelled of money.
Chapter 114: The Answer in Hand and the Hunter Who Jumped the Gun
The morning sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows of the Hospital Wing, falling without warmth upon Hermione Granger's face, which was frozen like stone.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of bleach and a suffocating scent of dust.
Harry Potter sat by the bed, ignoring Hermione's terrified eyes, and instead stared intently at her tightly clenched right fist.
Her stiff fingers looked as if they had been carved from marble, and a corner of crumpled parchment peeked out between them, standing out starkly against the deadly stillness of the gray-white surroundings.
"What is she holding..." Harry muttered, his heart starting to race, his intuition pounding wildly in his chest.
He reached out, trying to pry open Hermione's fingers.
The touch was cold and hard, without any flexibility.
He dared not use too much force, afraid of breaking his friend's fingers, and could only slowly and carefully pull out the slip of paper.
Sssshh.
The fragile paper made a slight tearing sound.
Harry quickly unfolded the small piece of parchment, which bore only Hermione's hurried, scrawled handwriting: "Pipes."
This single, short word instantly pierced the chaotic fog in Harry's mind like a bolt of lightning.
All the broken clues frantically snapped together in that second:
The sound moving within the walls that only he could hear—Parseltongue.
No victim was ever directly eaten, but petrified—because what they saw were reflections: standing water, mirrors, cameras, or the bodies of ghosts.
Spiders fled the Castle like mad—because they feared their natural predator.
And the name of this monster... "It's the Basilisk." Harry suddenly raised his head, his voice trembling with excitement, and he looked at Ron, "Hermione found the answer! That monster is the Basilisk! It moves through the Castle's plumbing system! That's why Morn said mirrors could save lives!"
"But where is the entrance?" Ron asked, his face pale, still holding a bouquet of withered wildflowers. "Since it's in the pipes, it must have an exit..."
"If there's a place no one ever goes... if there's a ghost who lives there..." Harry's eyes suddenly shone terrifyingly bright. "Moaning Myrtle! She was the victim fifty years ago! The place where she died is the entrance!"
Just then, the booming sound of a massive Magical Amplification Charm suddenly echoed throughout the entire Castle, making the window panes tremble slightly.
"All students immediately return to your House Dormitories. All teachers... please gather immediately in the Staff Room on the second floor."
Professor McGonagall's voice was amplified countless times by magic, but beneath the deafening volume, there was an undisguised tremble bordering on collapse.
"As the bloody writing that just appeared on the wall prophesied... a kidnapping has occurred. A student has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets."
Harry felt as if he had been punched hard in the stomach.
The hope that had surged from solving the Riddle was instantly extinguished by this bucket of ice water.
"Kidnapping..." The flowers in Ron's hand fell to the floor. "Who? Who was taken?"
...Ten minutes later, inside an old wardrobe in the Staff Room.
Harry and Ron huddled behind a pile of moldy old robes, watching the teachers enter one by one through the gap in the wardrobe door, their faces ashen.
Snape was gripping the back of a chair tightly, and Professor Flitwick was crying into his hands.
Professor McGonagall stood before the fireplace, her lips entirely colorless, her voice hollow as if reading a death sentence:
"Just now, we found new bloody writing in the second-floor corridor: 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever.'"
She took a deep breath, as if the next name would drain all her strength:
"It is Ginny Weasley."
Thud.
A muffled impact sound came from inside the wardrobe. It was Ron collapsing, his head hitting the cabinet panel.
Harry tightly covered Ron's mouth, tears streaming silently down his face. But besides the grief, an unprecedented rage was burning in his veins... At the same moment, in the second-floor Girls' Washroom.
It was dark and damp, filled with the perpetual musty smell of the sewers and the rank odor of stagnant water.
A petite figure was standing mechanically in front of the brass faucet engraved with a small snake pattern.
Ginny Weasley's eyes were cloudy and dull, her pupils dilated into an eerie, glassy texture. Her face was as white as a corpse, and she tightly clutched the black Diary in her hand.
"Open..."
A hoarse, chilling hiss, seemingly from the depths of hell, came out of her mouth.
Rumbling—The row of brass sinks seemed to be ripped apart by some immense force, slowly sinking to both sides.
A thick, pitch-black, deep pipe entrance was exposed to the air, resembling a massive maw leading to the abyss, emitting a sickening smell of decay.
Ginny didn't hesitate; like a programmed marionette, she jumped and vanished into the darkness.
Just as the stone slab of the entrance was about to close again.
The air that had been leaning against the shadows of the doorway suddenly distorted.
Like a drop of ink falling into clear water, Moen White's figure slowly materialized.
He was wearing his fitted black robe, and instead of a wand, he was toying with an Alchemical Crystalbought in Knockturn Alley, used to store soul fragments.
His face showed no alarm or anxiety; instead, he wore an expression of ease and greed, as if he were about to attend a buffet.
"What a pity, Potter."
Morn walked to the edge of the enormous black hole, looked down at the bottomless slide below, and curled his lips into a cruel arc.
"The best spoils always belong to the first hunter who arrives. By the time you arrive, weeping and dragging that incompetent Professor along... you'll probably only get the leftover cold soup."
He adjusted his collar, as if preparing for an elegant date, then calmly stepped into the slowly closing gap.
"Time to restock."
Morn's figure was instantly swallowed by the darkness.
With a muffled roar, the sinks closed back together, locking all secrets and sin deep underground once more.
Dead silence returned to the Washroom, broken only by the dripping faucet, ticking like a countdown to the impending slaughter.
Crunch.
Dry rat bones crunched under the Dragon-hide Boots sole, generating a series of teeth-grinding echoes in the vast, deathly silent Stone Chamber.
The air here was so damp and cold it could almost freeze, thick with the pungent, thousand-year-old stench of stagnant water and the distinct smell of decay left by shed snake skin.
Moen White stopped and slightly raised his head.
Before him, rows of towering stone pillars carved with coiled, intertwined serpents plunged into the dark dome, casting huge shadows like prison bars.
At the end of the hall, at the foot of the colossal Stone Statue of Salazar Slytherin, Ginny Weasley lay on the cold stone slab like a broken rag doll.
A tall, blurry figure, faintly shimmering with pearly light, stood there, looking down at the red-haired girl.
That was sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle.
"You are not Harry Potter."
Riddle slowly turned around, his cold eyes narrowing the moment he saw Morn.
There was no expected panic, only annoyance at having his enjoyment interrupted. "Moen White... the 'genius' from Ravenclaw. I've heard of you. What, do you also want to be the tragic hero of this play?"
Chapter 115: The Blind-Eyed Serpent King and the Consumption of Truth
"A hero?"
Morn let out a light laugh, flicking a speck of dust off his robe with his finger.
He closed his eyes, as if refusing to behold the magnificent spectacle around him.
"Don't misunderstand, Tom. I'm just a passing merchant. I heard there was a 'top-tier ingredient' about to expire here. It would be a waste not to come and reclaim it."
"Arrogant."
Riddle's expression instantly darkened. The tyrannical aura belonging to the Dark Lord caused the surrounding temperature to plummet. "Since you're in such a hurry to die, I'll oblige. Your magical power... seems even more delectable than that foolish girl's."
He turned towards the massive stone statue and let out a sharp, icy hiss, like a venomous snake's tongue flicking: "Speak to me, Slytherin — greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"
RUMBLE— The entire Chamber of Secrets began to shake violently. Dust rained down from the vaulted ceiling.
The enormous stone face of Salazar Slytherin stirred. Its mouth slowly opened, revealing a pitch-black void.
A suffocating, terrifying aura surged forth from that black hole.
Then,
came the sound of something heavy, slimy, and enormous scraping against stone.
Hiss... Hiss... A giant snake, its body a glossy green and as thick as a tree trunk, slowly slithered out from the statue's mouth.
It raised its massive, spiky head. Its two enormous yellow eyes, like twin lanterns, emitted a deadly, fatal radiance in the darkness.
"Kill him," Riddle pointed at Morn, delivering the death sentence. "Tear him apart!"
The Basilisk let out a high-pitched shriek. Its colossal body, like a runaway train, charged towards the small, black-robed youth with devastating kinetic force.
Morn's eyes remained tightly shut.
But in his mind, the dark world was instantly reconstructed by countless silver lines.
[Talent Activation: Void Body · Spatial Perception (Panoramic Mode)]
In his perceptual field, the Basilisk was no longer a green creature, but a massive, blindingly red vortex of raging magical energy.
Every contraction of its muscles, every parting of its fangs, even the ripples in the air caused by its movement, were all clearly displayed on this 3D holographic map.
"Too slow."
Morn gave his assessment mentally.
At the very moment the Basilisk's maw—large enough to swallow a whole cow—was about to snap shut.
[Apparition]
There was no loud crack, only a soft 'pop' as air was instantly displaced.
The Basilisk's bite closed on empty air. Its massive fangs slammed into the stone floor, sending sparks and shattered rock flying.
Morn's figure had already appeared like a phantom above the Basilisk's scaly head.
He hovered in mid-air, his right hand pressing down. A deep, black vortex that seemed capable of devouring light itself coalesced in his palm.
[Gravity magic · Thousand-Jin Weight]
"Get down."
Morn's voice was as cold as a command.
BOOM—!!! A terrifying vertical gravitational field instantly enveloped the Basilisk's head.
The dozens-of-tons monster was pressed down as if by an invisible giant hand. Its previously raised head smashed into the ground in an extremely brutal posture.
The hard granite floor instantly shattered. Countless cracks spread outwards like a spiderweb.
The Basilisk let out a roar of agony, thrashing its body wildly. Its tail swept sideways, smashing several nearby stone pillars to dust. Rubble flew and dust billowed.
The amused expression on Riddle's face, watching from a distance, froze.
"Wandless magic? Impossible... What are you?"
Morn paid no attention to Riddle's shock. He slowly descended from the air, landing lightly on the Basilisk's massive snout, which was pinned motionless by the crushing gravity.
Even as the monster beneath his feet struggled madly, trying to use its gaze—deadly to all who met it—to locate its enemy, Morn stood steady, as if his footing were solid bedrock.
"Is this the pride of Slytherin?"
Morn lowered his head (eyes still closed), feeling the ancient, death-rule-laden vibrations transmitted through his feet.
"Aside from being a bit larger, its soul... is hollow and boring. But those eyes..."
The corner of his mouth curled into a greedy arc.
He slowly crouched down. Even through his eyelids, he could feel the radiation of the 'death rule' emanating from those serpentine eyes, a power that made even the surrounding space feel fear.
"What a perfect Talent. What a waste on a beast."
...Morn extended his right hand, clad in a black glove, and fearlessly pressed it against the Basilisk's enormous, frantically rolling left eyelid.
As his fingers touched the rough, cold skin, countless streams of precise data instantly flowed through his deep blue pupils.
Hmm—
A translucent system panel, visible only to Morn, unfolded on his retina. But this time, a cold red warning box dominated his vision:
——[Analysis Lock]——
Target: Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk (Millennia-old Beast) Current soul strength: 2.49 (Critical State)
Manifested Talents:
[Death Eyes · Primordial Species (Gold)]: A rule-level Talent from ancient times. Contains the concept of 'Instant Death'.
Consumption Requirement: soul strength 5.0
Judgment: Severely Insufficient (Forced consumption will cause host soul disintegration)
[Petrifying Gaze (Purple)]: A secondary derivative of Death Eyes. Injects high-density magical energy through line of sight, forcibly solidifying biological functions.
Consumption Requirement: soul strength 2.5
Judgment: Short by 0.01 (Incompatible)
[Magical Resistance Scales (Purple)]:
Consumption Requirement: soul strength 2.5
Judgment: Insufficient
[Corrosive Venom (Deep blue)]:
Consumption Requirement: soul strength 1.5
Judgment: Consumable
...Morn looked at the red '2.49' and the purple Talent unlocked by a mere 0.01 difference. The upward curve of his mouth twitched slightly, a flicker of annoyed cold light in his eyes.
"Just 0.01 short... Such unpleasant precision."
He clicked his tongue, like a picky diner seeing 'Today's Chef's Special: Sold Out' on a Michelin menu. He knew the system's rules well; this 0.01 gap was a chasm. Forcibly consuming a purple Talent would only make his soul explode like an overinflated balloon.
"But leaving these eyes here is too much of an eyesore. Since I can't have the whole thing..."
Morn's gaze grew even colder. The magical light on his fingers shifted from a gentle absorption to a violent tearing.
"...then I'll smash it and eat only the core'seed'."
"System Command Change: Execute [Degradation Plunder]."
"Target: [Petrifying Gaze (Purple)] -> Violent Dismantling -> Extract Core Concept [Eye Seed(blue)]."
Warning: Degradation Plunder will permanently damage the integrity of the target Talent prototype, and the power of the obtained fragment will be greatly reduced. Execute?
"Execute." Morn coldly spat out the two words. "Although it's just a blue defective product, as long as I have the seed... once I consume Riddle's soul, I can naturally nurture it back to size."
BOOM!
A stream of pitch-black, ink-like data instantly turned violent.
They were no longer fine scalpels, but became heavy stone-breaking hammers, slamming viciously down Morn's arm into the Basilisk's optic nerve.
"HSSSSSAAAAA——!!!!!!"
The Basilisk let out an unprecedented, shrill scream of agony.
On a microscopic level, the perfectly structured architecture of its magical eyes was brutally shattered and filtered by the system. The vast energy representing the 'Gold Instant Death' and 'Purple Petrification,' unable to be absorbed by Morn, dissipated into the air. Only one pure, rule-based crystal emitting a faint blue light was forcibly ripped out.
[System Prompt: Violent Dismantling Successful]
[Target Talent 'Death/Petrification' has been shattered]
[Acquired Talent Seed: Deterrent Gaze (Deep blue · Growable)]
Description: A seedling with the potential to evolve into the Eyes of Medusa. Currently only possesses 'Visual Deterrence' and 'Brief Paralysis' effects.
Morn felt a slight, cool sensation in his eyes—the feedback from the blue Talent taking residence.
Although far less powerful than a purple Talent, the Basilisk beneath his feet was utterly criated—its eyes had turned into murky, gray-white mush, oozing black blood.
"Although I only got a seed..."
Morn stood up, looking at the blind giant serpent writhing in pain beneath his feet, and casually flicked the blood off his glove.
"...I also conveniently lowered the dungeon difficulty for the savior. Not a loss."
Chapter 116: The Shattered Horcrux and the Last Supper
Hurried footsteps echoed on the slippery stone floor, accompanied by heavy breathing that broke the eerie confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry Potter stumbled into the breathtakingly grand stone chamber.
The tip of the wand in his hand flickered with a faint light, illuminating the hellish scene ahead.
The air was filled with a thick smell of blood and a pungent odor like burnt rubber.
At first glance, he saw Ginny lying at the feet of the statue of Salazar Slytherin; her face was as pale as paper, almost blending into the stone floor.
Beside her, the blurry, memory-like Tom Riddle was staring forward with a grim expression.
But what shocked Harry most was the monster coiled in the shadows.
It was a green snake so massive it inspired despair, but at this moment, it looked utterly pathetic.
Its head hung limply on the ground, and the surrounding stone slabs were all shattered, as if it had just been struck by a meteorite.
And its terrifying eyes, which legends said could kill with a single glance, were now just two hollow, bleeding sockets, with gray eyelids drooping powerlessly, constantly oozing black slime.
"It... it's blind?"
Harry stopped in disbelief, his hand gripping his wand drenched in cold sweat. He had been prepared to close his eyes and face death, but this situation was completely beyond his expectations.
"Potter."
Riddle's voice was no longer filled with the composure of a cat playing with a mouse, but carried an extremely suppressed rage and a hint of imperceptible anxiety.
He couldn't explain why a one-sided massacre had just occurred here; it would make him, the Dark Lord, seem far too incompetent.
"Do you think you've won just because it's blind? Its fangs and hearing can still tear you to pieces!"
Riddle waved his hand sharply, issuing a hissing command to the still-twitching Basilisk: "Kill him! Listen for his sound! He's over there!"
Hiss—!
Spurred by its master, the Basilisk suddenly reared its head.
Though it had lost its sight, its sensitive tongue flickered frantically in the air, instantly capturing Harry's rapid heartbeat and footsteps.
It let out a furious roar, its massive body like a green battering ram, sweeping toward Harry with the sound of whistling wind.
"Run!"
Harry instinctively dove to the side. At the moment the tail, covered in hard scales, brushed past his scalp, he smelled that nauseating, putrid body odor.
Boom!
A stone pillar as thick as two men's embrace was snapped in half by the snake's tail. Huge stones fell like rain, kicking up clouds of dust... Moen White, hiding in the corner of the dome's shadows, was under the protection of the [Disillusionment Charm].
He was like a picky theater critic, sitting in a premium seat overlooking the fight below.
"Your movement is too stiff, Potter. If I hadn't already shattered three of that snake's vertebrae, you would have been turned into mincemeat just now."
Morn commented coldly in his heart, while his hand had already quietly prepared the next move.
He was waiting, waiting for that specific moment—the moment the Horcrux shattered and the soul overflowed.
Below, the battle had reached a fever pitch.
Harry was backed into a corner. Just as he was in despair, a fiery red bird—Fawkes—suddenly flew out of the darkness and dropped the tattered Sorting Hat.
Harry pulled a silver sword encrusted with rubies from the hat.
"End it, Potter." Morn narrowed his deep blue eyes, a pitch-black vortex faintly appearing in the depths of his pupils. "Don't make me wait too long."
Harry climbed onto the head of the Slytherin statue.
The blind Basilisk lunged toward the sound, opening its maw wide enough to swallow half a person.
Harry gripped the hilt with both hands. The moment the foul-smelling heatwave hit his face, he thrust the sword upward with all his might.
Pfft! The sharp blade pierced through the Basilisk's upper palate and straight into its brain.
The Basilisk let out a deafening death rattle, its massive body twitching violently before collapsing with a thud under the force of gravity, moving no more.
But its final strike was not in vain—one of its long fangs snapped off and sank deep into Harry's arm.
"No... no!" Riddle screamed in despair as he watched this. His plan, his resurrection—it was all over.
Harry pulled out the broken fang and stumbled toward the unconscious Ginny. Fawkes flew down, tears dripping onto his wound, and the lethal toxin was instantly purified.
Harry did not hesitate; he grabbed the black Diary and raised the venomous fang still stained with snake blood.
"Go to hell."
Harry roared, stabbing the fang hard into the center of the Diary.
Sizzle—! It was like a red-hot iron thrown into ice water. A large amount of black ink, like blood, gushed from the center of the Diary.
Riddle let out a piercing howl.
His body began to twist and tear, a huge hole of light appearing in his chest. Countless clouds of black smoke frantically overflowed from his body; it was the high-purity soul fragments belonging to Lord Voldemort disintegrating.
"Now's the time." High above, Moen White's eyes snapped wide open.
He reached out his right hand in the shadows, palm facing the dissipating storm of black soul below, his fingers splayed as if to grasp invisible fate.
"System, Devour."
In this dimension that only Morn could perceive, the air in the Chamber of Secrets suddenly froze.
The soul smoke of Riddle's despairing howl, which should have dissipated into the air, was suddenly pulled by an irresistible suction.
They no longer scattered but converged into an extremely viscous, dark-glowing black torrent, forcibly dragged toward the shadows of the dome, finally drilling into Morn's palm.
Gulp. It was the shudder-inducing sound of a soul being digested.
Immediately after, a series of crimson and gold data waterfalls exploded in Morn's field of vision, and the long-lost roar of the shackles deep in his soul being shattered echoed in his mind:
——[Soul Devour Feedback]——
Captured Target: Tom Marvolo Riddle (Soul Fragment · Age 16 Peak)
Quality Judgment: [High-tier (Purple · Zenith)]
[Conversion complete, attributes changed as follows]:
soul strength: 2.49 -> 3.15 (Breaking the mortal limit!)
Magic Scale: Significantly expanded, qualitative change begins.
[Plunder Rewards]:
Talent Obtained: [Parseltongue] (Passive · Solidified)
Knowledge Extraction: [Advanced Dark Arts Theory (Incomplete)]
——[Achievement Progress Update]——
Advanced Achievement Tracking: [Legendary Blood]
Current Progress: 1 / 5
Completion Condition: Accumulate devouring 5 Purple-quality (or above) Talents/Souls.
Unlocked Rewards:
[Talent Slot Expansion]: Talent slot limit +1.
[Talent Granting Authority]: Gain the ability to "forcibly grant" idle Talents in the warehouse to other individuals (can create subordinates)... An unprecedented sense of fullness instantly filled Morn's entire body.
It wasn't just an increase in magic; it was a leap in the level of existence. The ceiling named "Mortal (blue)" that had always pressed upon his soul was completely shattered at this moment.
"3.15..."
Morn looked at the "1/5" progress bar that had just lit up on his retina, as well as the tempting "Granting Authority" below, took a deep breath, and a deep calculation flashed in his eyes.
"Granting... this is the true authority of a 'King'."
He glanced at the progress bar, a fanatical sneer curling his lips.
"Four more to go. It seems I must speed up the pace of the hunt as well."
Below, Harry did not notice the plunder occurring above his head.
He only saw Riddle completely disappear in a burst of golden sparks, and the Diary stopped gushing ink, lying quietly on the ground with a large hole in the middle.
Ginny let out a faint moan and slowly opened her eyes.
"Harry... is that you? I... I think I had a nightmare..."
"It's alright, Ginny. It's all over." Harry sat weakly on the ground, looking at the dead Basilisk and the vanished Riddle, letting out a long sigh.
Above them, Moen White took one last look at this touching scene of a grand reunion.
He elegantly straightened his collar, his body turning into a cloud of invisible smoke, passing silently through the rock crevices of the Chamber of Secrets.
"It is indeed over, the savior."
His faint whisper lingered in the air.
"Thanks for the treat."
Chapter 117: The Birth of the Eye of Calamity and the Return of the white king
A burning, searing pain tunneled frantically through the optic nerve into the depths of his brain, feeling as though someone had thrust two red-hot needles into his eyeballs and was stirring the fragile lenses.
Moen White sat alone before the full-length mirror in the Ravenclaw Tower dormitory, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the oak desk, his nails sinking deep into the wood.
Cold sweat covered his forehead, sliding down his pale cheeks and dripping onto his collar, emitting a faint scorched smell caused by magic overload.
In his vision, the system's Fusion progress bar was advancing slowly at an agonizing pace.
[Talent Fusion Program · Running]
Primary Material: [Eye of Truth (blue)]
Auxiliary Material: [Deterrence Gaze (Basilisk Talent Seed · blue)]
Catalyst: [Lord Voldemort Soul Ember (High-level magic)]
"Fusion." Morn squeezed the final command through his teeth at the bloodshot eyes in the mirror.
Buzz— A low, vibrating hum erupted in the air.
The Morn in the mirror suddenly closed his eyes, and two streaks of black bloody tears flowed from the corners of his eyes. When he opened them again, the pupils that were originally deep sea blue had undergone a bizarre transformation.
The center of the pupils remained a calm blue, but at the outermost edge of the iris, there was an additional ring of dark gold, fine, serrated patterns. When he gazed at something, that ring of dark gold patterns would rotate slowly like a living thing, emitting an oppressive aura that seemed to freeze the soul.
[System Prompt: Fusion Successful]
[The original Talent "Eye of Truth" has mutated and been promoted to a Composite Talent]
——[Talent Panel Updated]——
Name: [Eye of Truth · Calamity Form]
Grade: [Purple (Growth Type)] New Characteristics:
[Analysis (Retained)]: Insight into all information, parsing magical structures.
[Calamity Gaze (Active)]: Consumes magic to apply "Mental Pressure" to the target locked by sight.
Effect: Targets with willpower lower than the host will fall into a "Stiff/Stasis" state (duration depends on the difference in soul strength between both parties).
Remark: This is the prototype of Medusa's authority. Although it cannot directly petrify the flesh, it is enough to petrify the souls of the weak.
"Is this... the perspective brought by 3.15 times soul strength?"
Morn looked at himself in the mirror and casually grabbed a crawling spider from the table.
The moment he activated [Calamity Gaze], the spider seemed to have its soul instantly sucked away; its eight legs suddenly stiffened, and it fell straight from his fingertips, hitting the tabletop with a "thud" and never moving again.
"Although it's not directly lethal, this kind of forced control..." Morn satisfiedly wiped the blood from the corners of his eyes, his lips curling into a dangerous arc, "is more useful than simple slaughter."
...Three days later, the Great Hall.
The atmosphere of the end-of-year feast was so enthusiastic it almost threatened to blow off the enchanted ceiling.
Countless candles floated in mid-air, illuminating the mountains of roast beef and still-sizzling roast chicken on the golden plates along the long tables; the air was thick with the sweet scent of pumpkin juice and a sense of joy from having survived a disaster.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were wearing clean robes—though Ron's was still a bit short—and were surrounded by a crowd of Gryffindor students, receiving hero-like cheers.
Hermione Granger had fully recovered, and she was excitedly grabbing Harry's arm, replaying every detail at high speed.
At the center of the staff table, in the golden high-backed chair that had been vacant for quite some time, Albus Dumbledore sat once again.
The white-haired old man still wore his star-patterned robes, and his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles sparkled with kind and wise light.
But his gaze, which occasionally swept over the Ravenclaw table, carried a hint of indiscernible depth.
"I imagine you are all famished."
Dumbledore stood up, his voice booming over all the noise. "But before we dig in, as Principal, I have a few belated words of nonsense to say."
"First, we must celebrate that all the victims have recovered."
Thunderous applause erupted.
Penelope Clearwater stood up from the Ravenclaw table to bow; her face was still a bit pale, but her eyes had regained their spirit.
"Secondly... we must make some... adjustments to the points regarding recent events."
Dumbledore's gaze fell upon Harry and Ron, a signature mischievous smile appearing on his face.
"Mr. Ron Weasley, for the most brilliant game of chess witnessed in many years in the face of extreme danger, I award Gryffindor—200 points."
"Mr. Harry Potter, for his extraordinary nerve and the pure courage he displayed in a moment of crisis, I award Gryffindor—200 points."
Boom—!
The Gryffindor table instantly exploded with excitement.
The green decorations that originally belonged to Slytherin transformed in an instant into vibrant red and gold.
Hats were thrown into the air, and the Weasley twins even jumped onto the table; the cheers were deafening, nearly lifting the roof.
On the other side of the Great Hall, however, the Ravenclaw table presented a starkly different, almost solemn atmosphere.
No one felt indignant about losing the House Cup, nor did anyone envy the Gryffindor clamor.
It was as if an invisible barrier existed, centered around Moen White, isolating the surrounding noise.
Beside him, those usually haughty Ravenclaw elites—Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and even the Prefect Penelope—all displayed a subtle restraint.
Though they were also applauding, their gazes would occasionally drift toward the black-haired youth who was gently swirling his goblet, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe, inquiry, and obedience.
"Morn..." Terry Boot leaned in, his voice very low as if afraid of disturbing some predator, "Potter and the others got so many points... don't you mind? If you had stepped in, that Chamber of Secrets..."
"Mind what? A few gems?"
Morn did not look at him, merely stroking the rim of his goblet with his finger in a careless, elegant motion as if playing with a scepter.
"Terry, a king needs medals to prove his rule, while a god only needs to exist."
Terry Boot froze for a moment, then, as if having realized some profound truth, lowered his head in awe and said no more.
The surrounding Ravenclaw students also exchanged glances; it was a silent understanding shared only among the clever—Gryffindor won the cup, but we have Moen White.
In this pocket of rational silence, Moen White sat quietly in the center of the crowd, holding a glass of Cherry Syrup Soda.
He looked at the savior surrounded by flowers and applause, then at the white-haired old man who had regained control of everything, wearing a clear and indifferent smile characteristic of an outsider.
"400 points, plus supreme glory."
Morn silently calculated the account in his mind. "Is this the reward you traded your life for, savior? It's truly... so cheap it's heart-wrenching."
He lowered his head, feeling the surging high-level magic belonging to Lord Voldemort in the depths of his soul, and the calamity power lurking in his eyes that was enough to stiffen any enemy.
"We want different things, Potter."
Morn raised his glass toward the distant Harry, who was flushed with excitement, and made a silent toast.
Through the crystal-clear red liquid, his gaze underwent a subtle change; the dark gold serrated pattern on the outer ring of his pupils rotated slowly once, as if making a silent declaration.
"You have won the applause of the present."
Morn drained the liquid in his glass; the cold syrup slid down his throat, bringing a tangible sense of absolute control.
"And I... have won the future."
The cheers in the Great Hall continued, but that excitement belonged to them.
Morn set down his glass and, under the almost reverent gazes of the Ravenclaw students, slightly adjusted his sitting posture, his expression as indifferent as ever.
Second year ends.