"Alright, then you can stay here. Feel free to explore, but whatever you do, don't go past that fenced-off area over there. The flow of time in that zone is almost a hundred times faster than outside."
Arthur pointed toward a nearby section of the garden he had cordoned off. He hadn't adjusted the time acceleration in that area—it was still set to the maximum multiplier.
That section was reserved for cultivating plants at an accelerated rate, including the Golden Tree.
"Okay, I'll be careful," Norris nodded, acknowledging the warning.
"Oh, right. As a welcome gift for moving in, here—take this."
Arthur took out a vial of potion, poured it into a petri dish, and placed it in front of Norris.
"This is a vitality tonic. You… well—"
He proceeded to tell her about the incident with the basilisk.
"This should help you recover."
"So I almost died that night... Thank you for lifting my petrification. And for avenging me."
Norris didn't stand during the ceremony. She lowered her head and began lapping up the contents of the dish.
In truth, this wasn't just some vitality tonic—it was a diluted version of the Elixir of Immortality, specially refined from the Philosopher's Stone.
Arthur hadn't given her much, but it would still be enough to extend her life by ten or twenty years.
Norris's words had reminded him—she was already quite old, especially by feline standards.
Arthur suspected that if not for her rare atavistic bloodline, her senses would've deteriorated by now, and she might even have started losing her teeth like any other aged cat.
Regardless of how much longer Norris had left, he figured it wouldn't hurt to give her a little "top-up."
As for why he didn't tell her the truth—it was because he was worried that knowing this might make Norris want to return to Filch.
Despite her constant complaints, years of companionship had left her with some lingering attachment.
Arthur planned to let Norris stay in the Zen Garden for a while.
Given the garden's serene environment, he figured it wouldn't take long before Norris was so comfortable she wouldn't want to leave.
In fact, he suspected that by the time he tried to make her go, she might not budge an inch.
The next morning, Filch posted a notice on the school bulletin board.
More accurately—it was a Missing Cat Poster.
It stated that his cat, Mrs. Norris, had been stolen in the middle of the night, and demanded that the culprit step forward and return her. If not, they'd face dire consequences.
His fury and resentment practically oozed from every word.
However, among the young wizards and witches, the news didn't cause much of a stir—especially not among the Gryffindors.
After all, they were the ones most frequently caught wandering at night, and most of them dreamed of giving Filch's cat a good kick.
Some even seemed relieved when they heard the news.
But their joy didn't last long.
Because soon enough, they learned—thanks to Ron's big mouth—that the real threat wasn't Filch or his cat, but a basilisk.
When word spread across all four houses that it was behind the recent attacks at Hogwarts, things took a darker turn.
And Harry's situation grew increasingly precarious.
Everyone knew he could speak Parseltongue—and now that it was confirmed a basilisk was involved, people instinctively drew a line between the monster and the boy who could talk to snakes.
That pretty much cemented the suspicion: Harry was the Heir of Slytherin.
Even after hearing the rumors, Dumbledore said nothing publicly.
Instead, he posted a new notice on the board: a detailed introduction to the basilisk—its characteristics, abilities, and weaknesses.
One key point caught everyone's attention: basilisks fear the crow of a rooster.
Sensing a business opportunity, the ever-entrepreneurial Weasley twins quickly went into overdrive producing a batch of magical devices that could mimic a rooster's crow.
When Arthur saw the finished product, he couldn't help but laugh.
"Isn't this just… a screaming chicken?"
The twins loved the name. They immediately and joyfully adopted it: The Screaming Chicken™.
The product sold out instantly.
Many young witches and wizards bought more than one—including self-proclaimed pure-bloods.
After all, the basilisk didn't give a damn about your blood status. If it looked at you and you died… Well, good luck bragging about your pedigree in the afterlife.
That evening, a mysterious meat stew appeared on the students' dining tables.
One bowl warmed not just their bodies, but also their weary hearts.
Ron was miserably apologizing to Harry.
"Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to leak it..."
Because of Ron's loose lips, Harry had now fully inherited the title of "Slytherin's Heir."
Harry knew Ron didn't do it on purpose. He sighed and said, "It's fine. At least now everyone knows about the basilisk and can be more cautious."
Deep down, Harry made a mental note: he had to learn the Muffliato spell as soon as possible—so next time, he could shut Ron up before he blabbed.
Just then, the Weasley twins sidled up beside Arthur.
"Hey, boss! Here's our earnings from the past few days."
"Thanks to the success of the Screaming Chickens—"
"Our revenue soared!"
The twins grinned in sync, clearly here for a payout.
Arthur took the money pouch and tucked it away without a second glance.
Watching their satisfied expressions, he suddenly had a new idea.
"How about earning even more?" he asked.
The twins' eyes lit up instantly. "Don't tell us—got a new product coming?"
They knew full well: If it's made by Arthur, it's gotta be gold.
But Arthur shook his head. "Not exactly a new product. More like… a concept."
"We're all ears!" the twins said in unison.
"Think about it—direct eye contact with the basilisk kills you. Indirect viewing only causes petrification, right? So what if we sold glasses with mirrored lenses? That way, even if someone accidentally sees it, they'll just get petrified. Someone can still come along and fix them later."
"After all, who knows if we'll have time to pull out a Screaming Chicken in a real emergency?"
Arthur didn't lower his voice—so every nearby student overheard.
Within seconds, a crowd swarmed the twins, demanding they start production immediately.
Some were already pulling out coins and placing deposits.
Seeing the chaos, Arthur quickly urged the crowd to disperse before things got out of hand.
Back in the common room, Harry let out a sigh of relief.
"Phew. They really are crazy."
"At least now they're too busy shopping to gossip about you being the Heir of Slytherin," Arthur consoled him.
"I've got more good news," Hermione chimed in. "Malfoy's staying at school for Christmas."
Ron blurted, "What's that got to do with us?"
Harry looked confused too.
"I think what Hermione means," Arthur interjected with a mocking glance at Ron and Harry, "is that her Polyjuice Potion will be ready just in time for Christmas. Don't tell me you two forgot your plan?"
Hermione nodded vigorously. Her cousin was exactly right.
"Oh, and Cousin—we should write to my parents. Tell them we're not going home for the holidays," Hermione added, suddenly remembering.
"Unfortunately for you," Arthur said with a shrug, "even if you wanted to go home, you couldn't. That perfect couple wrote to me to say they're going abroad for Christmas."
Hermione looked shocked. "They didn't tell me!"
"Maybe because they figured a daughter who can't even manage a letter home once a week isn't worth the effort?" Arthur teased.
It wasn't even his joke—Mrs. Granger had said exactly that in a letter to him, venting her frustration.
He couldn't believe Hermione, now in her second year, still hadn't kept up her letters home.
Hermione's initial anger quickly faded into guilt.
It wasn't that she didn't care… she just got too caught up in studying and forgot.
Back in his room, Arthur called out to Ranni and entered the Lands Between with her.
Lately, he'd been taking the petite Ranni to explore the volcano, all while completing various commissions from Tanith.
Through their explorations, they'd begun piecing together some fragments of the Shattering War.
Ironically, neither of them had a full grasp of what had happened.
Arthur's knowledge was limited by the fragmented storytelling of the original game Elden Ring in his past life—most of the lore was buried in item descriptions.
As for Ranni, she had defied the Two Fingers, slain her own flesh, and gone into hiding. She only had a vague understanding of events after the Night of the Black Knives.
They learned that during the Shattering, the demigod lords fought two separate wars against the Royal Capital, Leyndell.
But both attempts to breach the capital had failed.
As for why—they didn't yet know. They had only explored Mt. Gelmir, and hadn't reached the capital itself.
However, they had uncovered solid intel about Rykard.
Before the Shattering, he was a loyal Judicator under Radagon, and performed his duties diligently—punishing heretics who rejected the Golden Order.
But after Marika shattered the Elden Ring, triggering the war, Rykard's dissatisfaction with the Erdtree finally boiled over.
He rallied fellow Shardbearers and marched on Leyndell, intent on profaning the Erdtree.
But the demigods were a selfish bunch. Few fought with their full strength.
Naturally, the assault failed.
This, they now understood, was one of the key reasons the rebel alliance lost.
From their investigation, they discovered Mt. Gelmir had been one of the bloodiest battlefields of the entire Shattering War.
Along the so-called "Path of the Condemned"—the route between Volcano Manor and the capital—corpses littered the ground.
Some had even been strung up, likely to intimidate the enemy.
But oddly, the Volcano Manor itself showed no signs of having been breached.
This suggested that the hanging corpses were not the work of Leyndell's forces—but of Rykard's.
Given his known penchant for torture, Arthur suspected this might have been a pre-existing tradition—a show of cruelty even before war broke out.
He and Ranni concluded that neither side had won that war.
Both left soldiers behind on the battlefield, locked in a hopeless stalemate, abandoned by their lords.
In simpler terms—Rykard, the once-esteemed judicator, rebelled against his former bosses, tried to profane the Erdtree, failed… and then abandoned his troops to go play with snakes in solitude.
Standing atop a steep cliff, Ranni looked down at the Path of the Condemned and sighed.
"Sigh… No matter how I try, I just can't bring myself to like that brother of mine."
"His intentions might have been noble—to overthrow the Erdtree—but the way he went about it was all wrong."
"I've seen too much history in the modern world. No one's ever succeeded through sheer desecration."
Arthur nodded. Throughout history, the victors always painted themselves as the righteous.
Rykard, on the other hand, had openly declared: "I will defile the Erdtree!"
He practically screamed villain from head to toe. How could that not backfire?
"O King, let's go. Let's give my brother his final sendoff—and let him drown in his delusions."
Ranni's words may have sounded cold, but deep down, she still cared.
Or rather, she cared about the honor of the Carian Royal Family.
Rykard's descent into a grotesque slave of his own greed was a stain on their house.
So Ranni wanted Arthur to end him—to wash away the disgrace.
Arthur thought to himself: So, even his moon princess knows how to double-standard.
With Radahn, who had gone mad, Ranni couldn't bear to kill him herself. She had asked Arthur to do it, hoping to free her brother.
But with Rykard, now corrupted by avarice, she wanted to fight alongside Arthur and make sure he died in misery.
"Are you sure you don't want to save him?" Arthur asked. "I saw a portrait of General Radahn hanging in Volcano Manor. I thought they were close?"
He meant that perhaps Rykard could be like Radahn—preserved via his soul sigil, to be resurrected later.
"No," Ranni replied coldly. "He must pay for what he's done."
Her tone left no room for debate.
Arthur shrugged.
It looked like Rykard was doomed.
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