Arthur plucked the orb from the branches. Its attributes floated before his eyes:
[Godrick's Strength Droplet: Grants +5 to all attributes upon consumption. Only the first two are effective per person. Born of the Erdtree, one droplet is produced every hundred years. When touched by gold, it liquefies.]
The latter part made Arthur sigh in relief.
The orb was the size of a grown man's fist. Swallowing it whole might've cost him one resurrection charge.
Instead, he pulled out a handful of Galleons and, with Transfiguration, reshaped them into a golden goblet. He dropped the droplet inside.
The instant it touched gold, the orb melted into radiant liquid.
He raised the cup and downed it in a single gulp.
Warmth flooded through his limbs, filling every vein and bone. He felt his physique, magic, and spirit all strengthen—roughly half the boost of a full-grown adult.
"Looks like I'll need to push the Zen Garden's time dilation as quickly as possible."
One Great Rune alone had doubled the ratio. With all ten collected, he'd reap ten unique droplets each year.
More than he'd ever need for himself—but perfect for cultivating subordinates.
He'd already planned for that. His main body would remain at Hogwarts, while his avatar handled delicate matters. Routine errands could then be handed off to underlings.
There were still hours before dawn. Instead of returning to the Lands Between, Arthur had his avatar slip silently outside the castle and head for the Forbidden Forest.
He'd just remembered—the Forest brimmed with rare flora. Moving a batch into the Zen Garden would make potion-brewing far easier in the future.
Within the forest, herbs grew freely beneath trees and bushes.
White moss, Bubotuber pods, Moondew, Lantern flowers, Sneezewort…
Fortunately, he'd purchased One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Without it, identifying them would've been a nightmare.
Arthur collected about a square meter of each specimen as he walked deeper and deeper into the woods.
The canopy grew thick, sealing out all traces of morning light. Damp and shadowy—perfect breeding ground for venomous creatures.
His instincts prickled. This was someone's lair.
Rustle, rustle—
Leaves shivered. The dense brush shook violently.
Then they emerged: a pack of spiders, each the size of a calf.
Their bodies were covered in coarse black hair. Each grotesque head bore four pairs of eyes—one large, three small.
Recognition hit at once. These were the spawn of Hagrid's pet—Acromantulas.
The spiders crept forward, eyes cold, movements deliberately slow, savoring the hunt.
Unfortunately for them, Arthur was no prey.
He didn't even draw his wand. Stones at his feet rose, twisted under Transfiguration into razor-sharp bolts.
"Incendio!"
"Volley!"
Dozens of flaming bolts rained down, piercing skulls before the creatures could react. The front ranks collapsed instantly; only those shielded at the rear survived.
The survivors panicked. Seeing half their kin slaughtered in a breath, they turned and fled toward the depths of the forest.
"Aha… looks like Hagrid is about to lose a dear friend."
Grinning, Arthur collected the corpses into his system inventory and gave chase. Acromantula venom was valuable—one pint fetched a hundred Galleons. Money wasn't his problem anymore, but resources like this? One could never have too much.
At the heart of the lair, he found it.
A spider larger than the biggest lorry he'd ever seen loomed in the cavern's shadows.
"Human! You dare slaughter my children and step into my den? I will devour you!" bellowed Aragog.
"Well, well," Arthur taunted, utterly unfazed. "Fifty years of Hagrid's care, and you never picked up a shred of human decency, did you?"
"Silence! You will not live to regret your arrogance!"
Aragog reared, hurling a massive web.
Arthur didn't dodge. Instead, his wand flashed—Quickstep. In the blink of an eye, he was atop Aragog's head.
His wand transfigured into a Carian Slicer, stabbing repeatedly into its skull.
But the old spider's resistance was formidable. The attacks barely scratched through its magic-hardened hide.
"Foolish human! Your tricks are useless against me!" Aragog snarled, thrashing to throw him off.
"Oh? Let's test that theory."
Dropping the spell, Arthur drove his wand—denser than steel—into one of the shallow cuts. Backed by thrice the strength of a normal man, he burrowed deeper, gouging a bowl-sized hole.
Aragog screeched, slamming itself against the cavern wall in desperation.
But Arthur was already pressing a Glintstone crystal into the wound. "Perfect chance to test my magic grenades."
Quickstep again. He vanished to a safe distance.
BOOM!
A blinding blue flash filled the cavern.
When the light faded, Aragog's decapitated body slumped to the floor.
"Bloody hell… that was even stronger than I'd hoped."
These grenades were his own invention—fusing the energy-channeling property of cracked pots into Glintstone, then overloading them with volatile mana. Once triggered, they shattered, releasing both explosive energy and razor shards—a perfect marriage of magic and shrapnel.
But heavy footsteps now echoed outside.
"Damn, too loud. Someone's coming."
He quickly stored Aragog's body and dismissed his avatar.
By the time anyone arrived, only fragments of the spider's skull and a scattering of smaller Acromantulas remained.
And then—
"No!!!"
The anguished roar shook the forest.
Hagrid stood frozen, staring at his friend's mangled remains.
Back in Gryffindor Tower, Arthur calmly tallied the night's harvest.
From the distance came the faint echo of Hagrid's grief.
"Poor bloke," Arthur muttered. "At least I left him a few little ones…"
(Truth was, he hadn't had the time to wipe them all out.)
Hopefully, Hagrid would make new friends.
As for the haul—over two hundred herbs, all transplanted into the Zen Garden. The garden's area swelled by half. The time ratio crept up slightly, from 20:1 to 22:1. Expansion still seemed tied mainly to special plants.
Then there were the corpses. Sixty-odd Acromantulas, plus Aragog himself. On average, each spider yielded a pint of venom. Aragog's sac alone equaled ten.
Over sixty pints of common venom and ten pints of premium—preserved perfectly thanks to the system's stasis. No need to get his hands dirty extracting them himself.
As for the remains, Arthur stripped every leg, leaving the torsos to be absorbed at the roots of the Erdtree sapling.
The tree dissolved them into nutrients, passing them into the soil. Apparently, it deemed spider meat beneath its notice—spitting out the residue.
He kept his legs for another reason. In his previous life, someone had once claimed spider legs were delicious.
By the time dawn broke, Arthur was ready for breakfast.
After washing up, he slipped into the Hogwarts kitchens.
"Sir! Can Cone be of service to you today?"
A sharp-eyed house-elf scurried up the moment he stepped inside.
"Tell me," Arthur asked, "any of you know how to cook Oriental dishes?"
A month of British fare had left his palate begging for change.
"Oh, yes, sir! Meme can cook Oriental food—she lived long in the East with her former master!"
"Quickly, Meme! A wizard requires you!" Cone shouted into the kitchen.
From the stove, another elf paused her work and came bustling forward.