At last, Rennala's phantom fell.
Before vanishing, she murmured a blessing for her daughter:
"…Ah, Ranni, my beloved child. Step forth into the night that is yours alone…"
Of all her many children, Rennala perhaps loved Ranni the most.
She had passed down her Full Moon sorcery, and urged her daughter to walk her own path.
Ranni had not disappointed.
From her mother's moon, she had derived her own Dark Moon magic, and discovered a law to call her own.
Ranni's law was not the Golden Order, but the stars and moon in the cold night sky.
Remote, aloof, high above the world—never to interfere in the affairs of the earth.
It embodied her vision: to withdraw the Law from meddling in souls and lives,
and to return the right of choosing destiny to life itself.
Not as a lofty god who dictates, but as one who recedes, letting mortals walk their own road.
…Hm? Almost like that "Era of Humanity" thing from next door in Hogsmeade.
Ranni, too, loved her mother.
Though she pursued her own law, she had not forgotten Rennala.
Knowing her mother had sunk into slumber, she wove wards to protect her from being disturbed.
Now, awakened by Arthur, Rennala's message to her daughter was clear:
Mother is awake once more. No need to worry—go forth and pursue your law without restraint.
A model mother-daughter pair of the Lands Between, if ever there was one.
The illusion shattered, and Arthur returned to the Grand Library.
There sat Rennala, cradling her amber egg.
Her voice was gentle as she greeted him:
"Ah, child. I heard your words with Ranni. You serve her, do you not?"
"Yes, my queen."
"Good. Then take this, and aid her well. Her path is fated to be cold and lonely—I hope you will always remain by her side."
She drew forth the Great Rune from within the egg and handed it to him.
Arthur had not expected her to surrender the Rune of the Unborn so readily.
Perhaps she had never cared for its power.
What mattered to her was the unborn child within the amber egg.
"Oh—and if ever you desire rebirth, come to me," Rennala added softly.
In the game, "rebirth" meant respec—stripping away all your allocated stats so you could redistribute them.
Players would often seek this after finding a new weapon, only to realize their attributes didn't match.
But Arthur had no need. With his current stats, he could wield most weapons already.
The rare ones he couldn't yet use… he hadn't obtained them anyway. By the time he did, he would be strong enough regardless.
After bidding Rennala farewell, Arthur logged out.
Back in reality, he placed the Rune of the Unborn beneath the sapling of the Erdtree in his Zen Garden.
The Rune shattered, and the sapling absorbed its power entirely.
His guess had been correct.
Since the Runes were destined to be consumed, it made no difference whether they were "activated" first.
The Erdtree sought only their energy.
That meant he wouldn't have to trek to Divine Towers anymore.
…Though he would still need to visit the Carian Study Hall, where Ranni's discarded body and half of the Rune of Death awaited.
Don't misunderstand—he wasn't some necrophile.
He simply planned to use the Philosopher's Stone to reconstruct Ranni's body.
After all, it was her own vessel, the one most compatible with her soul.
Whether the plan would work depended on our dear alumnus Tom's cooperation.
As for the half of the Rune of Death, it could be combined with the other half by Fia, the Deathbed Companion, to form the Rune of the Prince of Death.
With the Rune absorbed, the Erdtree doubled in size—nearly four meters tall, no longer a mere sapling.
The Zen Garden itself expanded twofold, and its time dilation rose to 32x.
A new crystal dew drop formed on its boughs:
[Dew of Rebirth]: Clears all negative states, including but not limited to injury, curses, or even the brink of death. Produced once every 100 years. Longed for by the Unborn.
Originally meant for respecs, the Rune's essence had manifested instead as a restorative dew.
Arthur considered this only natural.
This was the real world, not a game.
Every person's talents and abilities were countless—impossible to reduce to numbers and "reallocate points."
So here, the Rune translated into a universal cure-all.
Still, Arthur wasn't satisfied with the current time dilation.
One dew drop every three-plus years, in real time—
something so vital for survival ought to be produced far more often.
He pondered what other kinds of power might feed the Erdtree.
He had already tried in-game Runes, but the system told him those were more like the Erdtree's own fruits—
something it would produce naturally as it matured, not something it would consume.
"Hmm… Erdtree, Erdtree. What else would you eat?"
"…Wait. A tree!"
"System—can you manifest the Wisdom Tree from Plants vs. Zombies as an energy orb for the Erdtree to absorb?"
The system, by now, was used to its host's sudden flights of fancy.
[Manifest Wisdom Energy?]
"Do it."
[Manifestation complete: Pure Wisdom Energy ×1]
Arthur had long since grown his Wisdom Tree to its maximum height in the game.
But beyond being a gag feature, it served little purpose—
and worse, once it grew tall enough, you couldn't even see its crown.
He'd been annoyed at it for ages.
Now, at least, it could be put to good use.
He tossed the energy orb into the Zen Garden.
This time, the Erdtree shot up to ten meters tall—the very ceiling of the space.
The garden expanded to over ten thousand square meters.
The time dilation leapt another 30x.
And a fresh dew drop condensed:
[Dew of Wisdom]: Grants +10 Spirit and +10 Mana, and enhances comprehension. Produced once every 100 years. Surpassing wisdom is humanity's greatest wealth.
Arthur plucked the dew, dropped it into his golden chalice, and drank without hesitation.
Power surged through him.
His spirit felt sharper, his detection range vastly expanded.
His mana deepened, more abundant than ever.
As for "enhanced comprehension," he didn't feel much change.
Perhaps because his innate talent was already maxed out—there was little room left to improve.
Even so, he felt far more confident about negotiating with dear Tom.
True, Voldemort was but a remnant soul now, fragmented to the point of madness.
But he was still the Dark Lord, master of countless tricks for clinging to life.
Otherwise, he could never have infiltrated Hogwarts.
Some might say Dumbledore already knew Voldemort was there.
Arthur disagreed.
If Dumbledore truly knew, he'd never let Harry face those trials—
not while the boy was so untrained, his life hanging by a thread.
More likely, Dumbledore only suspected Quirrell.
After all, Quirrell was once a Hogwarts student.
Now, his nature wholly changed, he returned to apply as a teacher.
Suspicion was inevitable.
So Dumbledore set the stone's defenses not to guard the stone itself—
but to bait Quirrell into revealing his hand.
And to guide Harry into trials that would temper him.
Poor Quirrell.
First used by Voldemort, then by Dumbledore as a training dummy for Harry.
And worst of all, the Philosopher's Stone was already gone—consumed by Arthur long ago.
Even if Quirrell overcame every obstacle, he would find nothing waiting at the end.
In a way, though, Quirrell was almost admirable.
Serving Voldemort, yet never stopping to study his master's infamous history?
He didn't even know the Dark Lord had cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.
No one could hold the post for more than a year.
Surviving intact was already a miracle.
Had he infiltrated Hogwarts another way, perhaps he might have lived.
Just look at Wormtail—fat and comfortable, napping his days away,
as if he truly were nothing but a brainless little rat.
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