[You see Lei Zhenzi trapped within the Banner of Ten Thousand Souls. To save your companion, you draw your sword without regret and enter the soul-banner yourself.]
[In an instant, heaven and earth spin, chaos swallows all, and the underworld descends. Ten fierce ghostly figures emerge, while ten thousand wandering souls surge together, forming a Soul-Slaying Formation designed specifically to destroy the spirit.]
[With the Banner of Ten Thousand Souls anchoring it, the Soul-Slaying Formation is complete. Even a Great Luo Golden Immortal who enters this formation would have his soul scattered and destroyed.]
[The host now feels an immense and immeasurable force pressing down upon his spirit. All three souls and seven spirits ache in torment, and yet his eyes remain without resentment or regret.]
[If I die today, my chivalrous bones will still carry fragrance. But if I lived on in cowardice, like a walking corpse, what joy would life hold?]
[Banner of Ten Thousand Souls? Come, then—fight!]
As this bleak and heroic text surfaced across the System screen, Theodore calmly walked forward inside the dark wizard's chessboard.
Wherever he passed, the blood-stained chess pieces neatly moved aside to open a path.
The ten vague souls bowed respectfully to the ground.
From the look of it, Theodore did not seem as though he had entered some deadly trap.
It looked more as if he had arrived to inspect an army review.
Seeing this, Quirrell nearly ground his teeth to powder.
"No, what is this?"
"I worked all night. I didn't even drink a sip of water. I didn't dare rest for a single moment. I killed ten wizard's chess champions for this!"
"The match hasn't even started, Theodore isn't dead, and you're already kneeling?!"
"Get up! Stop kneeling! Kill him!"
Quirrell went mad backstage, waving his wand furiously as he activated the control magic embedded in the dark wizard's chessboard.
At last, the pieces raised their heads.
Pawns, knights, kings, and the rest slammed their weapons down upon the board with sharp, resounding force.
Then, in one perfectly unified cry, they roared:
"Loyalty!"
Quirrell froze.
"Loyalty?!"
"Are you kidding me?!"
"I told you to kill him, not swear fealty to him!"
"What is wrong with this damned dark wizard's chess magic?!"
Even Voldemort's expression had become dark and wary.
"Could this be some kind of soul magic mastered by Theodore Ashbourne?"
"Damn Dumbledore. When I was a student, he watched me closely the moment I started studying advanced magic. And now Theodore Ashbourne has apparently learned soul magic too, and Dumbledore hasn't reacted at all?"
"Hypocritical old dog!"
The next moment, Voldemort took control of Quirrell's body and swung the wand himself.
A more powerful wave of magic surged into the dark wizard's chessboard, compelling the pieces and the ten souls to obey his will. If they resisted, they would suffer agony under the magic of the board—perhaps even be dispersed entirely.
And yet, to Voldemort's disbelief, even though the pieces and souls clearly felt the pain as the board's magic took hold…
they simply did not care.
In rhythmic unison, they beat their weapons against the board and cried out again and again:
"Loyalty!"
"…"
Even Voldemort could not help cursing aloud.
"What is wrong with them?"
"They're already dead and reduced to souls, and yet they'd rather risk total soul-dispersion than disobey the board's enchantment?"
"What kind of soul magic did Theodore Ashbourne use on them? Permanent enslavement of the soul?"
"That damned child who plays with hearts and minds—Dumbledore, how did you fail to notice him?!"
But Voldemort clearly did not understand the thoughts of the souls inside the board.
This chessboard was only a temporary place of confinement.
The realm of the dead—the underworld—that was their true and eternal destination.
And Theodore, upon entering the board, felt to them like the ruler of the underworld himself.
They might be dead, but they were not stupid.
If they offended the being standing before them now, what would happen when they truly entered the land of the dead later?
At this moment, Theodore walked completely unhindered until he reached Ron.
Ron looked at Theodore, his eyes already bright with emotion.
He had felt the terror of this place from the moment he entered it.
And yet Theodore had not hesitated for even an instant before stepping inside to save him.
Ron's eyes were already starting to redden.
He wanted to say something, but Theodore simply raised a hand to stop him.
"Ron. I won't be in danger here. But your soul shouldn't stay away from your body for too long."
"Go back. Leave the rest to me."
The next instant, Theodore flicked a finger and easily tore open a gap in the dark board's restraint over Ron's soul.
Ron's vision blurred.
And just like that, his soul returned to his body.
His fists clenched tightly.
As he stared at Theodore still standing inside the board, his eyes turned red at once.
A stubbornness unlike anything before erupted in his gaze as he stared at the ten souls in the board. His fingernails dug into his palm so hard the pain stabbed clearly into his mind.
If only I were strong enough.
If only my magic were stronger.
If only my chess were stronger.
Then Theodore would not have needed to risk himself like this.
"Theodore… you have to come back safely."
"Otherwise, no matter what price I have to pay, I'll bring you back."
At that moment, Theodore's eyes rested on the ten souls seated upon the chessboards, and delight rose visibly in his gaze.
With the authority of the primordial Judge inherited through the System, he could feel it with utter clarity:
every one of these ten souls possessed an extremely pure obsession.
That made perfect sense.
The magical world did not have a huge population, but anyone capable of becoming a champion must have carried an intense, burning longing for victory and mastery of chess.
Souls bearing such pure obsessions were first-rate materials for refining the Judge's Brush.
In fact, each one of them was better than the fragment of soul from the crown Theodore had used before.
That fragment had been twisted, yes—but it was still only a fragment. It could not compare to a complete soul.
And among them, the soul of the eight-time wizard's chess champion was particularly astonishing. Even in the primordial world, it would have counted as exceptional.
If all of these souls were fed into the Judge's Brush, then this treasure might begin to manifest in a true preliminary form.
At the level of the Judge's Brush, even a fraction of its manifestation would count as an unimaginable soul treasure.
Yet Quirrell and Voldemort had treated these things like utter fools.
They had almost completely erased the awareness of the ten souls, leaving behind only their purest obsessions.
If Theodore wanted them to yield their greatest possible value, then he first had to free them from their shackles.
With a flick of his finger, the dark board's restraints over the ten souls vanished like smoke.
By all logic, they should now have been able to leave the board and head toward the world of the dead that rightfully awaited them.
But instead, driven by obsession, they remained seated at their boards without moving.
Inside those eyes whose consciousness had already been almost extinguished, the final heat and brilliance of obsession suddenly flared.
Their whole lives had been poured into the chessboard.
Even in death, they still wished to finish this final game.
At this moment, they had forgotten life and death, forgotten every distraction and all stray thoughts.
What remained in them now was only the chessboard carved into the soul—
and battle intent.
One single thought remained:
to win.
Upon the board, I alone am invincible.
Theodore's eyes lit up as well.
These ten souls had actually reached a kind of ultimate sublimation.
They were supreme material for refining a soul-treasure.
"In that case," Theodore said softly, "I'll fulfill that wish of yours. We'll finish this last game."
The next moment, Theodore stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and all ten boards before him turned at once.
Theodore took black.
The ten souls took white.
"If I took white, it would be too unfair."
"Gentlemen…"
"I'll let all of you take the first move."
"Please."
Send the next chapter whenever you're ready, and I'll keep the tone, system language, and Theodore continuity locked to this version.
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