A threadlike beam of light advanced silently into the darkness.
Everything around it seemed to fall into absolute stillness—
the same silence as the chaos before creation.
That thin line of light collided with the surging grey mist, and with irresistible force drove forward into its depths. Then—
A lotus bloomed within the mist.
The Thirty-Six Petaled Azure Lotus shattered. The outline of Pangu crumbled with it.
Towering light and heat erupted, like the magnificent spectacle of splitting heaven and earth!
Watching that scene, Theodore Ashbourne felt understanding rise in his heart.
"My Patronus is Pangu."
"Only when Pangu truly manifests can Lotus Radiance Sacred Path: Heaven-Cleaving Light—a spell centered on the Patronus—display its real power."
"Right now, Pangu is only an outline… yet the spell has already undergone a qualitative change."
"This is the true Lotus Radiance Sacred Path: Heaven-Cleaving Light!"
Under this strike—far beyond anything he'd unleashed before—the thick grey mist visibly thinned.
Seizing the moment, Theodore pushed the Microscopic Heavenly Eye to its limit. Golden light burst in his pupils as he stared into the mist's depths.
And something—
something so bizarre it couldn't be described—
flickered across his vision for an instant.
At the same time, the surrounding mist began to retreat rapidly.
On the system interface, those trembling, chaotic lines appeared again:
You refuse the invitation from Purple Heaven Palace, saying—
'The Dao of Purple Heaven Palace is wondrous, but I follow only the Dao within my heart.' Then you swing a sword.
'I have a sword. I ask Ancestor Hongjun to look upon it.'
Ancestor Hongjun withdraws his gaze, casually manipulating chaotic qi to evolve a strand of Heavenly Dao—wither, flourish, life, death, all contained within. Then a faint heavenly sound enters your ear—
'You have your Dao. Why seek the Heavenly Dao? Purple Heaven Palace is closed to you from this day forward. To become a Saint through the Heavenly Dao is but a luxury—go and forge your own Dao.'
Theodore's expression remained grave as he read every word.
Around his body, the golden radiance of the Adamantine Undying Body seemed to have taken a heavy blow—noticeably dimmer than before.
He even lifted his gaze to the fortune-cloud above his head.
Though his fortune was still soaring, Theodore could keenly sense it—
that brief glimpse had cost him a portion of his fortune.
If not for Adamantine Undying Body and Pure Spirit Protection working together, the loss would have been far worse.
And if he ever saw the thing's full form—
or worse, the existence within the dream-city R'lyeh that Bloody Baron had spoken of—
then the trouble would be immeasurably greater.
Theodore exhaled slowly.
That was only one glance… and it was already this wicked.
No wonder the Four Founders—already standing at the absolute peak of magic—could only struggle to survive when they encountered those horrors.
No wonder Godric Gryffindor had to become a giant squid, clinging to life inside madness.
As for what Theodore had actually seen…
He shook his head and forced the image out of his mind.
That thing was too vile.
Better not to think about it at all.
A moment later, Theodore steadied himself.
Origin Sea power surged through his body. The golden light on his skin brightened again—holy, radiant.
He turned and left the Forbidden Forest at speed.
Each time he encountered that hidden evil, his strength had grown enormously.
Whatever it was—whatever "ancient return" the prophecy spoke of—
before it arrived, all he needed was to become strong enough.
Wizards might hit an absolute ceiling once they neared that limit.
But for a Primordial cultivator?
That limit was only the beginning.
Theodore let out a cold laugh.
"When my Eight-Nine Mystical Art reaches completion, when my flesh becomes saintly and my Origin Sea stands vast…"
"When every gesture can twist heaven and earth and overturn creation…"
"And when I can lay down the Zhuxian Sword Formation at my side…"
"Then we'll fight again."
"Let's see whether I can scatter your ashes into the wind."
"I mean it."
Back inside Hogwarts, Theodore immediately returned to the Room of Requirement, took out the diadem, and his eyes hardened.
That hidden evil had cost him fortune—even a sliver.
It only reinforced his resolve to refine Ravenclaw's Diadem into a true fortune treasure as quickly as possible.
With such a treasure suppressing his fortune, even if he encountered that wicked thing again, he wouldn't fear fortune-loss.
And having a fortune treasure at his side meant another powerful trump card.
By now, the power of the nine Demon-Refining Golden Pills had been fully digested.
His Origin Sea surged. His physique was stronger than before—almost inexhaustible.
Even if he burned a great deal of essence-blood in a short span, he could replenish it without damaging his foundation.
So Theodore didn't hesitate.
He formed the seals of the Heavenly Demon refinement method again.
Demon fire roared and began melting the diadem anew.
He sliced open his arm once more.
Golden blood spilled in a steady flow, making the demon fire burn even more fiercely.
With ample essence-blood, the Heavenly Demon refinement art displayed its true brilliance.
A method perfected amid great calamity warfare—its power was immense, and with enough resources, its efficiency was terrifying.
The diadem already carried three layers of restrictions; by all logic, each additional layer should be harder.
But now, the speed didn't slow at all.
It accelerated.
Four layers. Five. Six…
By the time dawn broke, the diadem bore twelve layers of restrictions.
Intricate demonic refinement patterns spread densely across it, as if containing the principles of heaven and earth.
Theodore's heart stirred.
At this stage, the diadem was already an excellent magical implement—far above the Iron-Beaked Divine Hawk he had refined earlier.
After all, Hermes only carried a single restriction layer, crafted using some random refinement inheritance from Chonghou Hu.
How could that compare to twelve layers refined via the Heavenly Demon method?
But twelve layers still meant it was only a magical implement.
Only at eighteen layers could it truly be called a treasure.
Implement and treasure—one word's difference—
a world's difference in reality.
Ordinary implements didn't matter much to Theodore.
Even if Hermes were refined up to twelve layers, it probably still couldn't pierce Theodore's body.
But if the Iron-Beaked Divine Hawk reached treasure-grade?
A single peck might blow Theodore's brains out.
During the Investiture Calamity, countless immortals and gods—figures like the Twelve Golden Immortals—had suffered under bizarre treasures.
Even Zhao Gongming, a quasi-Saint, had his twenty-four Sea-Calming Pearls stolen by the lowly cultivators Xiao Sheng and Cao Bao using the Falling Treasure Money—and suffered a catastrophic loss.
If it had been a mere implement?
Forget stealing the pearls—Xiao Sheng and Cao Bao would've been crushed into dust along with it.
Theodore made his decision at once.
One push.
A treasure in hand meant a terrifying new trump card.
As for consuming more essence-blood?
After taking Demon-Refining Golden Pills, it wouldn't damage his foundation.
In the next moment, Theodore bit through his tongue and spat out a mouthful of golden blood mist onto the diadem.
"Theodore didn't come to class?"
In the classroom, Hermione and the others stared at Theodore's empty seat, surprised.
Before, Theodore was busy and often vanished, but he still attended lessons—and was always eager to answer questions.
This was the first time he'd skipped class.
Even the professors were startled. Several asked Ron and the others whether Theodore was ill.
Fortunately, an owl soon delivered a leave note signed by Dumbledore, and Theodore avoided losing House points.
"Is Theodore helping Dumbledore with something?" Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, arriving at the same conclusion.
"He must be helping the Headmaster protect the Philosopher's Stone!"
"With Theodore there, that dark wizard hiding in the shadows won't succeed!"
Quirrell—and Voldemort, freshly struck by lightning yet again—grew even more furious upon hearing it.
"Theodore. Theodore. Why is that little wizard everywhere?"
"Ever since we ran into him, the lightning hasn't stopped. We're cursed!"
"And now he's off doing errands for Dumbledore again?"
"No… he was probably helping Dumbledore all along—which means…"
Voldemort's eyes looked ready to spit fire.
"The one feeding the three-headed dog potions—feeding it until it practically started reverting to some ancestral form—IT WAS HIM!"
"He could feed a three-headed dog into a four-headed dog—who knows what else is waiting ahead?"
"If we don't kill him, we'll never get the Stone!"
Inside the Room of Requirement, Theodore's face had gone deathly pale.
Once more he forced a mouthful of tongue's-blood onto the diadem.
"Seventeenth restriction…"
"Just a trace more—just a trace…"
His eyes turned ruthless.
He drew a blade across his chest.
A burst of heart's-blood sprayed out.
In that instant, the eighteenth restriction condensed.
A surge of treasure-light flowed across the diadem.
Theodore's eyes erupted with wild joy.
"A treasure…"
"A fortune treasure…"
"It's done!"
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