Ch: 145-154
Chapter 145: Completion of the [Void Body]
The midnight bell tolled twelve times, its dull echoes layering through the empty Castle corridors before faintly reaching the Hospital Wing.
The ward was deathly silent. Only the moonlight flowed across the floor like pale mercury, stretching the shadows of the hospital beds long and distorted.
Madam Pomfrey had long since returned to her office to rest, leaving behind only a few magical nightlights enchanted with dimming charms, emitting a faint glow like fireflies.
Moen White suddenly snapped his eyes open.
There wasn't a hint of sleepiness in those deep blue eyes in the darkness; instead, they shone with a startling brilliance, like two sapphires frozen at absolute zero.
"Environment secure. Surveillance bypass active."
He muttered silently in his heart. His body didn't move, but the magic within him began to circulate at an extremely dangerous frequency.
The purple "Warming Potion" he had taken in front of Madam Pomfrey during the day now became his best fuel.
The heat was forcibly intercepted by the system and used as base power, driving the Talent module known as [Void Body] to begin a deep restructuring.
[System Prompt: Commencing execution of the Completion Plan.]
[Material Loaded: Dementor · Negative Entropy Essence (99% Purity).]
[Objective: Fill Phase Rifts, eliminate magic oscillation noise.]
Morn slowly raised his right hand, palm upward.
There were no incantations, nor was there any guidance from a wand. A mass of pitch-black substance, seemingly capable of swallowing the surrounding light, seeped silently from the lines of his palm.
It wasn't smoke; it was liquid "despair."
The moment this substance appeared, the temperature in the ward plummeted. The dust motes floating in the air instantly froze and fell to the ground; on the window glass, frost flowers grew at a speed visible to the naked eye, spreading out in sinister geometric patterns.
That cold wasn't a physical low temperature, but a silence of "life activity being stripped away."
"Fusion."
Morn clenched his fingers tightly.
The mass of liquid darkness did not disperse; instead, it followed his finger gaps, burrowing back into his skin and instantly flowing through his entire body via his venous network.
"Ugh..."
Morn's body arched violently under the covers, like a bow drawn to its limit.
Pain.
It was as if boiling lava had been replaced by flowing liquid nitrogen; every nerve screamed as it was frozen, and every cell underwent a forced down-clocking from active to deathly still.
But he didn't cry out. His reason was like a scalpel, precisely dissecting the pain and converting it into data.
[Assimilation Rate: 30%... 60%...]
[Warning: Physical vitality is dropping. It is recommended to maintain a minimum heart rate to prevent sudden death.]
"Continue." Morn gritted his teeth, even tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. "If I can't even handle this bit of cold, how will I devour higher-level Horcruxes in the future?"
As the Fusion deepened, Morn's body began to undergo a strange transformation.
His body, which had been lying solidly on the bed, began to blur. That blurriness was no longer the unstable state with a "flickering sensation" from before, but an extremely smooth bleeding effect, like ink dropping into clear water.
His silhouette faded under the moonlight, as if the shadows had accepted him as one of their own.
Finally, the last trace of black essence was completely absorbed.
[Completion finished.]
[Talent Upgrade: [Void Body (blue)] → [Void Body (blue · Perfect)].]
[New Trait: [Silent Phase].]
[Description: Your Void-shifting is no longer a forced distortion of reality, but has become a part of reality's shadow. Unless a targeted high-level illusion-breaking spell is used, your movements will not cause any airflow or magic ripples.]
Morn slowly exhaled.
That breath didn't turn into white mist, nor did it cause a disturbance in the air; it simply vanished into thin air.
He pulled back the covers and stepped barefoot onto the cold wooden floor.
There was no sound.
Even though he didn't intentionally tiptoe, the moment his soles touched the ground, it was like two shadows overlapping; no vibration from physical collision occurred.
Morn walked over to the large full-length mirror in the ward.
The mirror was empty.
Only the oversized hospital gown appeared to be suspended in mid-air as if worn by an invisible person, but if one didn't look closely, even the folds of the clothes seemed ethereal.
"De-manifest clothing."
With a thought, there was absolutely nothing left in the mirror.
Morn reached out and pressed his hand against the mirror's surface.
The cold glass didn't fog up, nor did it reflect any fingerprints. He was like a true ghost, or rather, an observer who did not exist here.
"Perfect."
The corners of Morn's mouth curled into a satisfied arc. This sense of control, this power to erase his own existence at will in the physical world, left him feeling incredibly intoxicated.
He turned around and cast his gaze toward the other end of the ward.
Harry Potter was curled up under his blankets, brow furrowed, seemingly experiencing something terrible in his dreams. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead looked exceptionally red and swollen under the moonlight.
Morn started walking over.
He walked casually, as if strolling in his own backyard. But everywhere he passed, the air seemed to be frozen.
When he stopped at the head of Harry's bed, Harry seemed to sense something.
the savior, who was still fighting Lord Voldemort in his dreams, flinched violently, huddling into his blankets like a startled hedgehog.
"Cold..." Harry muttered incoherently in his sleep, "So cold..."
In his subconscious, the Dementors had returned.
But Morn just stood there quietly, looking down at the boy carrying a heavy fate.
"Your radar is quite sensitive, Potter."
Morn reached out, his void-shifted fingertip hovering an inch above Harry's scar.
The faint oscillation wave originating from the Horcrux conducted through the air to his fingertip, bringing a numbing sensation.
"But you can't distinguish... between the malice that wants to kill you and pure 'nothingness.'"
Morn did not touch Harry. Having just finished his upgrade, the negative entropy energy within him was too strong; if he touched Harry, it might directly cause the savior to fall seriously ill or even freeze his soul.
That would alert Dumbledore.
Morn withdrew his hand and slowly backed away, merging once more into the shadows of the corner.
"Have a good sleep."
He whispered soundlessly in the darkness.
"When you wake up, you'll find that although the Dementors are gone... winter has only just begun."
Morn returned to his own bed and deactivated his void-shift.
The weight of a physical body returned. That grounded feeling made him slightly uncomfortable, but he enjoyed the ease of switching between the two realms.
He lay back down, covered himself, and closed his eyes.
The system interface flashed one last time in the darkness:
[Current Status: [Void Body] stabilized.]
[Next Phase Objective: Obtain 'Werewolf Magic Sample'.]
[Recommended Contact Target: Remus Lupin.]
Morn's breathing became steady and deep.
The wind outside stopped. But the temperature in this ward did not rise again until dawn.
Chapter 146: Wormwood Tea and Compassion
Monday afternoon, the sky over Hogwarts remained gloomy. Though the storm had ceased, the damp, cold moisture seemed to have seeped into every stone of the Castle.
Moen White stood before the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's office on the third floor, adjusting his tie.
Madam Pomfrey had been reluctant, but she eventually signed his discharge papers after lunch.
The reason given was that "except for a slightly low body temperature, other vital signs have returned to a surprisingly normal level."
Morn raised his hand and lightly knocked on the oak door, its paint peeling.
"Come in."
Remus Lupin's voice came from behind the door, sounding somewhat tired but still gentle.
Morn pushed the door open and entered.
The office was filled with a scent that mixed old book paper, dried herbs, and a fishy smell emanating from a large water tank in the corner.
Inside the tank, a Grindylow was pressing its sickly green face against the glass, baring its teeth at Morn.
"Ah, Morn. It's good to see you up and about."
Lupin was tidying up a pile of homework parchments on his desk.
Seeing Morn enter, he immediately stopped his work, a sincere smile appearing on his sickly face.
He wore his old, patched tweed robes, looking even more aged than he had in the classroom a few days ago.
"Good afternoon, Professor Lupin," Morn bowed politely. "I've come to... apologize to you."
"Apologize?" Lupin blinked, then waved his hand, gesturing for Morn to sit in the old armchair across from him. "Oh, no, child. I'm the one who should apologize. I shouldn't have left you in front of the Boggart during that lesson. I underestimated... the effect that thing would have on you."
That thing.
Lupin vaguely referred to the "remnant soul of Lord Voldemort." Clearly, Dumbledore had already briefed him. In their eyes, Morn was a victim unfortunately contaminated by the Dark Lord's memories.
"Tea?" Lupin picked up a chipped teapot. "I've just brewed some. It's not expensive tea, but I've added a bit of mint; it's quite refreshing."
"Thank you."
Morn took the teacup.
The steaming tea gave off a faint fragrance, but to Morn's extremely keen sense of smell, beneath that fragrance lay a nearly imperceptible bitterness, similar to Wormwood and wolfsbane.
It was the residue of the Wolfsbane Potion.
Morn held the teacup and didn't drink immediately. He lowered his head slightly, and under the guise of blowing away the steam, he silently activated the system's deep perception.
[Talent Activation: [Malice Perception (Green)] + [Eye of Truth (Purple · Low Power)].]
[Target: Remus Lupin.]
[Scanning Focus: Magic Spectrum Analysis.]
"Professor, I actually came to ask..." Morn looked up, his eyes showing a perfectly measured hint of confusion and unease. "Will that... cold feeling last forever?"
Lupin's hand, which was pouring tea for himself, trembled slightly.
"Cold?" He set the teapot down and looked at Morn with concern.
"Yes. Ever since Headmaster Dumbledore helped me... expel that voice." Morn's voice was very low, as if he were sharing a shameful secret. "I feel as if a piece of me is missing inside. Sometimes, looking at the sunlight outside the window, I feel like even it is cold."
This was a lie, and yet the truth.
The lie was that it wasn't an aftereffect, but the result of Morn actively integrating the Dementor's negative entropy. The truth was that he did feel cold, but he enjoyed it.
But to Lupin's ears, these words held a different meaning.
Lupin looked at the pale boy before him, deep sympathy welling in his eyes. He thought of himself—the weakness after every full moon, the emptiness after being torn apart by the beast within, the loneliness of feeling like an outsider no matter how much he disguised himself in this normal world.
A shared suffering.
"That's normal, Morn." Lupin's voice became even softer, even carrying a hint of raspiness. "When you coexist with a certain darkness for a long time and then suddenly lose it, the soul experiences a withdrawal reaction. You need time to readjust to the light."
He pulled a large slab of Honeydukes chocolate from a drawer, broke off half, and handed it to Morn.
"Eat some of this. Chocolate isn't just effective against Dementors; it's also very effective for this kind of coldness in the heart."
Morn took the chocolate and took a small bite. The sweet, rich flavor melted on his tongue, but he wasn't focused on the taste.
At the moment Lupin handed over the chocolate, their fingers made extremely brief contact.
Zzt—
The waterfall of data in the system's background instantly refreshed.
[Contact complete. Magic sample collected.]
[Analysis Report:]
[Magic Nature: Chaotic, periodic oscillation.]
[Abnormal Features: At the core of his magic source, there is an extremely ancient, infectious lycanthropic curse. This curse is attempting to erode his rational circuits, but it is barely suppressed into a dormant state by a certain drug (Wolfsbane Potion).]
[Evaluation: This is a shell constantly on the verge of collapse. Every time he casts a spell, he is actually fighting for control against the beast within him.]
"Thank you, Professor."
Morn swallowed the chocolate, a hint of color returning to his face—this was a "feeling of being healed" simulated by controlling his facial capillaries.
"I feel much better," Morn said with a smile.
"You are very talented, Morn." Lupin looked at him, his eyes serious. "I saw extraordinary logic in your homework. Don't negate yourself because of that dark experience. Sometimes, it's those very scars that make us stronger."
"Just like you, Professor?" Morn asked suddenly, his tone innocent and direct.
Lupin's expression stiffened for a moment, then he smiled bitterly. "Me? Oh, no... I'm just a useless old man. But I hope you can be luckier than me."
Morn set down his teacup.
The objective was achieved. He had not only confirmed that Lupin's Werewolf state was in an unstable cycle (which explained why he was so nervous during the Boggart class), but more importantly, he had successfully implanted the image of a "strong but guidance-needing victim" in Lupin's mind.
With this image, any advanced knowledge he displayed in Defense Against the Dark Arts in the future could be explained as "excessive study for self-preservation."
"Then I won't disturb your rest, Professor."
Morn stood up and straightened his robes.
"By the way, Morn." Lupin called out behind him. "This Wednesday's class is about 'Hinkypunks.' If you're feeling unwell, you don't have to come; I'll give you a permission slip."
"I'll be there." Morn turned around, standing in the shadow of the door, his deep blue eyes flashing with a certain rational brilliance. "Running away doesn't solve problems, does it? After all... no matter how cold it gets, one must learn to adapt."
With that, he pulled the door open and stepped into the cold corridor.
As the door closed, the hint of fragility on Morn's face instantly vanished. He raised his right hand, glancing at the fingertip that had just touched Lupin.
[Recorded Werewolf Curse Frequency: Alpha-9 type.]
[Potential Application: If stimulation is applied in reverse through this frequency, it can induce a forced transformation; or by modifying the potion, his rationality can be completely stripped away, turning him into a pure biological weapon.]
"What a pathetic creature."
Morn commented coldly in his mind.
"Clearly possessing the physical power to easily tear a Wizard apart, yet choosing self-castration because of so-called 'humanity'."
He turned and headed toward Ravenclaw Tower.
Next, it was time to check on his "The Truth Society." He wondered how Terry and Olivia were doing with the "logic homework" he had assigned while he was hospitalized.
Chapter 147: Detection of Malice Perception
On a Monday afternoon, a steady cold rain fell outside Hogwarts Castle, and the sky took on a depressing shade of iron gray.
This weather caused a chill to seep through the stone walls of the entire Castle, as if even the flow of magic in the air had become sluggish.
Moen White stood before the door of the defense against the dark arts professor's office on the third floor.
He straightened his collar, tucking the indifference of a "Rational Predator" deep into his eyes, replacing it with the paleness and slight awkwardness of someone newly recovered from a serious illness.
"Knock, knock, knock."
He gently knocked on the mottled oak door.
"Come in."
Remus Lupin's voice came from behind the door, sounding with a clear trace of exhaustion, like a piece of old parchment that had been folded repeatedly.
Morn pushed the door open and entered.
The office was not spacious and the light was dim. The air was filled with a mixture of the musty smell of old books, dried herbs, and the stagnant water stench emitted by the Grindylow in the corner water tank.
The water creature was pressing its sickly green face against the glass, baring its teeth at Morn.
"Ah, Morn."
Lupin was sitting behind his desk grading homework. Seeing the visitor, he immediately put down his quill, a gentle smile appearing on his sickly, prematurely aged face. He wore his signature patched tweed robes and looked even more haggard than he had a few days ago.
"Good afternoon, Professor Lupin," Morn bowed politely, his voice carrying a well-judged hint of weakness. "Madam Pomfrey has discharged me. I thought... I should come and thank you for the Boggart class the other day..."
"Oh, no, child." Lupin stood up and waved him off. "It's I who should apologize. I underestimated the effect that... thing had on you. Please, sit."
He pointed to an old armchair by the fireplace and then picked up the teapot on the table.
"Would you like some tea? I've just brewed it. Though it's not any expensive tea, I've added some mint and dried ginger to ward off the cold."
"Thank you."
Morn sat down and took the stoneware teacup Lupin handed him with both hands.
The steaming tea sloshed in the cup, emitting a faint fragrance. However, Morn's system-enhanced sense of smell keenly caught another scent hidden beneath the fragrance—bitter and pungent, like the residue of some boiled poisonous herb.
It was the smell of Wormwood and Monkshood. Wolfsbane Potion.
Morn held the teacup, not in a hurry to drink. He lowered his head slightly, using the action of blowing away the steam to hide the flash of data stream in his eyes.
"System, initiate multi-threaded analysis."
He commanded coldly in his mind.
[Command confirmed.]
[Talent activated: [Malice Perception (Green)] —> Focusing on target: Emotional Spectrum.]
[Talent activated: [Eye of Truth (Purple · Low Power)] —> Focusing on target: Magic Source Code.]
In an instant, the world in Morn's vision changed.
Professor Lupin's gentle exterior appeared in his eyes like a peeled onion skin, exposing the intricate energy network within.
The first feedback came from [Malice Perception].
If it were ordinary malice, Morn would see black or red spikes. But on Lupin, the emotional spectrum presented a heart-palpitating sense of fragmentation.
The outer layer was warm gray, which was Lupin's personality—gentle, guilty, full of empathy, even purer than most students at Hogwarts.
But deep within that warm gray core, a crimson, constantly pulsing giant shadow was parasitic. That shadow had no reason, no specific target for its hatred; it was pure "hunger" and "tyranny." It was like a mad beast tightly bound by chains, frantically slamming against Lupin's cage of reason, letting out silent roars.
"What a painful symbiosis," Morn evaluated coldly in his heart. "A saint and a beast, forcibly sewn into one shell."
Next, the data from the [Eye of Truth] began to scroll across his vision.
[High-level biological curse detected: Lycanthropy.]
[Type: Dual blood/soul infection.]
[Current status: Suppression period (maintained by medication).]
[Magic wavelength record: λ-9800 to λ-10500 (extremely high-frequency oscillation).]
Morn's pupils contracted slightly.
Through the data perspective, he saw that crimson cursed magic attempting to "modify" Lupin's cellular structure—it was trying to reorganize fragile human muscle into more explosive bestial fibers. And that Wormwood-scented potion power (Wolfsbane Potion) acted like blue fences, forcibly interrupting this restructuring process.
This caused Lupin's body to be in a long-term state of intense internal friction, "half-healing, half-tearing."
This was the fundamental reason why he always looked so prematurely aged and exhausted. He was using his life force to sustain this internal war.
"Professor..." Morn looked up, a confused and fragile expression appearing in his eyes, "That cold feeling... will it really disappear?"
Lupin's hand, which was pouring tea for himself, trembled slightly, and a few drops of tea splashed onto the table.
"Cold?" He put down the teapot and looked at Morn with concern.
"Yes. Ever since Headmaster Dumbledore helped me drive out that voice." Morn's voice was very soft, as if it were some unspeakable trauma, "I feel like a piece of me is missing. Sometimes when I look at the sunlight outside the window, I feel it's cold. Is this... the scar left by the Dark Arts?"
This was a carefully designed line.
Morn was using his "fake pain" to resonate with Lupin's "real pain."
Sure enough, Lupin's eyes instantly softened; it was the look of seeing one of his own kind.
"Scars..." Lupin repeated the word softly, subconsciously touching his prematurely graying temples. "Yes, Morn. Some scars can never fully heal. They remain there to remind us of what we've been through."
He sighed, took a large piece of Honeydukes chocolate from a drawer, broke off half, and handed it to Morn.
"Eat some of this. Chocolate is not only effective against Dementors but also very effective against the cold in one's heart. Trust me, I... have a lot of experience."
Morn reached out to take the chocolate.
At the moment their fingers were about to touch, Lupin's emotions fluctuated slightly because of the conversation about "scars," and his suppression of the magic in his body slackened for a ten-thousandth of a second.
An opportunity.
Morn's fingers precisely brushed against Lupin's fingertips.
[Capture overflow band!]
That clump of crimson Wolfsbane magic, which had been suppressed, leaked out for a millisecond through this gap and was instantly captured by Morn's already spread perception net.
[Sample locked.]
[Establishing model: Wolfsbane magic frequency (Alpha-9 type).]
[Potential deduction: This frequency has extremely strong 'rationality corrosiveness.' If extracted and reverse-modulated, a 'Forced Berserk Potion' could be created; or... by modifying its wavelength, could it be transformed into a controllable biological enhancer?]
"Thank you, Professor."
Morn took the chocolate, and the nauseatingly tyrannical aura from his fingertips was instantly sealed by the system. He took a small bite of the chocolate, and a hint of color appeared on his face from the sugar intake—this was simulated by controlling his facial capillaries.
"I feel much better," Morn said with a smile, his eyes clear and sincere.
"You are very talented, Morn," Lupin looked at him, his eyes full of gratification. "I saw extraordinary logic in your homework. Don't negate yourself because of that dark experience. Sometimes, it's those scars that make us more unique."
"Like you, Professor?" Morn asked suddenly.
Lupin's expression stiffened for a moment, then he gave a bitter smile: "Me? Oh, no... I'm just a useless old man. But I hope you can be luckier than me."
Morn put down his teacup and stood up.
His goal had been achieved. He had not only confirmed the instability of Lupin's Werewolf state but also obtained the core magic data. Staying any longer would only increase the risk of exposure.
"Then I won't disturb your rest, Professor."
Morn straightened his robes and bowed politely.
"Oh, by the way, Morn," Lupin said behind him, "This Wednesday's class is about 'Hinkypunks.' If you feel your body hasn't recovered, you don't have to come."
"I'll be there."
Morn turned around, standing in the shadow of the door, a certain rational glow flickering in his deep blue eyes.
"After all... no matter how cold it is, one must learn to adapt, right?"
With that, he opened the door and walked into the cold corridor.
As the door closed, the trace of fragility on Morn's face vanished instantly, replaced by a chilling indifference.
He raised his wrist and glanced at the progress bar on his retina.
[Werewolf curse sample archived.]
[Project established: [Biological Weapon Optimization / Wolfsbane Potion Improvement].]
[Current priority: Low (waiting for physical materials).]
"Pathetic creature."
Morn evaluated coldly in his heart as he walked.
"Possessing physical strength that could easily tear a Wizard apart, yet self-castrating because of so-called 'humanity,' living like a beggar."
He turned toward the stairs leading to Ravenclaw Tower.
Since the "victim" persona had been solidified and the data obtained, next, it was time to deal with that loose "The Truth Society."
Only by turning the brains of those Ravenclaw geniuses into his "processors" could his experimental efficiency truly improve.
Chapter 148: Ravenclaw's "Study Group"
The Ravenclaw common room is located at the top of Hogwarts' West Tower, the place in the entire Castle closest to the sky.
The windows here are not ordinary glass, but a kind of alchemical crystal capable of filtering starlight.
Even on such a gloomy afternoon, the common room was still filled with a quiet, cold blue glimmer.
Deep blue silk curtains hung by the massive arched windows, and the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood silently in its niche, looking down upon this flock of wisdom-valuing little eagles.
When Morn pushed open the oak door that had no handle and only accepted wisdom as a key, the common room was in a state of busy and oppressive silence.
The approach of mid-term exams made the atmosphere here somewhat heavy.
The air was filled with the old scent of parchment and the slightly bitter smell of evaporating ink. The "shasha" sound of quills scratching rapidly across paper was like a dense spring rain, drumming on everyone's nerves.
Morn's appearance did not cause much of a stir.
Everyone just looked up at the Prefect who had just been discharged from the hospital. Those gazes were complex: polite detachment, curiosity about the rumored "Dementor attack," and a deeply hidden scrutiny belonging to intelligent people.
Morn ignored these looks.
Although his [Void Body] was turned off, the "Dementor negative entropy" within him that had not yet fully settled caused him to carry a field that lowered the surrounding temperature as he walked. With precise steps, he walked straight toward the deep blue velvet armchair belonging to the Prefectby the fireplace.
He sat down and took out the book "Advanced Rune Analysis" from his bag, but did not open it.
His gaze turned toward a round table not far away.
There, Terry Boot was clutching his hair, his face flushed red as he lost his temper at a Star Chartcovered in complex lines.
"Damn it... this makes no sense at all!"
Terry slammed his quill onto the table with a sharp "crack," breaking the silence of the common room.
"If the rune 'Ehwaz' (Horse/Movement) is placed in the Third Quadrant, it conflicts with the field of 'Thurisaz' (Giant/Defense), causing a Magic Backflow. But if it's not placed there, the energy circuit of the entire Defensive Array will break. It's simply a dead end!"
Several upper-year students nearby who were also studying runes gave helpless, bitter smiles.
"Give up, Terry." A sixth-year girl sighed. "That was a difficult problem from the Ancient Runes Association last year. It's said that only by using extremely expensive alchemical materials as a medium can these two runes be forcibly fused."
"Forced Fusion? That's a barbarian's way!" Terry hugged his head in pain.
"Your logical basis is wrong, Terry."
A calm, cold voice, devoid of any emotional color, pierced through the whispers and fell clearly into everyone's ears.
Terry looked up sharply to find that Morn had closed his book at some point and was looking at him through his Monocle with a gaze of almost mechanical precision.
"What?" Terry was stunned.
Morn stood up, the hem of his robes cutting a straight line behind him. He walked to the round table, and instead of taking Terry's quill, he extended a pale, slender finger and hovered it over the messy parchment.
[Eye of Truth · Activated.]
[Analysis Target: Low-level rune Defensive Array.]
[Error Tags: 3. Constructing Magic Fluid Model...]
"You're treating runes as fixed 'bricks,' trying to physically stack them together."
Morn's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried an unquestionable authority.
"But from a High-dimensional Perspective, runes are fluid pipes." Morn's finger traced an elegant geometric arc in the air. "'Thurisaz' doesn't represent a wall for defense, but a reverse Repulsive Field. Placing it in the Third Quadrant, which represents 'Movement,' is like trying to swim upstream against a waterfall."
"But... the textbook says this is a standard defensive structure..." Terry stammered in rebuttal, a nerd's instinctive reaction when facing authority.
"The textbook teaches the 'Safe Solution,' not the 'Optimal Solution'."
Morn's finger suddenly tapped the edge of the Star Chart, a very faint, ghostly blue light glowing at his fingertip.
"Rotate 'Ehwaz' 15 degrees to act as a Diversion Pipe. Then insert 'Laguz' (Water/Flow) in the middle as a Buffer."
As he spoke, that sliver of magic flowed from his fingertip, sketching three pale blue lines on the parchment, reconnecting the three originally conflicting runes.
"Now, try inputting magic."
Morn withdrew his hand and put them back into his pockets, his tone as flat as if he were ordering a House-elf to pour water.
Terry swallowed hard and, half-doubting, raised his wand and channeled a sliver of magic into the modified array.
Buzz—
A miracle happened.
The rune array, which had been flickering and emitting red alerts due to mutual repulsion, suddenly lit up. The light was no longer a piercing red, but a stable, soft ghostly blue. The magic formed a perfect Mobius Strip between the three symbols, flowing as smoothly as breathing, even emitting a pleasant hum.
"Merlin's beard..." Terry's eyes widened, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit an egg. "It worked? And... the magic consumption has dropped by at least 40%?"
The already quiet common room instantly fell into a dead silence.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched this scene in shock. They were Ravenclaws; naturally, they understood what had just happened.
Moen White hadn't used any complex spells; he had simply used "logic" to restructure the way magicflowed.
This was a Dimensionality Reduction Strike.
"A brilliant theory."
The crowd parted, and a haughty voice broke the silence.
Olivia Vance walked over with her arms crossed. She wore finely tailored robes, her blonde hair combed meticulously, her chin slightly raised. As Ravenclaw's other Prefect and the heir to the Vance Family, she had always held a subtle competitive attitude toward Morn, the "half-blood genius."
"But White," Olivia's gray eyes were critical, "even though your modification works, it destroys the 'Symmetrical Beauty' of the array. The Vance Family's ancient texts believe that 'Laguz' represents sacred purification and should not be used as such a lowly connection pipe..."
Morn turned his head, his ghostly blue eyes meeting Olivia's.
There was no irritation from being questioned in that gaze, nor any desire to explain, only a coldness like looking at a specimen.
[Invalid logic detected: Formalism.]
[Subject: Olivia Vance.]
[Weakness: Lack of practical experience masked by arrogance.]
"Beauty?"
Morn gave a light chuckle, one that carried a bone-chilling coldness, making Olivia instinctively take half a step back.
"Miss Vance, if you are 0.1 seconds slower in a duel because you're pursuing the'symmetry' of an array, leading to you being hit by a Killing Curse... I imagine your corpse wouldn't be very beautiful."
Olivia's face flushed instantly with shame and the anger of having a sore spot poked. "You—this is just an academic discussion! You're being rude!"
"Then let's end the discussion in an academic way."
Morn took his wand out of his pocket—the ebony wand looked exceptionally dark in his pale hand.
"Scourgify."
He casually cast the spell on a dried, impossible-to-wash-off old ink bottle at the corner of the table.
No incantation, no large movements.
Pa.
There were no common sounds of soap bubbles or scrubbing. The glass bottle, covered in black grime, instantly became crystal clear, with even the pigments that had seeped into the glass being vaporized.
This was a "Single-node Burst."
The experts present could all see that Morn hadn't wasted a sliver of magic to envelop the entire bottle. Instead, like laser surgery, he had precisely locked onto the coordinates of every grime molecule and then eliminated them.
"This is logic."
Morn looked at the frozen Olivia, his tone frighteningly calm.
"I don't need to pray for the purification of water, nor do I need to consider the 'beauty of purification.' I only need to command the grime to 'not exist'."
Olivia's fingers tightly gripped the edge of her robes, her knuckles turning white.
At that moment, the pride of a Pure-blood Family in her heart seemed so pale and weak in the face of Morn's surgical precision and cold control. It was the first time she felt an emotion other than curiosity and competition toward this boy of the same year—
Awe.
Morn didn't give her another look.
He looked around at the faces, some shocked, some fanatical—the most primal desire for knowledge and power.
"If you want to learn..."
Morn's voice wasn't high, but it was like a spell that burrowed into everyone's hearts.
"From now on, every Tuesday and Thursday evening, I will be here. But this is no longer an inefficient'study group'."
He turned and walked toward the Spiral Staircase of the boys' dormitory, leaving everyone with an unfathomable back.
"This is a Seminar on Truth. I don't take mediocrities."
As his figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs, the common room erupted in long-suppressed discussion.
Terry Boot looked at the array on the table that was still functioning perfectly, an unprecedented light burning in his eyes. Beside him, Olivia Vance stood still, watching that receding figure, the light in her eyes beginning to undergo a dangerous qualitative change.
Chapter 149: Cold Light in the Corner of the Tower
On Tuesday night, the wind died down.
On the highest floor of Ravenclaw Tower, next to the spiral staircase leading to the Observatory, there was a narrow door that had long been hidden by a tapestry.
For the past few decades, this place had served as a storage room for discarded star charts, broken telescope stands, and spare astronomical instruments.
Even Filch rarely visited, as the dust here was thick enough to mask any footprints.
But tonight, the door was pushed open.
"Scourgify."
There was no incantation, only a slight popping sound in the air.
The mountain-like piles of dust didn't swirl up as they usually would; instead, as if pulled by some gravity, they gathered into a tight ball and rolled into the trash can.
Moen White stood in the center of the room, looking around with satisfaction.
Although the room was small and semi-circular, it was quiet and secluded. Thick stone walls blocked out the noise from the Common Room, and the only window faced the coldest stars of the northern sky.
"Isn't this place... a bit too simple?"
Terry Boot squeezed in holding a large stack of parchment, looking somewhat disdainfully at several broken-legged globes in the corner. "As the location for the 'Truth Seminar', this is a bit too..."
"Simple?"
Morn turned around and lightly waved his wand.
The long table in the center of the room, originally riddled with moth-eaten holes, instantly stretched and hardened under the effect of Transfiguration. Its wood grain rearranged, transforming into a laboratory bench with an obsidian texture that emitted a cold luster.
"Environmental luxury is for the mediocre, used to mask the poverty of their thoughts,"
Morn said indifferently, casually lighting the candlesticks on the wall. However, he adjusted the flame's parameters—the original warm orange light became a cold white light, similar to the shadowless lamps of an operating room.
This cold light hit his face, refracting into a sharp arc through his monocle.
"Is it just us?"
Olivia Vance was the last to enter, closing the door behind her and skillfully casting a Muffliato charm. Tonight, she had specifically changed into a plain deep blue robe, seemingly trying to align with Morn's "minimalist" aesthetic.
Besides Terry and Olivia, there were three other senior Ravenclaw students. They were all "potential brains" screened through several logic puzzles set by Morn after witnessing his "Logic Modification Array" that day.
Six people in total.
This was the prototype of the "The Truth Society."
"Sit."
Morn pointed to several backless hard wooden stools he had conjured out of thin air next to the long table. This design was intended to keep people alert and unable to relax.
"I know why you've come."
Morn stood at the head of the table, hands propped on the surface, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.
"You've received 'O's (Outstanding) in class, you can fluently recite the standard book of spells, and you think that is the entirety of magic."
He paused, suddenly pulling a piece of ordinary parchment from his pocket and laying it flat on the table.
"Boot, use your best Severing Charm to cut this paper."
Terry was stunned for a moment, not understanding what was so difficult about it. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at the parchment.
"Diffindo!"
A red light flashed. The parchment split neatly down the middle into two halves. The cut was somewhat rough, and the edges were even slightly charred due to the magic being too hot.
"Very standard," Morn commented, his tone unreadable. "A textbook casting. You released a burst of energy that struck the paper like a blunt knife, tearing the fibers apart with brute force."
Terry's face flushed. "But... everyone uses it like that."
"That's why you are just 'Wizards' and not 'Casters'."
Morn raised his own wand—the ebony wand looked like a black thorn under the cold light.
"Watch."
He didn't speak an incantation.
No one even saw if his wrist moved.
There was no red light in the air, no sound of explosion; even the fluctuation of magic was so faint it could only be felt if pressed against the skin.
The parchment on the table, already in two halves, suddenly "collapsed."
It wasn't flattened, but rather—disintegrated.
It didn't turn into scraps, but into powder.
Olivia gasped, and as she leaned in to look, her pupils constricted sharply.
It wasn't powder.
It was countless extremely tiny, uniform square pieces of paper. Each piece was only the size of a grain of rice, the cuts as smooth as a mirror without any char marks. Thousands of small pieces were stacked together like a pile of white sand.
"This... how is this possible?"
Another sixth-year boy reached out with a trembling hand and picked up a bit of the "sand."
To complete this level of cutting in an instant meant the Caster had to construct a cutting net containing thousands of miniature wind blades within 0.1 seconds, and the strength of each wind blade had to be controlled to just cut the paper fibers without damaging the table.
This required not a large volume of magic, but a terrifying amount of computing power.
"This is logic."
Morn withdrew his wand and looked at the group of stunned "geniuses."
"When you use spells, it's like using a hammer to crack a walnut. Although the walnut breaks, you also waste 90% of your strength and crush the kernel."
He pointed to the pile of paper scraps.
"And here, in this room, we don't learn how to swing a hammer."
Morn's voice was low, carrying a seductive, cold rhythm.
"What we want to learn is the scalpel. We want to learn how to analyze the wavelength of magic, how to calculate the trajectory of spells, and how to use the smallest cost to pry the rules of reality."
He turned and drew a complex geometric figure on the blackboard—it was the deconstruction of the magic circuit for the Severing Charm he had just used.
"From today on, forget those stupid wand gestures, forget those rhythmic pronunciations."
Morn turned his head, his deep blue eyes flashing with the light of the Eye of Truth.
"Here, we only believe in two things: data, and absolute control based on data."
Olivia Vance looked at the boy on the podium. Under the cold white light, his silhouette was elongated and projected onto the rough stone wall like a young deity preaching.
She felt her heart beating violently. Not from fear, but from a fanaticism of having found a "direction."
"Is this... the truth?" she murmured to herself.
Morn heard her whisper.
"No, this is only the threshold of truth."
He tapped the blackboard.
"Now, take out your quills. Tonight's first topic: calculating the magic attenuation rate of the 'Severing Charm' in different media. Those who can't calculate it don't need to come tomorrow."
In the corner of the tower, the cold light did not go out all night.
Hogwarts did not realize that in this inconspicuous storage room, a "monster organization" that would overturn the traditional magic system was quietly being born under Moen White's cold logic.
Chapter 150: Distribution of Technical Documents
On Thursday night, the storage room at the top of Ravenclaw Tower—now known as Laboratory No. 1 of The Truth Society—once again lit up with that unique cold white magic lamp.
Although only two days had passed since the last gathering, the mental state of these six core members had already undergone a subtle change.
If on Tuesday night they still carried a hint of the reserve and skepticism typical of "top students," tonight, their eyes held only a sort of near-ravenous expectation.
It was the withdrawal reaction after having tasted the flavor of "truth."
Moen White pushed the door open and entered at exactly eight o'clock.
He wasn't holding a wand; instead, he carried a stack of neatly bound parchment that smelled of fresh ink.
"Good evening."
Morn walked to the long obsidian table and set the stack of parchment down heavily, producing a dull thud.
"In the past forty-eight hours, I noticed that three of you attempted to replicate my 'Shattering Severing Charm' from that night in the common room."
Morn's gaze swept over two boys in the corner, who lowered their heads in shame.
"The results were disastrous," Morn commented flatly. "Two tables destroyed, half an eyebrow nearly sliced off, and magic exhaustion leading to lethargy during the next morning's classes."
"That's because we couldn't achieve the same level of precise control as you..." Terry Boot defended in a low voice, his fingers still wrapped in bandages—burns caused by forcibly compressing magic.
"No, it's because you are still using 'one-way street' thinking to harness magic."
Morn reached out and distributed the stack of parchment to everyone present.
"This is the 'General Magic Circuit Closed-Loop Technical Specifications (Internal Version V1.0)'. Take it."
Olivia Vance took the parchment.
The paper felt thick in her hand. The writing wasn't handwritten but imprinted using some sort of duplication spell; the font was sharp and neat, even accompanied by extremely precise geometric illustrations.
She looked down at the first line: "magic is not a one-time consumable. At the moment a spell is cast, the overflow energy (waste heat) that has not been converted into physical interference should undergo secondary recovery and recycling through the mental circuit."
"This... this violates the conservation of energy in Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration..." Olivia frowned instinctively.
"Read on," Morn interrupted coldly.
Olivia continued reading. Below was a mental construction diagram titled "Möbius Corridor." The illustration detailed how the caster should control their breathing frequency at the moment of casting and how to construct a reverse "suction vortex" in the cerebral cortex.
"This looks... like some kind of breathing technique?" Terry Boot was mesmerized, his fingers unconsciously gesturing in the air. "When the last syllable of the spell is recited, instead of exhaling, you take a sharp breath in while imagining the magic flowing back..."
"Theory is meaningless."
Morn pulled a wooden training dummy from his pocket and tossed it into the corner of the room.
"Boot, stand up."
Terry stood up immediately, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, his eyes filled with both nervousness and excitement.
"Use 'Stupefy'. Do it once the textbook way, and then once using the 'closed-loop method' in this document."
"Yes."
Terry took a deep breath and raised his wand.
"Stupefy!"
A red light shot out, hitting the wooden dummy. The dummy wobbled and slid back a few inches. This was standard third-year level.
"Recording data: casting wind-up 0.8 seconds, magic consumption index 100, power index 50." Mornreported the numbers expressionlessly, looking at the data on his retina. "Now, use my method. Remember, focus on your 'waste heat' recovery."
Terry closed his eyes and readjusted his breathing.
Following the instructions in the document, he no longer focused all his attention on "striking out" but instead diverted 30% of his energy to construct that strange "return vortex" within his body. It felt awkward, like drawing a circle with the left hand and a square with the right.
One second, two seconds.
Terry snapped his eyes open, and as he recited the spell, his lungs performed a counter-intuitive, sharp inhalation.
"Stupefy!"
Boom!
This time, what erupted from the tip of the wand was no longer a slender red light, but a dazzling, almost solid orb of red light.
Accompanied by a dull explosion, the wooden dummy was blasted away, slamming heavily into the stone wall and splitting in two.
The massive recoil made Terry stagger back two steps, but he was surprised to find that he didn't feel the usual exhaustion of being drained of magic. On the contrary, a faint but clear warm current was flowing back through his arm into his heart; that was... the recycled "waste heat."
The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of wooden splinters hitting the floor.
Everyone's eyes widened as they looked at Terry, then at the parchment in their hands.
"casting wind-up 0.6 seconds, magic consumption index 88, power index... 75."
Morn's voice sounded exceptionally clear under the cold light, like a heavy hammer striking everyone's heart.
"Speed increased by 25%, consumption decreased by 12%, and power increased by 50%."
He walked to the table and tapped the document with his finger.
"This is the power of 'technology.' It doesn't care about your bloodline or your emotions; it only cares whether you follow logic."
Olivia Vance's hands trembled slightly as she held the parchment.
As a member of a pure-blood family, she had been exposed to countless secret magics since childhood. But never had there been a book that could break down such profound casting techniques into an "operating manual" that even a fool could follow.
If this kind of thing got out... the level of spellcasting in the entire wizarding world would be rewritten.
"White..." her voice was a bit dry, "this document... can we take it out?"
"Reading and practice are restricted to this room only."
Morn waved his wand, and the text on all the parchments suddenly flickered; it was the [Text Secrecy Charm] he had applied.
"If you leave this room, the words on it will turn into gibberish. Unless..."
Morn paused, his gaze sweeping over these six young and eager faces.
"Unless you can prove that your brains aren't just for being repeaters, but can produce new value for The Truth Society."
"What do we need to do?" Terry Boot was the first to shout out, the fanaticism in his eyes now impossible to hide. It was absolute loyalty after having tasted the sweetness of power.
"It's simple."
Morn pointed at the broken dummy.
"Before next week, I want each of you to submit a report. Use this 'closed-loop method' to test all the spells you've mastered, record the data, and find out which spell has the highest 'recovery rate'."
He was using this group for distributed computing. His own energy was limited, but these Ravenclawelites were the best free labor. They would help him exhaustively list the optimization models for all spells, while he only needed to enjoy the results and feed the data into the system.
"Yes, President!"
Several members answered in unison, their voices full of drive.
Morn looked at them, a hint of satisfied and cold light flashing in the eyes behind his monocle.
This was no longer a loose mutual-aid group.
Using this "technical document" as bait, he had successfully turned these arrogant geniuses into the first batch of "junior processors" in his magic industrial system.
"Very good."
Morn turned and walked into the shadows.
"Start practicing. Don't bring shame to my technology."
Chapter 151: Olivia's Submission
Late at night in Ravenclaw Tower, a rainstorm visited Hogwarts once again.
Raindrops struck the thick stone walls like dense drumbeats, masking the low sound of incantations within the tower's storeroom—The Truth Society's Lab No. 1.
Three days had passed since the distribution of the "General Magic Circuit Closed-Loop Technical Specifications."
Olivia Vance stood before the lab bench, her long blonde hair slightly damp with sweat and clinging to her slender neck.
The wand in her hand was trembling slightly, its tip maintaining a highly unstable silver orb of light.
She was attempting to use Morn's "Closed-Loop Method" to improve the Vance Family's secret "Moonlight Condensation Charm."
"Wrong... still not right."
Olivia grit her teeth, her brows furrowed. Every time she tried to initiate a magic backflow at the end of the spell, the casting inertia inherent to her family heritage would act like a stubborn rock, blocking the closure of the circuit.
*Pop.*
The silver orb exploded in mid-air, dissipating into a wisp of blue smoke.
"Failed again."
Olivia slapped her wand onto the table with a hint of irritation.
She turned her head and looked at Morn, who was sitting on a high stool at the other end of the room.
Morn was reading a thick copy of "Philosophy of the Soul," with a quill hovering beside him, automatically recording something.
Even during such tedious reading, his entire being radiated a cold and stable aura, like that of a precision instrument.
This "perfection" stung Olivia's pride.
As the heir to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she had received the most elite magical education since childhood.
She could tolerate Morn surpassing her in logic, but she could not accept that she was unable to even mimic his techniques.
The theory must be flawed.
Olivia took a deep breath, grabbed her wand and the parchment, and strode toward Morn.
"White."
Her voice carried a trace of her yet-to-fade haughtiness, along with a sharpness born of anxiety.
Morn didn't look up, his quill continuing to scratch away: "Speak."
"There's a flaw in your 'Closed-Loop Theory.'" Olivia slapped the parchment onto the table in front of Morn, pointing at one of the magic nodes. "You require a forced backflow within 0.3 seconds after the spell is cast. But the Vance Family's ancient records clearly state that the magic aftershocks of a High-Order Light Charm are 'radiant' in nature; if forced back, they will burn the caster's Magic Source."
She lifted her chin, her grey eyes staring straight at Morn, attempting to use her family's heritage to suppress this half-blood genius.
"Sacrificing safety for efficiency is a short-sighted behavior that only a Dark Wizard would do. I believe this chapter needs to be modified, adding a note that it 'must be used in conjunction with a stabilizer.'"
The others in the lab stopped what they were doing, holding their breath as they watched the scene. Terry Boot shrunk his neck; he could feel the tension suddenly freezing the air.
Morn finally stopped his pen.
The quill hovered in mid-air, the ink no longer dripping.
He slowly closed the book and looked up. His monocle reflected the cold white light of the lamps, obscuring his left eye and revealing only the deep pupil of his right eye.
"Flaw?"
Morn repeated the word softly.
He didn't defend himself, didn't produce data to refute her, and didn't even get angry.
He simply looked at Olivia.
[Talent Activated: Eye of Truth - Calamity Form (Purple).]
[Skill Released: Calamity Gaze - Low Power.]
Boom—!
In Olivia's perception, the world vanished instantly.
The lab was gone, the lights were gone, and even the sound of the wind and rain outside had disappeared.
She felt as if she had been suddenly thrown into a vast, boundless grey wasteland. And at the end of that wasteland, a pair of giant, glowing purple vertical pupils were staring down at her coldly.
Those were not human eyes.
That was an apex predator at the top of the food chain, an ancient Basilisk, a collective manifestation of the concept of "Death" itself.
Under the gaze of those eyes, Olivia felt herself turn into an insignificant white mouse. Her soul was frozen, her blood stopped flowing, and even the thought of moving a single finger was crushed into powder by a weight known as "Absolute Fear."
"Ugh... cough..."
In reality, Olivia's pupils dilated to their limit in an instant. her face turned from flushed to deathly pale, and a gurgling sound came from her throat as if she were being strangled.
The wand slipped from her stiff fingers, hitting the floor with a *clatter*.
Her knees began to tremble; the shuddering born of biological instinct made it impossible for her to stand steady.
"Do you know why you failed, Vance?"
Morn's voice seemed to come from a vast distance, carrying an ethereal echo that bored directly into her cerebral cortex.
"Because you are afraid."
Morn slowly stood up and took a step toward her.
To Olivia, this gentle step felt like a great mountain pressing down upon her.
"Your so-called 'family heritage' is nothing more than an excuse made up by a group of mediocre people to hide their incompetence." Morn walked up to her, looking down at the trembling noble girl. "magicburns? That is an excuse for the weak. If you can master magic, it is gentle water; if you fear it, it is a prairie fire."
Morn reached out, his cold fingers pinching Olivia's chin, forcing her to lift her head and look directly into his eyes, which still held a lingering purple glow.
"Look at me."
Olivia was forced to look into those eyes.
In them, she saw no killing intent, only a suffocating, grand, and cold—Truth.
It was an abyss that transcended life and death, transcended good and evil, and was composed purely of power and logic.
In that moment, something inside Olivia broke.
Her pride as the heir to a pureblood family, her ambition to compete with Morn—all of it seemed so laughable and meaningless before those "inhuman" eyes.
In its place came an even more frantic emotion.
If she could not defeat him, then she would... join him.
If he was the abyss, then she would become a believer of the abyss.
"I... I was wrong."
Olivia's voice trembled, and tears fell uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes, but her gaze gradually transformed from fear into a near-morbid fanaticism.
"It's not that the theory is flawed... it's me... I am too weak."
She felt Morn's fingers on her chin were so cold, yet so powerful. This feeling of being dominated by an absolutely powerful being actually gave her an unprecedented sense of thrill and... security.
"Teach me..." Olivia grabbed Morn's wrist like a drowning person clutching at a straw. "Please, teach me how to master it. No matter the cost."
Morn watched the change in her eyes.
[System Prompt: Target's mental defense line reconstruction complete.]
[Current Status: Submission.]
[Psychological Model: Transformed from competitor to fanatical follower. Loyalty locked.]
"Very well."
Morn released his grip, the purple light in his eyes fading and returning to its usual deep blue.
The terrifying pressure vanished instantly. Olivia's legs gave way, and she slumped to the floor, panting heavily, her back already soaked with sweat.
Morn bent down, picked up the wand she had dropped, and gently placed it in her hand.
"Only those who have stared death in the face are fit to speak of power."
Morn turned and walked back to his high stool, picking up the quill again, his tone returning to its usual business-like indifference.
"Clean the floor, Vance. Then do as I told you; even if it burns your meridians, you must complete that circuit. That is your necessary path to evolution."
"Yes... President."
Olivia gripped her reclaimed wand and climbed up from the floor. She felt no humiliation; instead, the wand in her hand felt heavy and significant.
She looked at Morn's back, her eyes no longer containing any criticism or arrogance, only a deep, almost possessed awe.
She knew that from tonight, the Ravenclaw Prefect Olivia Vance was dead.
The one who survived was The Truth Society's Lab Assistant No. 1.
In the corner, Terry Boot swallowed hard and silently lowered his head, his quill writing even faster. Though he didn't know exactly what had just happened, he understood the look in Olivia's eyes.
It was a look he had only seen in certain fanatical religious paintings—the look of a believer gazing upon a god.
Chapter 152: Luna's Intrusion
On Friday evening, the setting sun looked like shredded blood clots smeared across the skyline to the west of Hogwarts.
The Truth Society Lab One—that is, the junk room at the top of the tower—was currently in a state of high-pressure operation.
"Redo it."
Olivia Vance stood by the long table, her voice cold and hard like a steel ruler.
Holding a newly submitted data report, she didn't even glance at the sweating fifth-year boy before tearing the parchment in half.
"The magic reflux rate is only 65%. The President said that any data below 75% is trash and not worth archiving."
The boy's face turned pale, but he didn't argue. He silently picked up the scraps of paper from the floor, turned back to his workbench, and began casting the spell again.
Since that night of "submission," Olivia had spontaneously become the "Executive Officer" of The Truth Society. She had perfectly transformed her aristocratic arrogance into a cold tool for maintaining Morn's will, handling all the trivial chores and disciplinary management for him.
Morn sat on a high chair at the far end of the room, blue data streams flowing across his monocle. He was satisfied with Olivia's performance—she was a secondary processor who could automatically maintain order without needing instructions, which was exactly what he needed.
Just then.
Creak—
The heavy wooden door, which was treated with a Confundo Charm, a Notice-Me-Not Charm, and a Physical Reinforcement Charm, suddenly made an extremely piercing, unlubricated screeching sound.
The sounds of spellcasting and discussion in the room vanished instantly.
Everyone turned their heads in shock. Logically, unless they were members of The Truth Society, ordinary students shouldn't even notice the existence of this door, let alone push it open.
A girl was standing in the doorway.
She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. She wore Ravenclaw robes, but around her neck was a necklace made of Butterbeer corks, carrot-shaped earrings hung from her ears, and she held a copy of the quibbler upside down in her hand.
Luna Lovegood.
The first-year student known to the whole school as "Loony Girl."
"There are a lot of Nargles here."
Luna stood at the door, blinking her large silvery-grey eyes, her tone airy as if she had just woken from sleepwalking. "Their buzzing is so loud, I could hear it in the common room downstairs."
"Lovegood?"
Olivia frowned, a flicker of disgust in her eyes. To a pure-blood family like the Vances, who championed elitism, the eccentric branch of the Lovegood family was simply a disgrace to Ravenclaw.
"Get out." Olivia strode forward, her wand sliding into her palm. "This is no place for a lunatic like you. Also, how did you break the Notice-Me-Not Charm on the door?"
"I didn't break it."
Luna tilted her head, her gaze bypassing the aggressive Olivia and landing straight on Morn at the end of the room.
"I just followed the cold air inside."
Cold air?
Morn's fingers, which were flipping through documents, paused slightly.
Being ignored, Olivia felt insulted and angry. "I am talking to you! Leave immediately, or else—"
"You ate them, didn't you?"
Luna spoke suddenly. Her voice wasn't loud, yet it caused Morn's pupils to constrict violently in an instant.
She was still looking at Morn, her eyes clear and ethereal, as if she were talking about the day's weather.
"Those crying clouds... those grey, faceless ragdolls." Luna reached out and made a grasping motion in the air. "They were crying very sadly on the Quidditch Pitch. But now... they're in your stomach."
A deathly silence fell.
The quill in Terry Boot's hand dropped to the floor. All the members of The Truth Society looked at Morn in horror, then at Lupin. Although they didn't know exactly what Morn had done, the phrase "eating Dementors" sounded even more terrifying than the Dark Lord.
Morn slowly closed his book.
He stepped down from the high chair, and in those deep blue eyes, his original indifference was replaced by an extremely dangerous scrutiny.
[System Warning: High-dimensional perception snooping detected.]
[Source: Luna Lovegood.]
[Analysis Target: Mental Frequency.]
In the vision of his Eye of Truth, the girl before him was a mass of chaos.
She didn't have clear logic circuits like Terry or Olivia; her mental world was like a mass of colorful, constantly shifting nebulae. And in the center of that nebula was an extremely sharp, almost beast-like intuitive radar.
She couldn't understand Morn's system, nor his logic.
But she "saw" the essence.
She saw the mass of "Dementor negative entropy" that had just been fused and not yet fully settled within Morn's body. In her perception, that might just be a mass of "eaten crying clouds."
"Step down, Vance."
Morn spoke indifferently.
Olivia froze for a moment, her raised wand stiffening in mid-air. "But President, she's a lunatic, she'll leak our—"
"I said, step down."
Morn's voice didn't rise, but the pressure originating from the depths of his soul made Olivia instinctively shudder. She gave Luna a resentful glare and stepped aside.
Morn walked up to Luna.
The distance between them was only half a meter.
At this distance, an ordinary person would feel uncomfortable due to the cold air surrounding Morn, but Luna only widened her eyes in curiosity, even reaching out to fiddle with a non-existent button on Morn's robes.
"You're not afraid of me?" Morn asked softly, his voice carrying a hint of suggestive magical vibration.
"Why should I be?" Luna pointed to Morn's heart. "It's very quiet there. Much quieter than those noisy people outside. Although it's a bit cold... like the far side of the moon."
The far side of the moon.
Morn looked at the girl.
This was a "Seer." Not a fraud like Trelawney who only knew how to put on a show, but a true outlier who was born with such high spiritual inspiration that she couldn't adapt to the logic of human society.
In the system's judgment, she was an extremely unstable "random variable."
Kill her? There was no need, and it would attract Dumbledore's attention.
Expel her? She might talk outside. Although no one believed the words of "Loony Girl," it was an uncontrollable risk.
Therefore, there was only one optimal solution.
"Close the door." Morn turned and walked back to his seat.
"President?" Terry Boot looked at Morn in disbelief.
"Give her a chair," Morn said without looking back. "Since she can hear the sound of 'Nargles,' let her stay and listen. Perhaps a lunatic's intuition can fill the blind spots in our logic."
Olivia bit her lip. Though full of reluctance, she waved her wand and conjured a somewhat crooked high stool in the corner.
"Sit there and don't move," Olivia warned harshly. "If you dare disturb our experiments..."
"Thank you."
Luna didn't mind Olivia's attitude. She climbed onto the high stool, swinging her legs, and held the quibbler upside down in front of her face again.
The atmosphere in the laboratory became somewhat bizarre.
A group of Ravenclaw elites were performing the most precise magical calculations, while in the corner, a crazy girl wearing radish earrings was engrossed in an article about "Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."
But Morn knew that this configuration wasn't bad.
His team was full of believers in "rationality," which made it easy to fall into a fixed mindset. Introducing a completely "irrational" observer was like introducing a random number generator into a precise algorithm.
Sometimes, this was precisely the key to breaking through an infinite loop.
Morn reopened his book.
[System Note:]
[New External Personnel: Luna Lovegood.]
[Functional Role: Intuition Radar / High-dimensional Spiritual Vision Observation Point.]
[Risk Assessment: Controllable (as long as she is given enough pudding and listeners).]
The storm outside the window continued.
And at this moment, a strange yet vivid decoration was added to the cold machine that was The Truth Society.
Chapter 153: The Banging in the Wardrobe
Wednesday afternoon, the Staff Room.
This was usually the place where Professors drank tea and complained about students between classes, filled with mismatched old armchairs.
But today, the furniture had been pushed to the walls, clearing a large open space.
In the center of the clearing stood a lonely, old wardrobe.
The wardrobe was tall and ancient, seemingly made of some unknown dark wood, its surface covered in scratches.
It didn't seem peaceful; every few seconds, it would shake violently, emitting a dull 'thud, thud' banging sound, as if a beast desperate to break out was locked inside.
"Don't worry, the thing inside can't get out."
Professor Lupin stood by the wardrobe, gently reassuring a group of nervous-looking third-year students.
Students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were mixed together, forming distinct red and blue formations.
"That is a Boggart," Lupin said. "Which brings us to our topic for today—fear."
Moen White stood in the middle-back of the line, hands tucked into his robe pockets. His gaze didn't fixate on the shaking wardrobe door like the others; instead, he squinted slightly, scrutinizing the faint magic leaking from the wardrobe's cracks through his monocle.
[Analysis Lock: Shapeshifting Creature · Boggart.]
[Attribute: Mental Parasite / Idealistic Existence.]
[Operational Mechanism: Passively reads the deep-seated fear patterns of the nearest creature within range and performs an instantaneous physical projection.]
"A very interesting mechanism."
Morn conversed with the system in his mind.
"It has no fixed form, which means it is indeterminate on a physical level. It's a living quantum superposition; it only collapses into a specific image when someone observes it (fears it)."
This was simply perfect material for a mimicry algorithm.
"First, we need a volunteer." Lupin's gaze swept across the crowd; even the bravest Gryffindors subconsciously shrank back.
Except for Neville Longbottom. Because he was shoved by someone behind him, stumbling out of the line.
"Excellent, Neville," Lupin encouraged with a smile. "Don't be nervous. Tell me, what do you fear most?"
The next few minutes were like a precise replica of the original story's plot.
Neville stutteringly admitted his fear of Professor Snape. As the wardrobe door opened, a black-robed, hook-nosed 'Snape' strode out, his gloomy expression causing many students present to gasp.
"Riddikulus!"
Neville screamed the spell.
With a sharp crack, the terrifying black robes on 'Snape' suddenly turned into an old lady's long dress embroidered with a stuffed vulture, and he held a huge red handbag in his hand.
The whole class burst into laughter.
"Good! Very good!" Lupin praised loudly. "Remember, laughter is the Boggart's natural enemy. It cannot maintain its form amidst laughter. Next, Parvati!"
Morn watched this farce with a cold eye.
Parvati's Mummy, Seamus's Banshee, Ron's giant Spider on roller skates... For every student who stepped forward, the Boggart would accurately transform into what they feared most in their hearts. This reading speed was extremely fast, almost instantaneous.
"System, record the data."
On Morn's retina, a massive stream of data was refreshing rapidly.
[Sample A (Neville): Fear source is 'Authoritarian Oppression'. Boggart magic output peak: 35.]
[Sample B (Ron): Fear source is'Specific Biological Instinct'. Boggart magic output peak: 42.]
[Sample C (Harry Potter): To be tested.]
Harry stepped forward.
Morn's attention focused slightly. In the original story, the Boggart turned into a Dementor because of the fragment of Lord Voldemort inside Harry. But now, the situation was subtly different.
Harry stood before the wardrobe, face pale. What was he thinking?
Pop.
The Boggart turned into a cloaked Dementor. That chilly aura instantly spread, but Morn keenly noticed that this 'Dementor's' form was somewhat ethereal, far less oppressive than the actual individuals he had seen at the Quidditch Pitch.
"Riddikulus!"
Lupin didn't let Harry take action, instead rushing forward to block Harry. The Boggart immediately turned into a white Crystal Ball, floating in the air.
"Riddikulus!" Lupin waved his wand again; the Boggart turned into a Cockroach, which he crushed with his foot, turning it back into a cloud of smoke.
"A wonderful protective instinct," Morn thought to himself. Lupin was protecting Harry, preventing him from facing that fear.
"Next... White!"
Lupin's voice rang out, carrying a hint of imperceptible tension. He looked at Morn, seemingly hesitating whether to call a halt. After all, Morn had just been discharged from the hospital, and everyone believed he was a victim of the 'Dementor attack.'
The class's laughter stopped instantly.
The Ravenclaw students all looked at their Prefect. Olivia Vance stood in the crowd, staring fixedly at Morn, her eyes full of anticipation—she wanted to know what this monster, who could perform magiclike surgery, was actually afraid of.
Was it failure? Ignorance? Or something more profound?
Morn slowly walked out from the crowd.
His pace was steady, each step landing on the cracks of the wooden floor, making a faint, rhythmic sound.
[System Warning: About to enter high-intensity mental reading range.]
[Current Defense Strategy: [Dark Lord Candidate] Mental Barrier (Activated).]
[Simulation Deduction:]
Option A: Release defense, let it read surface fears (e.g., Dementor). Result: Boring, and repeats Harry's persona.
Option B: Forge a fear (e.g., Lord Voldemort). Result: Likely to cause unnecessary suspicion.
Option C: Show the 'Truth'.
Morn stopped two meters from the wardrobe.
He looked at the Boggart roiling in the smoke, waiting to take shape.
"I am not afraid of Dementors, because I ate one."
"I am not afraid of Lord Voldemort, because I devoured his fragment."
"I am not afraid of death, because I have already died once (transmigrated)."
The corners of Morn's mouth curled into a cold arc extremely slowly.
In the depths of his soul, besides the cold interface of the system, only an absolute rational void capable of deconstructing all things remained.
It was a data black hole devoid of emotion, reverence, or even 'humanity.'
"Come on, little thing."
Morn whispered in his heart, slowly raising his head. In the eye behind the monocle, there was no longer any concealment.
"Let's see what you can read."
He nodded to Lupin, signaling he was ready.
Lupin stepped back with some worry, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, ready to intervene at any moment.
The cloud of smoke swelled suddenly, accompanied by a malicious cold wind, lunging toward Morn. It was eager to burrow into the boy's mind, dig out his deepest nightmare, and then manifest it to terrify him.
This was the Boggart's instinct, its way of survival.
But it didn't know that what it had run into this time was not a terrified boy, but a... mirror of the abyss.
Chapter 154: When the Abyss Gazes into the Boggart
The air in the Staff Room seemed to freeze.
All sounds of breathing vanished, leaving only the tooth-gritting "creak" of the wardrobe door hinges turning.
That mass of grey, representing pure transfiguration magic, was like a shark that had scented blood, lunging out of the wardrobe and hovering half a meter in front of Moen White.
It was trembling.
That was the Boggart performing its final "reading."
In its past hunts, this process usually took only a thousandth of a second.
It would pierce the prey's amygdala like lightning, dragging out that hidden card named "fear"—be it a stern Professor, a giant spider, or the corpse of a deceased relative.
However, this time, the mass of smoke stalled for a full three seconds.
Like a projector suddenly jammed, it tumbled, contracted, and expanded violently in the air, yet it remained unable to take shape.
[System Backend Alert: External mental intrusion detected.]
[Source: Boggart.]
[Defense Strategy: Actively opening the 'Logic Wasteland' area.]
Through his monocle, Morn watched the chaotic magic before him with indifference.
Deep within his consciousness, he opened the gates to this pitiful parasitic creature.
The Boggart rushed in.
It expected to see screams, expected to see blood, expected to see some intense emotional fluctuation that would allow it to feast.
But what it saw was a deathly silent white.
No sky, no earth, no monsters.
Only an infinite space composed of countless cold data streams, geometric lines, and absolute logic. Here, emotions were treated as "impurities" and discarded; life was deconstructed into carbohydrates and electrical signals.
The Boggart attempted to find Morn's "fear."
It scanned "death."
—Invalid. For Morn, death was merely the termination of the consciousness carrier, an inevitable result already accounted for in his calculations.
It scanned "Lord Voldemort."
—Invalid. That was just a high-energy reactor, a specimen waiting to be dissected.
It scanned "loneliness."
—Invalid. Loneliness is the optimal environment for thinking.
The Boggart was lost. It scurried frantically within this maze of absolute rationality, unable to find a single handle to use for "scaring." It was like a speaker trying to transmit sound in a vacuum, falling into complete helplessness.
"Can't find it?"
Morn sneered in his heart.
"Because what I fear... is the 'unsolvable.' The collapse of logic, the paradox of truth. Can you turn into a 'paradox,' little thing?"
In that single thought, the Boggart seemed to receive some kind of erroneous instruction.
In the real world, the mass of smoke finally began to change.
But this was by no means a normal transformation.
"What is... that?"
Parvati Patil covered her mouth and let out a terrified scream.
The smoke first condensed into a figure in black robes (that was Lord Voldemort), but after only 0.1 seconds, the figure's face began to melt, turning into a corpse crawling with maggots (was that Morn's memories of his past life?).
Immediately after, the corpse exploded, turning into a giant, bloodshot eyeball.
Before the eyeball could even blink, it instantly stretched into an infinitely long python filled with fangs.
Crack! Sizzle—
A strange popping sound, like a short circuit, echoed in the air.
The Boggart had gone completely mad.
Unable to determine what Morn actually feared, it began to attempt an exhaustive search. It tried to act out every terrifying thing in the world within an extremely short period.
Its form changed faster and faster, so quickly that the naked eye could no longer track it, becoming a flickering, nauseating mixture of flesh and shadows.
One moment, giant spider legs stabbed out from beside Morn's feet; the next, the shrill scream of a banshee exploded in his ears; then, some indescribable deep-sea tentacles flailed in the air.
"Stop! What is going on?!"
Harry backed away in terror until he bumped into Ron.
This fear was different from facing a specific monster. It was a physiological nausea born from facing "chaos" itself. It was like watching a television suddenly display a distorted snowy screen of human faces.
"Is this... the President's inner heart?"
Among the Ravenclaw students, Olivia Vance's face was pale, but she did not back down. She stared fixedly at the frantically twitching Boggart, her nails digging deep into her palms.
She couldn't understand those forms. But she could feel that the monster was collapsing because it couldn't comprehend Morn.
"Enough! Riddikulus!"
Professor Lupin finally snapped out of it. He realized something was wrong—this Boggart had clearly encountered some logical failure and was spiraling out of control. He raised his wand and rushed forward.
But his spell hit the Boggart and actually failed.
Because the Boggart had no fixed form at this moment; it was in a high-speed "quantum superposition state," and ordinary transfiguration spells simply couldn't lock onto it.
Hum—!
The Boggart let out a high-pitched shriek that didn't belong to any creature on Earth.
The sound was so piercing that everyone covered their ears.
It expanded violently in the air, turning into a black, constantly rotating cube with countless agonized human faces appearing on its surface, then instantly collapsed into a tiny black dot, as if it were about to suck in all the surrounding light.
It was trying to simulate the deepest concept in Morn's heart—Nothingness.
But it was merely a low-level magical creature; its magical framework simply couldn't support a grand concept like "Nothingness."
And so, it jammed.
Like an overloaded engine, it hovered in mid-air, emitting a series of tooth-gritting "clack-clack" sounds—the sound of its magical core shattering.
Morn remained where he was, hands in his pockets, not even knitting his brows.
He looked at this wretch on the verge of collapse, the data stream behind his monocle refreshing frantically.
[Observation Record:]
[Subject: Boggart.]
[Status: Infinite Logic Loop.]
[Inference Verification Successful: Low-dimensional idealistic creatures cannot carry high-dimensional rational nothingness.]
"What a pity."
Morn said softly, his voice drowned out by the cries of the surrounding students.
"Your algorithm is too primitive."
He slowly extended his right hand, his wand sliding from his sleeve into his palm.
Since it broke itself, I might as well give it a hand. And while I'm at it... make it mine.