Harry, Ironfang, and Rockaxe headed toward the carriage area.
"Lord Peverell, Ironfang and I are your Account Managers. For your safety during the tour, the Head of Security has assigned Griphook," said Rockaxe, gesturing to the goblin.
Harry climbed into the carriage with Griphook at the wheel.
Harry and Griphook descended to depths Harry hadn't known existed beneath London. The air grew thicker, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on his arms stand on end. The carriage finally stopped in front of the Peverell Vault.
The air here was different: cold, sepulchral,as if time had stopped to die. In the center of the enormous stone doorway stood a masterful carving of ravens circling the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.
"Where the size indicates, Lord Peverell," Griphook whispered with genuine respect.
Harry placed his Lordship ring in the center. As he did so, he felt a sharp prick on his finger, a drop of blood claimed.
Before he could examine the wound, the ancient mechanism roared and the door began to open, revealing a darkness that seemed to devour the torchlight.
Step inside, he saw mountains of gold, but his gaze was drawn, almost instinctively, to a stone altar that stood at the far end. He walked among the galleons as if they weren't there, his eyes fixed on the Ogham runes carved into the stone. In the center, set with lethal elegance, lay a dagger.
When Harry touched it—the world shattered.
The stone floor vanished. Harry found himself in the middle of endless battlefields. The smell of iron and death was suffocating. He saw dead kings with shattered crowns and torn banners. Thousands of ravens watched from the withered trees.
He tried calling the System, but there was no answer. He was alone in the realm of ancient consciousness. The fog thickened, and from the heart of the mist, a rhythmic chant began, a litany in a language he didn't know but his blood understood:
"Morrígan, Morrígan…"
"Trí inima labhan…"
"Fuil agón fuil, bás agón bás…"
Harry walked faster toward the source of the sound. The cawing became deafening. In the center of a dim light, the dagger glowed with reddish hues, throbbing like a wounded heart.
Harry took it and, without thinking, slicedher palm. The blood didn't fall to the ground; it was absorbed by the black metal. Suddenly, the shadow of La Morrígan appeared behind him. It wasn't a woman, but a warlike presence, three overlapping shadows speaking in unison:
"I don't give you power."
"I give you responsibility."
Harry, his gaze unwavering despite the terror emanating from the goddess, felt a phrase appear in his mind and spoke it with conviction:
"I accept bearing the burden of the end."
In that instant, darkness erupted. A tide of information flooded his mind, searing his consciousness until a name was seared into his soul: Scáthán na Bás.
Harry blinked and found himself back in the cold gloom of the vault, his hand still gripping the cold metal. The wound on his palm had vanished, leaving in its place a runic mark that quickly faded. The System, after the brief silence caused by the divine presence, exploded with crimson notifications.
[System]
[SOULBOND COMPLETED]
[Unique Item Identified: Scáthán na Bás (Mirror of Death)]
[Rank: S Divine/Evolutionary]
[Passive Effect: Curse of Rot — Wounds inflicted by this dagger cannot be healed by conventional magical means. The affected area slowly begins to necrose, spreading a "stain" of death that drains the enemy's stamina.]
[Active Effect: Soul Slash — The following attack ignores any physical armor or magical shield, striking directly into the target's spiritual essence. It deals massive damage based on the user's Intelligence and has a 20% chance to inflict 'Spiritual Stun'.] Harry gazed at the weapon; its name echoed in his mind like a funeral bell. He stowed the Scáthán na Bás in his inventory along with a stack of books that were near the altar.
Harry returned to the cart. Griphook led him to a slightly higher level, stopping before a reinforced steel door bearing the Potter coat of arms: two crossed swords behind a shield with the family crest.
Harry placed Lord Potter's ring in the notch. Unlike the sepulchral cold of the Peverell vault, here he felt a comforting warmth, like a welcoming embrace. The door opened smoothly.
Potter Vault (7)
If the Peverell vault was a mystical sanctuary, the Potter vault was a war arsenal.
The walls were covered with swords, spears, and daggers from every imaginable period. There were Japanese katanas, desert scimitars, and medieval European greatswords. Many of these weapons gleamed with battle runes, indicating that the Potters had been warriors and hunters in many regions of the world.
Shelves were filled with flasks of rare potion ingredients, some preserved in a magical stasis, ready to be used in high-level brews.
An oak chest contained a collection of antique wands belonging to deceased relatives and, most interestingly, several magical staves made of ash and oak—channeling tools that Harry had never seen in the modern world.
Harry wasted no time. He put everything in his inventory, including the potion materials and the wand chest. He only kept the gold, which at the moment was of least value to him.
Finally, Griphook led him to Vault 703. Harry used the golden Rockaxe key.
This was purely financial. Seeing the immense amount of gold accumulated for the heir's trust, Harry stored half of it in his inventory.
A stream of coins flew into Harry's dimensional space.
[System]
[NOTIFICATION]
[Gallons Added: 150,000 G.]
[Inventory Balance: 213,278 G]
Griphook led Harry back to the surface. Upon re-entering the grand marble hall, Harry walked toward the exit. Before passing through the bronze doors into Diagon Alley, he activated his [Assessment] on the guards at the entrance, specifically on the leader, Gripclaw.
[Threat Analysis: Elite Goblin]
[Class: D]
[Level: 120 | Magic: 150]
[Attack: 150 | Defense: 100]
[Agility: 150 | Intelligence: 70 | Luck: 20]
[Weaknesses: Area Attacks (Fire/Lightning)]
Harry studied the numbers carefully. A normal human barely reached 15; these goblins were strong.